Very true statement I remember listening to a sermon given by a priest who talked extensively on how we treat children his main focus was, how do we expect children to grow to trust and love our father and mother in heaven if we mother and fathers on earth break that child's trust and abuse them,but more especially he said how do you think your father in heaven will treat all of us if we do not do our duty well on earth by nurturing the children given by God..
I think also the reason why most of us have a great Deovtion to the Blessed Vigin, the Mother of God is that we will have had a good relationship with our own mother. In my own case I was espcially close to her and she to me, but on top of that we were very alike in many ways. I thinnk i have a Deovtion to the angels because of coming from a large faimily and I loveto see them al laround me all the time. As to the souls in purgatory especailly the ones deepest I love them because I am such a sinful looser myself. So we bring who and what we are to prayer and thse makes up our spirituality, our spiritual self. Our way of relating to Jesus.
I must say though if it were proved to me that it was all just imaginary and Jesus was just my imaginary friend and there were no heaven, no eternal reward , no hereafter I would not could myself as loosing from this relationship. It has brought me the deepest joy and peace. If He were imaginary let Him be that way, for He is the source of all my joy. I have already has my heaven on Earth a billion times over. A joy that the world cannot give. John 14:27 Peace I Leave with You 26But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have told you. 27Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled; do not be afraid. 28You heard Me say, ‘I am going away and I am coming back to you.’ If you loved Me, you would rejoice that I am going to the Father, because the Father is greater than I.… The Christ whom I ahve loved since the days of my youth. Psalm 71:17 Since my youth, God, you have taught me, and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds. ..and of whom we said in mass today: Psalm 84:10 10 Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere; I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked.
I had a similer experience last week how some of my actions from about 3 years ago had hurt someone and caused them to be mad at me this very day. I am mending that fence now and am thankful for the insight. Although that day I got the insight I felt as if I had been punched in the gut. I think bucket head is aware when we get such holy inspirations and messes with our head a bit. He will take advantage of any situation, especially if it brings us down.
This relationship with Jesus is what we were created for, what we are to live and die for, what is define what we are and what we are to become. Besides this nothing at all is important in heaven and Earth. No relationship we have ever had or will ever have is even the shadow of a shadow of this. The greatest love poems and art in all the world cannot begin to approach this. It is utterly sublime. What is more this realtionship will define our place in heaven. The HCoir of angels in which we wil lsit. The stronger the realtionship the higher the seat. To make this realtionship grow is like everything else in life , the more we practise it the stronger the deeper it grows. The end point being that it is ceaseless. That this conversation never ends and is thus the gateway to Eternal Life... This is the true garden of the soul, the tree of life we much alwaeys water with our prayers.
I think Cathy it can be a bit like a spiritual antiseptic and stings a bit. As they say, 'The hand that hurts is the hand that heals'... If we were humble it would not hurt at all. But which of us is as humble as that? As St Phillip Neri said, 'My pride will die half an hour after I do.'
I am sorry for not posting much lately , sleepless nights and night shifts are to blame, but I ahve not forgottne this thread and will be back. Like General Mc Arthur.
I woke up last night and thinking with a certain sadness how fast the summer is flying by, everyday like seconds. It seemed to me perhaps I was wasting time , not using it right. But Jeus said to me that the times we give to Him are Eternal, they never end. So for instance the time we give in prayer are forever, they never go away. I thought this was very beautiful. I was just wondering idly. Do any of you talk with Jesus about things like this? Do you hear Him talking quite clearly, at least at time? Also when I listen to Him He tells me quite unexpected things. Things that I believe I would never have thought up myself. THings that indicate quite strongly this is not nust my imagination. Has anyone else experienced this? I think part of me is a bit of a doubting Thomas I love to get this kind of objective proof that it really is Jesus talking.
Another interesting things, which is the opposite side of this is the ability to hear demons talking. I am quite sure of all you reading this that there will be one or two of you who are capable of this. Actually in exorcism tems, at least in the USA it is common to have a lay person with this ability to assist in the sacrament, so it is not so totally rare. Listening to demons talk is the strangest thing. They are totally unlike us. I hear them best in Church. A Church serves as a kind of mystical window so that we can see, hear and feel such things..as are , holy places, such as pilgrimage sites. Medugorje is the best I ahve seen. The whole place is as though the curtain between heaven and Eath is totally lifted. I saw the most amazing things there. The demons have a kind of one track mind and that is to drag people off to hell. They are full of total negativity. In a way they are like soldiers on constant active service, they just never, never stop. They are also very observant and know who's who and what's what, for instance they might say of someone, 'Oh hes a great enemy', or she is danger' , of watch them. They chatter away. It is so curious but they seem to have not the least idea I am listening. Which , I suspect is just as well for me. Anyway I would love to hear from anyone else who has this ability and what they think about it all.
