Timeline of Saint Rose of Lima

 

Timeline of Saint Rose of Lima

1586 - Birth

• Born on April 20, 1586, in Lima, Peru, as Isabel Flores de Oliva.
• Her family nicknamed her "Rose" after a maid reportedly saw her face transform into a rose during her infancy.

1590s - Childhood Devotion

• Rose demonstrated an early inclination toward piety, spending hours in prayer and fasting as a child.
• She was inspired by the life of Saint Catherine of Siena and sought to emulate her spiritual practices.

1597 - Early Acts of Mortification

• At the age of 11, Rose began to practice self-discipline by fasting and using coarse garments, showing her growing commitment to asceticism.

1602 - Vow of Virginity

• Rose formally consecrated her virginity to God, rejecting all suitors.
• To deter attention, she cut her hair short and rubbed pepper and lime on her face to mar her beauty.

1603 - Rejection of Material Wealth

• Rose turned down opportunities to live in comfort, choosing instead a small cell in her family’s garden where she could pray and meditate.

1606 - Entry into the Third Order of Saint Dominic

• Rose became a tertiary member of the Dominican Order, dedicating her life to prayer, penance, and works of charity while remaining a layperson.

1607 - Mystical Visions and Ecstasies

• Rose began to experience mystical visions of Jesus and the Virgin Mary. These were often accompanied by long hours of prayer and fasting.

1610 - Establishment of Charity Work

• She transformed her family’s property into a place of refuge for the poor and sick, providing food, clothing, and herbal remedies.

1612 - Spiritual Struggles and Triumphs

• Rose endured great physical and spiritual suffering, offering her pain for the salvation of souls and the Church.
• She wore a silver crown with small spikes on the inside as a symbolic imitation of Christ’s crown of thorns.

1615 - Prophesies and Miracles

• Rose gained a reputation for foretelling events and performing miracles during her lifetime.
• Her sanctity attracted visitors, though she remained humble and sought solitude.

1617 - Death

• Saint Rose passed away on August 24, 1617, at the age of 31, after a prolonged illness.
• Her funeral drew thousands of mourners, and miracles were reported at her grave.

1618-1619 - Posthumous Miracles

• Numerous miracles were attributed to her intercession after her death, solidifying her reputation for sanctity.

1667 - Beatification

• Rose was beatified by Pope Clement IX on April 15, 1667, marking the official recognition of her holiness.

1671 - Canonization

• She was canonized by Pope Clement X on April 12, 1671, becoming the first saint of the Americas.

Feast Day

• Her feast day is observed on August 23 in most regions and August 30 in Peru and parts of Latin America.

St. Rose of Lima - HEROINES IN BLACK AND WHITE

 

CHAPTER 13

HEROINES IN BLACK AND WHITE

IN THE months following her death, the fame of Rose Flores spread throughout South America. Each day hundreds of people came to Santo Domingo to ask her prayers. As the holy remains had been buried within the solemn cloister of the convent, however, no woman could enter to pray beside the grave. Finally, because of the increasing demand of Rose's friends, the Archbishop gave permission for the body to be moved into the public church. At this ceremony, which took place on March 19, 1619, some nineteen months after Rose's death, the remains were placed in a golden casket and set in a niche near the main altar.

The new site was not satisfactory, however. Crowds were continually coming and going through the sanctuary, even while the Holy Sacrifice was being offered. Finally the relics were moved again. this time to the shrine of Saint Catherine of Siena a little chapel on the Epistle side of the main altar.

As the years passed, Maria de Oliva was amazed to find her position in society changing. No longer was she the simple wife of a man who made weapons for the Spanish armies in Lima. She had become an important person in her own right. Hardly a week passed that people did not come to pay her tribute, to congratulate her on being the mother of a saint. Many even left sizeable alms in gratitude for favors they had received after praying to Rose.

But the woman did not become proud. Her character had undergone a considerable change since Rose's death, and it was hard to believe she was the same person who had once ridiculed the Rule of the Dominican Tertiaries, and flown into a rage when told she would end her days wearing the habit of Saint Dominic's family.

"May God forgive me my many sins!" she often thought. "Dear Rose, pray for your poor mother!"

On February 10, 1624, the people of Lima flocked to the dedication of a new convent for women-the sixth to be built in the city. It was the Monastery of Santa Catalina, that had been foretold by Rose when she was living as a hermit in her father's garden. It was the first convent of Dominican nuns to be founded in Lima, and the tears flowed freely from Maria's eyes as she assisted at the Mass being offered in the new chapel. Her blessed child had been right. Father Luis de Bilbao was saying this first Mass. And in just a few minutes Doña Lucia de la Daga, whose husband and five children had died some years ago, and her young sister Clara, would kneel to receive the Dominican habit.

Within four years of its dedication, the Monastery of Santa Catalina sheltered one hundred and forty-five nuns. Soon this number increased to three hundred. Many priests, explaining the large number of vocations, stated that those already living behind the walls of Santa Catalina believed Rose Flores was in their midst. They felt she was helping them with her prayers, that she would make them saints. What wonder that Santa Catalina was flourishing? Not only was Saint Catherine of Siena its special friend and protector; Rose was watching over its welfare, too.

One afternoon, immediately after the nuns of Santa Catalina had finished chanting Vespers, a young lay Sister sought out the Prioress-once Doña Lucia de la Daga, now Mother Lucia of the Most Holy Trinity. The young religious wore a worried look.

"Sister Maria is worse, Mother. She's been calling for you all afternoon."

The Prioress looked up with surprise. "But she was so much better this morning, Sister! Doctor John de Tejada told me so himself."

