Two walked in shadows, hearts weighed down,
Towards dusty streets of struggling town.
Their hope had fled, their sorrow weighed,
Then met they One who with them stayed.
He spoke of Scripture, spoke of grace,
Unseen, unmarked, in that sad place.
Their eyes were clouded, hearts unsure, His words brought them hope most pure.
When evening came, the bread was shared, Suddenly, they knew He cared.
The risen Christ, their eyes revealed, Is Love eternal, risen - healed.
So too in life, with workload deep, Burdens harsh and nights no sleep; Christ comes unseen, yet ever near,
To calm our hearts, to dry our tear.
Be mindful, friends, in toil and strife,
Of Christ who walks within your life. Be anchorite within the throng, Pray and trust to keep faith strong.
Recognize the Lord each day, At all moments, every way.
Faith opens eyes, so that we see, Christ walks with us, steadfastly.
Image courtesy of ChatGPT with CN Whittle "The Road to Emmaus at sunset"
In the hush before the dawn of grace, When heaven bent to kiss the earth, God beheld the world of restless hearts And chose, with tender, sovereign worth -
Not marble halls nor thrones of might, Nor courts where pride and power reign, But lowly beams and borrowed light, A stable worn by wind and rain.
There, where the oxen gently fed, And donkeys breathed the quiet air, Where sheep in drowsy clusters spread Their wool like clouds of patient prayer;
And, as old whispers softly tell, Where camels knelt and horses stood, A humble, breathing, living well Of creaturely and blameless good . . .
“I give My Son,” the heavens said, “To dwell where innocence is known, A palace not by kings be made, But hearts that harm not flesh and bone.
Let Him be first by these adored, Who do not wound, nor scheme, nor hate; Let beasts receive their quiet Lord Before the proud and learned great.
For they will gaze and not conspire, They will draw near and not condemn; No hidden blade, no vengeful fire, Only a gentle warmth in them.”
So came the Child, so small, so mild, Jesus Christ in straw and shadow laid to rest, The Holy One, the undefiled, At peace on nature’s humble breast.
And Mary watched with wondering eyes, Her heart a cradle deep and wide, While Saint Joseph kept his faithful guise, A guardian standing close beside.
No sword was raised, no hatred stirred, No voice of scorn, no cruel decree; Only the quiet, living Word Among the meek of land and lea.
O mystery soft as breathing hay, O wisdom clothed in earthen guise - That Love should choose such hidden way, And open first the simplest eyes.
Image courtesy of ChatGPT and CN Whittle, "Nativity scene in a quiet stable"
A small screen glows in the quiet night, A thousand lives flicker in borrowed light; Soft paws dancing, bright eyes at play, A kitten tumbling in threads of day.
A dog runs free through fields of green, Joy unmeasured, pure, serene; A mouse peeks out with trembling nose, In simple trust that gently grows.
And oh, how good, how right it feels When laughter lifts and kindness heals; For in such moments, light is shown Of love the Maker calls His own.
For God who shaped both fur and feather, Wove fragile lives in care together; And placed us here, with mind and hand, As gentle stewards of the land.
But then the tone begins to change; A darker note, a crueler range. A trembling cry, a frantic flight, A tiny creature gripped by fright.
A chase made sport, a fear made show, A helpless heart with nowhere to go; The clicks increase, the laughter grows; But something deeper in us knows.
For what is mirth that feeds on pain? What jest is worth another’s strain? When terror is the price we pay, The light of joy has slipped away.
The wailing cry, the panicked eyes, Are not a joke, nor small disguise; They speak a truth both sharp and clear: That cruelty dressed as fun is fear.
Would we make sport of trembling souls? Turn sacred life to passing roles? Or hear within each fragile plea A call to guard, not injury?
For even least and voiceless things Are held beneath the King of kings; And every life, however small, Is known, is seen, is loved in all.
So let our laughter still be bright, But born of kindness, born of light. Let joy be clean, and hearts be wise, With mercy shining through our eyes.
For we were never made to harm, But to protect with open arm; And every creature, great or small, Is not our plaything - but our call.
Image courtesy of ChatGPT with CN Whittle, "Cozy night with a cat companion"
O Mother robed in quiet light, Whose heart once cradled Heaven’s King, You walk again through shadowed fields Where broken bells no longer ring.
You see the smoke that veils the sky, You hear the cries no words can hold; The child who calls for vanished arms, The young grown weary, fierce and old.