Pleasee feel free to contact me privately about these things if you are not happy to discuss them publically. I have always found such tehings endlessly fascinating.
What is it like when we quench the Spirit and depart from Jesus? There is an inkling form the conversio nof St Paul which I like; Acts 26:14 We all fell to the ground, and I heard a voice saying to me in Aramaic, 'Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? It is hard for you to kick against the goads.' 'Apparently, "to kick against the goads" was a common expression found in both Greek and Latin literature—a rural image, which rose from the practice of farmers goading their oxen in the fields. Though unfamiliar to us, everyone in that day understood its meaning. Goads were typically made from slender pieces of timber, blunt on one end and pointed on the other. Farmers used the pointed end to urge a stubborn ox into motion. Occasionally, the beast would kick at the goad. The more the ox kicked, the more likely the goad would stab into the flesh of its leg, causing greater pain. Saul’s conversion could appear to us as having been a sudden encounter with Christ. But based on the Lord's expression regarding his kicking back, I believe He’d been working on him for years, prodding and goading him. I believe the words and works of Jesus haunted the zealous Pharisee. Quite likely, Saul had heard Jesus teach and preach in public places. Similar in age, they would have been contemporaries in a city Saul knew well and Jesus frequently visited. Imagine Saul (the name Paul means “small,” suggesting he may have been shorter than average), standing on tiptoe, straining to watch Jesus, all the while grudgingly wondering how this false prophet could be gaining popularity. Nonsense. He has to be of Satan! Pharisees loved to think that. Nevertheless, Jesus’s ministry stuck in Saul’s mind. The more it goaded him, the more he resisted God’s proddings. Once you've seriously encountered Jesus, as Saul did, there's no escaping Him. His words and works follow you deep within your conscience. That’s why I encourage people who are intensifying their efforts to resist the Gospels’ claims to study the life of Christ—to examine carefully His captivating words. Most people who sincerely pursue them can’t leave Him without at least reevaluating their lives.' Taken from “God’s Goads” from Thomas Nelson, http://www.jesus.org/early-church-history/the-apostle-paul/how-did-paul-kick-against-the-goads.html View attachment 5306
This Reminds me of my favourite poem, 'The Hound of Heaven', by Francis THompson. . THE HOUND OF HEAVEN Francis Thompson I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him, down the arches of the years; I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears I hid from Him, and under running laughter. Up vistaed hopes I sped; And shot, precipitated, Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears, From those strong Feet that followed, followed after. But with unhurrying chase, And unperturbèd pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy, They beat—and a Voice beat More instant than the Feet— 'All things betray thee, who betrayest Me'. I pleaded, outlaw-wise, By many a hearted casement, curtained red, Trellised with intertwining charities; (For, though I knew His love Who followed, Yet was I sore adread Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside.) But, if one little casement parted wide, The gust of His approach would clash it to: Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue. Across the margent of the world I fled, And troubled the gold gateway of the stars, Smiting for shelter on their clanged bars; Fretted to dulcet jars And silvern chatter the pale ports o' the moon. I said to Dawn: Be sudden—to Eve: Be soon; With thy young skiey blossom heap me over From this tremendous Lover— Float thy vague veil about me, lest He see! I tempted all His servitors, but to find My own betrayal in their constancy, In faith to Him their fickleness to me, Their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit. To all swift things for swiftness did I sue; Clung to the whistling mane of every wind. But whether they swept, smoothly fleet, The long savannahs of the blue; Or, whether, Thunder-driven, They clanged his chariot 'thwart a heaven, Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o' their feet:— Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue. Still with unhurrying chase, And unperturbed pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy, Came on the following Feet, And a Voice above their beat— 'Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me.' I sought no more after that which I strayed In face of man or maid; But still within the little children's eyes Seems something, something that replies, They at least are for me, surely for me! I turned me to them very wistfully; But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair With dawning answers there, Their angel plucked them from me by the hair. Come then, ye other children, Nature's—share With me’ (said I) 'your delicate fellowship; Let me greet you lip to lip, Let me twine with you caresses, Wantoning With our Lady-Mother's vagrant tresses, Banqueting With her in her wind-walled palace, Underneath her azured dais, Quaffing, as your taintless way is, From a chalice Lucent-weeping out of the dayspring.’ So it was done: I in their delicate fellowship was one— Drew the bolt of Nature's secrecies. I knew all the swift importings On the wilful face of skies; I knew how the clouds arise Spumèd of the wild sea-snortings; All that's born or dies Rose and drooped with; made them shapers Of mine own moods, or wailful divine; With them joyed and was bereaven. I was heavy with the even, When she lit her glimmering tapers Round the day's dead sanctities. I laughed in the morning's eyes. I triumphed and I saddened with all weather, Heaven and I wept together, And its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine: Against the red throb of its sunset-heart I laid my own to beat, And share commingling heat; But not by that, by that, was eased my human smart. In vain my tears were wet on Heaven's grey cheek. For ah! we know not what each other says, These things and I; in sound I speak— Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences. Nature, poor stepdame, cannot slake my drouth; Let her, if she would owe me, Drop yon blue bosom-veil of sky, and show me The breasts o’ her tenderness: Never did any milk of hers once bless My thirsting mouth. Nigh and nigh draws the chase, With unperturbed pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy; And past those noisèd Feet A voice comes yet more fleet— 'Lo! naught contents thee, who content'st not Me.' Naked I wait Thy love's uplifted stroke! My harness piece by piece Thou has hewn from me, And smitten me to my knee; I am defenceless utterly. I slept, methinks, and woke, And, slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep. In the rash lustihead of my young powers, I shook the pillaring hours And pulled my life upon me; grimed with smears, I stand amidst the dust o' the mounded years— My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap. My days have crackled and gone up in smoke, Have puffed and burst as sun-starts on a stream. Yea, faileth now even dream The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist; Even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist, Are yielding; cords of all too weak account For earth with heavy griefs so overplussed. Ah! is Thy love indeed A weed, albeit an amarinthine weed, Suffering no flowers except its own to mount? Ah! must— Designer infinite!— Ah! must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst limn with it? My freshness spent its wavering shower i' the dust; And now my heart is as a broken fount, Wherein tear-drippings stagnate, spilt down ever From the dank thoughts that shiver Upon the sighful branches of my mind. Such is; what is to be? The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind? I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds; Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds From the hid battlements of Eternity; Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then Round the half-glimpsed turrets slowly wash again. But not ere him who summoneth I first have seen, enwound With glooming robes purpureal, cypress-crowned; His name I know and what his trumpet saith. Whether man's heart or life it be which yields Thee harvest, must Thy harvest-fields Be dunged with rotten death? Now of that long pursuit Comes on at hand the bruit; That Voice is round me like a bursting sea: 'And is thy earth so marred, Shattered in shard on shard? Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me! 'Strange, piteous, futile thing! Wherefore should any set thee love apart? Seeing none but I makes much of naught' (He said), 'And human love needs human meriting: How hast thou merited— Of all man's clotted clay the dingiest clot? Alack, thou knowest not How little worthy of any love thou art! Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee, Save Me, save only Me? All which I took from thee I did but take, Not for thy harms, But just that thou might'st seek it in My arms. All which thy child's mistake Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home: Rise, clasp My hand, and come!' Halts by me that footfall: Is my gloom, after all, Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly? 'Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest, I am He Whom thou seekest! Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.' https://www.ewtn.com/library/HUMANITY/HNDHVN.HTM
Francis had himself, the most interesting life: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_Thompson Thompson was born in Winckley Street, Preston, Lancashire. His father, Charles, was a doctor who had converted to Roman Catholicism, following his brother Edward Healy Thompson, a friend of Cardinal Manning.[1] Thompson was educated at Ushaw College, near Durham, and then studied medicine at Owens College, now the University of Manchester. He took no real interest in his studies and never practised as a doctor, moving instead to London in 1885, to try to become a writer.[2] Here he was reduced to selling matches and newspapers for a living. During this time, he became addicted to opium, which he first had taken as medicine for ill health. Thompson started living on the streets of Charing Cross and sleeping by the River Thames, with the homeless and other addicts. He was turned down by Oxford University, not because he was unqualified, but because of his addiction. Thompson attempted suicide in his nadir of despair, but was saved from completing the action through a vision which he believed to be that of a youthful poet Thomas Chatterton,[citation needed] who had committed suicide almost a century earlier. A prostitute, whose identity Thompson never revealed, befriended him, gave him lodgings, and shared her income with him. Thompson was later to describe her in his poetry as his saviour. She soon disappeared, however, never to return, in his estimation, because she feared she would taint his growing reputation.