Your tears fall soft on bloodied earth, Like dew upon a wounded land; Each drop a prayer, each sigh a plea We scarcely pause to understand.
For where a soldier falls in dust, Or limps through life forever scarred, You stand beside him in his night, A mother keeping solemn guard.
Where hunger gnaws at empty homes, And silence answers orphaned cries, You gather sorrow to your heart And lift it gently to the skies.
O Lady, still you call to us - Not with the thunder war has known, But in the hush between the guns, A voice of mercy, soft and lone:
“Let peace be sown where hatred grew, Let love make whole what fear has torn; For every child of God is mine - No life was made for grief or scorn.”
Yet still we turn, yet still we wound, Yet still the earth drinks bitter rain… How long, O Mother, must you weep Before we learn from human pain?
Teach us to lay our weapons down, To see your Son in every face; To choose the path of sacrifice, And build a world of healing grace.
O Lady of the silent tears, Pray we may hear, and not delay - That we, your children, rise at last And answer peace… today.
Image courtesy of Chatgpt with CN Whittle. "Virgin Mary protects amid war's ruin"
When Jesus rose from the dead, the great burial stone had shaken in earthquake before warrior angels of light. As human soldiers fell as ones dead before the Power of the Holy One, the early morning birds hushed their song in awe at the happenings.
Jesus mulled over recent events; His grievous jailing, torture and dreadful death. His vandalization of the gates of Hades and the confrontation with satan the great usurper. The journey in which the Redeemer led the peoples through newly opened celestial gates into Heaven.
Although the Son of God was busy with so many things, He found time to turn back. In remembrance of the teachings received during His Youth from His beloved Mother and trusted Foster-Father, Jesus did even the smallest thing well.
He neatly folded the linen cloth which bore witness to His sufferings. Such a small thing. Such a great thing. "He has done all things well."
Let us follow Christ's example, in the tiny details of life. If we do, our character will be so moulded as we follow in the Footsteps of the Son, that the great things will take care of themselves.
He Has Done All Things Well
Before the dawn could find its voice, the earth itself began to speak: a trembling hymn beneath the stone that sealed the Silence of the world.
The ground convulsed - not in chaos, but in recognition. For Heaven’s warriors, bright as fire, descended clothed in living light.
The stone, so heavy with despair, was cast aside like breath on glass. No hand of man could stand that hour. The guards fell down as though undone, as though the weight of Glory had unmade their strength.
Even the birds, those heralds of the morning, paused upon the edge of song; their fragile notes held back in awe, as if creation itself were listening.
Then Christ arose.
Not as one returning, but as One who had conquered return; the Living One from death’s deep night, the Victor over every grave.
He stood in quiet radiance, the Wounds still speaking love, the Body once so broken now bearing endless life.
In that sacred stillness, Jesus remembered -
The long night’s sorrow - the kiss, the chains, the mocking cries: the scourge, the thorns, the lifted Cross - each pain a thread in Love’s great weaving.
He remembered deeper still; the gates of Hades torn apart, the clash with the ancient thief, the keys reclaimed from trembling hands, the countless souls led out of shadow into the widening light of Heaven.
So much; so vast; so world-renewing.
And yet…
Jesus turned aside.
Not to thunder. Not to summon hosts again. But to something small.
The linen cloth, still bearing witness to His suffering, lay where it had been cast in haste.
The Master, Risen Lord of all creation, stooped.
With Hands that broke the gates of death, Jesus folded the cloth: carefully, intentionally, as once He had learned in the quiet home of Nazareth.
The teachings of His Mother; gentle, steadfast. The guidance of His Foster-Father; faithful, true. The hidden years, the ordinary holiness of daily things.
Nothing forgotten. Nothing beneath Him.
Such a small act; a folded cloth in an empty tomb.
Such a great act - a life that leaves no love undone.
For He who conquered death itself did not neglect the smallest good.
“He has done all things well.”
And so He teaches us - not only in wonders that shake the earth, but in the quiet shaping of the soul:
That greatness is not only in the gates we break, nor in the battles we endure, nor in the victories Heaven proclaims -
but in the unseen faithfulness of every moment given to God.
Fold what is yours to fold. Tend what is yours to tend. Love in the smallest places.
For when the heart is formed in the Footsteps of the Son, even the smallest things become eternal.
Thereafter the great things, in their time - will follow.