[3] In 1888, he had been 'discovered' after sending his poetry to the magazine Merrie England. He had been sought out by the magazine's editors, Wilfrid and Alice Meynell. Recognizing the value of his work, the couple gave him a home and arranged for publication of his first book Poems in 1893. The book attracted the attention of sympathetic critics in the St James's Gazette and other newspapers, and Coventry Patmore wrote a eulogistic notice in the Fortnightly Review of January 1894.[2] Concerned about his opium addiction, which was at its height following his years on the streets, the Meynells sent Thompson to Our Lady of England Priory, Storrington.[2] Thompson subsequently lived as an invalid at Pantasaph, Flintshire in Wales and at Storrington. A lifetime of extreme poverty, ill-health, and an addiction to opium took a heavy toll on Thompson, even though he found success in his last years. He would eventually die from tuberculosis at the age of 47, in the Hospital of St John and St Elizabeth and he is buried in St. Mary's Roman Catholic Cemetery in Kensal Green.[4] His tomb bears the last line from a poem he wrote for his godson - Look for me in the nurseries of Heaven.[5]
I think that these things teach us that God is huntaman and never gives up on His prey, which is out souls, that no matter how hard we try to flee from Him He will always pursue us as He is the Good Shepherd, Matthew 18:12 "What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? View attachment 5307
I have read this thread this morning. It is interesting how many of us are feeling convicted of our sinfulness. I spent the weekend at Knock and at a Carmelite Hermitage. The theme in Knock was on Mercy and at the Hermitage we had a wonderful day on the teachings of St Therese of Liseux. Today I can only marvel at the tender loving mercy of God. With St Therese I embrace my weakness which makes me ever more aware that I am incapable of anything good. It is only Jesus living in me that is capable of virtue. I own nothing of my own except my sins which I hand over to the tender mercy of God who is 'Merciful Love'. St Therese has so much to teach us. We ask God to be our holiness.
Wow,Padraig! I've never even come close to experiencing this. How I wish I could. Why does the veil thin for some, and not for others?
I think we all hear the evil one on a daily basis. Each time we feel negative towards someone, that is not coming from Holy Spirit. It seems the evil one can get to us through our emotions mainly. And we fall for it hook line and sinker. Saint Paul describes love in the form of Charity. And I wonder if this is the language (communication) of Heaven. Lack of Charity may be the evil ones way of (communicating) damaging our friendship with one another and God Himself. I may have shared elsewhere on the forum in the past; having heard loud mocking laughter during Holy Mass on two occasions may years ago. I told the Priest after the second occasion; because I doubted it was possible and an overactive imagination after the first time. I could not pretend not hearing it because on both occasions, I looked around to see who on earth was laughing so loudly and mockingly at the back of the Church. And I could not believe no one else heard it. Everyone was following the Mass completely unaware, so I knew they must not have heard it. When I told the Priest later after the second occasion, he asked me what or who was I praying for, and I remembered who it was. He did not make me feel stupid thank God ,and told me to continue praying for that person. Thank God I never heard it again. A few years later I had another evil encounter, and that was through the emotions mainly. It is very hard to explain; but I will try. This happened three times on three different occasions and each time it got more terrifying. After the third time, I made an appointment and told the Priest exactly what happened. Thank God he believed me, and it never happened again after I spoke with him. One Sunday, just before the Priest went to the left of the Altar to read the Gospel. Someone unseen hit me so hard in the back I nearly fell forward. It felt like a blow from a fist. I looked around to see if a nutter was in the row of seats behind me. Everyone was following their Mass sheets completely calmly. And I felt AFRAID from something I could not see or hear. As the Priest came down to the foot of the Altar and prayed with his back to the congregation, before he went to the left hand side to read the Gospel; the fear and terror I felt can only be described like the Priest had some sort of power to destroy me, and would. This all disappeared suddenly when the Priest got to the podium to read the Gospel. After the first time, I was shocked, and thought this is my imagination, it can't be real. And dismissed it. The second time, it started with what felt like a blow from a fist again in my back, and I did not look around because I recognised it from the first time and just by instinct reaction, grabbed the seat in front of me to stop me falling forward. It was at the exact same time in the Holy Mass, the same little Church, the same Priest. And the terror and fear was worse than fear of big fat hairy spiders, or things like that, they pale into insignificance to the fear that came out of nowhere over me and vanished as suddenly as the Priest mounted the podium to read the Gospel. The terror was at it's worst as the Priest prayed with his back to the congregation, and the second time I wondered if I was picking up some fear from the Priest himself. I found out later he had been a Chaplin in a prison in London before he came to the West Country, and I wondered if he had been attacked from behind while saying Mass. I will never know this side of the pale if that was what it was all about. The third time, it started once again with what felt like a sudden blow from a fist in my back. I was in greater terror than before because I knew what was coming in the form of the most indescribable fear. And it happened exactly like the first two occasions; but overwhelming greater horror, fear, terror. I told my husband afterwards, we are not going to that Church again. This sort of thing had never happened any where else, and I was not prepared to get myself into that situation ever again. I began to think about it and wonder what it was all about, and why. None of us are perfect, we are all sinners. I was one of those people who did go to confession regularily. So I was very puzzled. I then began to think, if this happens in another Church, do I then say I will not go there again, and the devil has scared me away from potentially one Church after another. I though in my simple Catholic Faith. While I keep this secret, it is keeping it in the dark, and I must bring it out into the light if it is ever going to stop permanently. So I went to confession to the Priest who was the same one the encounter happened when saying Holy Mass. I told him I needed to talk to him, about what happened during Mass on three occasions and asked to make an appointment. He said to me, after confession come into the Priests house and you can tell me all about it. Unsurprisingly I was the only one there for confessions. As we all know not many people bother to go to confession for a number of years now. Anyway, as I told him what happened, he stopped me on a few occasions and read from a book he had on his table. It may have been a Bible. He listened to me patiently, and each time he stopped me, he read, pondered and then said carry on. Until I told him the whole story. I even told him I felt like I was risking being thought of as a nutter; but I did not care if he wrote me off as a weirdo. I was more concerned to bring this into the light and beat the devil at his own game, no matter the cost to me. He blessed me when we finished our conversation and I left feeling glad to have got the courage to tell him all this. I never went back to the little Church where it happened, not to put God to the test; but it never happened again thank God. And I attended Mass many times said by the same Priest who like so many have numerous Churches to serve bless them. Sorry if it is wordy and maybe even already shared elsewhere on the Forum. But it is true.
All quite possible...and yes i believe you. The laughing is normal tactics...i hear crows but that is different story. But for them to actually physically attack you...that is bigger issue. You were probably getting too close to God. Not to say you personally (maybe you personally ) but maybe your prayers or your actions. For God to allow physical contact... it must have been something big. I wish i could help you...not sure what it can be. The priest was impressive to ask...who you were praying for when you heard laughter. It was either that or they were trying to distract you. Your prayer life might be getting stronger at Mass. But even that comes and goes. Some people say they want those experiences...but its not something you want. God gives those experiences... to those He thinks can handle it. I think...we will all start experiencing these things more and more. If the demons have been released on earth... then we have entered a spiritual age. The sheep will keep walking lost in day to day experiences. But the shepherds will start battling evil in a much more direct manner. If this topic sacares anyone, then just ask God to be a prayer warrior...without the hand to hand combat. But, once in the battle, the eye of the neeedle gets MUCH smaller. May God Bless and Protect you
Thank you for your reply fallen saint. My motive for sharing was to highlight how emotions can be accessed by the evil one. How else did I feel in my humanity and experience the overwhelming terror after it felt like I had been punched by a fist. When I had heard the horrible laughter a few years before. I had felt no sense of fear from it, just shock that such a thing could happen in the Church during Holy Mass. And yes, the Priest at the time said satan is trying to distract me from what ever or whoever I was praying for. That person had never given me any reason to love them; but I always felt it was necessary and my duty before God to pray for them, they have since died RIP. But the fisty blows and the terror that overwhelmed me are still a mystery to me from the second experience. The Priest on the second occasion gave me no clue as to why it may have happened. Either he did not know, or as I wondered myself, was it something he was battling with and did not want to share it with me. He asked me very precisely and asked me two or three times to retell him and repeat what I experienced. As if he needed to know exact details about the timing of the attack, and how it unfolded. And what was happening in the Mass and what he was doing. I am not concerned about it or the why. Just so all know the devil is not a figment of the imagination as some would like us to believe. It would not be the first time I went to share something with a Priest which was about him not me. God uses us sometimes and does not want us to know the details. We are His servants after all. Thank God He is the Master and the one in charge. A very important lesson I would like to share with the forum is. I can truthfully say from personal experience that the devil can penetrate far more deeply into our being, our very souls through other human beings and how they treat us than the devil himself could in a one to one and even as you say hand to hand combat situation. Or to put it another way, I have been far more deeply wounded by the behaviour of other humans that the devil did in my experience related above, and that is no joke.