The lay Sister sighed. "She's over seventy, Mother, and not too strong. I think you'd better come at once."

So Mother Lucia made her way to the tiny cell where the old Sister lay ill. Famous throughout Peru as the mother of Rose Flores. Sister Maria of Saint Mary had been a nun at Santa Catalina since 1629. But that was only four years-surely the good soul wasn't going to die yet!

Sister Maria thought otherwise, however. As the door opened and the Prioress hastened to her side, she raised herself on a feeble arm.

"Dear Mother Lucia, Rose said she would come to get me when I died. I think it will be tonight."

The Prioress fingered her rosary nervously. The lay Sister had been right: Sister Maria had suffered a change for the worse since morning. Her wrinkled face was now very pale and her breath came in labored gasps.

"But my dear, you mustn't say such things. Why not ask Rose for a cure? She's helped you before so many times."

"A cure? Why should I want that? I'm an old woman now, of little use to anyone. My husband is dead, my boy Ferdinand, my little Rose-ah, I just want to go to Heaven to be happy with these dear ones!"

There was silence in the little room as the sick woman fell back on her pillow. Mother Lucia looked down at the worn face, and a thousand memories rushed in upon her. The walls of Santa Catalina seemed to melt away and she was a young woman once again, a happy wife to Antonio Perez de Mondeja. Suddenly a girl's voice echoed in her ears:

"All this will pass away, Doña Lucia. Your husband and children will die. You will found the Monastery of Santa Catalina with your vast wealth. My own mother will seek the Dominican habit from your hands," How impossible these words had seemed, back in 1614! Yet everything Rose had foretold was now a reality. Antonio was dead, their four sons and their daughter. Gaspar Flores had been called home, too. And the Monastery of Santa Catalina now gave praise to God by night and day.

Suddenly the sick woman opened her eyes. "Rose... Rose...where are you?"

Mother Lucia stretched out a soothing hand.

"It's all right, my dear. Rose is in Heaven. Don't you remember? She's going to be canonized by the Holy Father."

Sister Maria shook her head. "I mean my granddaughter. Mother Lucia, could I see Mary Rose again? She...she reminds me so much of my own little Rose."

The Prioress nodded. "Of course you may see Mary Rose. And I'll call the others, too, if you wish."

"To say some prayers? Yes, I'd like that."

So presently the Sisters were assembled. The majority knelt in the corridor outside Sister Maria's room, but several gathered around the bed of the dying woman. All save one wore the habit of the Dominican Order. This was a girl of fifteen, in a simple black dress. She was Mary Rose Flores. whose father, Ferdinand, had died when she was very small. Upon her mother's death, the Governor of Chile, Don Francisco Lasso de la Vega. had sent her to Lima to be cared for by her grandmother. When the latter had entered Santa Catalina. Mary Rose had come along, too.

Affectionately the Prioress watched her make her way into the room. She was a pretty child, the image of her holy aunt, but with one slight difference. She had a curious birthmark on one cheek-a tiny red rose. From the moment she had been born this birthmark had excited great curiosity. It was as though Rose Flores had set a sign upon her favorite brother's child, a sign which told that this little niece was already one of God's chosen souls.

"Come in, dear. Sister Maria wants to talk to you."

Mary Rose moved slowly toward the bed, her dark eyes wide with sudden fear. "You're not going to die, Grandmother? You're not going to leave me alone?"

Sister Maria smiled at the anxious young face. "I think so, my dear. But don't worry. These good religious will take care of you."

Mary Rose dropped to her knees. She mustn't cry. Her grandmother was going to Heaven. Didn't everyone in Lima know that Rose would lead her straight to the throne of God?

"You-you won't forget me?"

"Forget you? Of course not."

"But couldn't you live a little longer, Grandmother? Couldn't you wait to see me wear the Dominican habit?"

The dying woman smiled. "No, child. I'll watch that happy scene from Heaven. Ah, but you're lucky to have realized the worth of a religious vocation so young! Do you know what this foolish old woman said when Rose told her she would die a Dominican?"

The girl nodded. She had heard the story many times. Maria de Oliva had stated she would enter a convent only after she had seen an elephant fly. "Yes, Grandmother. I remember. But you shouldn't tire yourself now. You should try to sleep." The woman breathed a deep sigh. "You're right, child. I am tired. But don't go away. Stay here

beside me."

Mary Rose put her hand in that of the dying woman, and for a moment there was a deep silence. Suddenly Sister Maria made an effort to speak.

"Mother Prioress..."

The latter stepped quickly forward. "Yes, my dear?"

"Ask the others to start praying, will you? 1-1 haven't much longer to live."

The foundress of the Monastery of Santa Catalina tiptoed to the open door and gave a signal. Immediately the nuns in the corridor and those inside the room began to sing the Salve Regina, that ancient chant sung by Dominicans whenever a fellow religious is dying. As the strains of the beautiful hymn filled the air, a bell tinkled in the distance. For the last time the chaplain was bringing the Blessed Sacrament to the mother of Rose Flores.

Sister Maria smiled. Her eyes, shining now with a new brightness, were fixed on some distant vision.

"Wait, Rose," she whispered, "not yet..."

Mother Lucia brushed back her tears. She was suddenly very happy. The air was full of a sweet fragrance now, that same fragrance which had filled the Church of Santo Domingo as the body of a saint had rested between tall funeral candles. And though she could not see the vision that rejoiced the heart of the dying woman, the Prioress knew the truth. A saint had come to keep a holy promise.

New York City

Feast of the Resurrection of Our Lord

April 25, 1943

St. Rose of Lima - THE PRIDE OF PERU

 

CHAPTER 12

THE PRIDE OF PERU

D AWN FOUND the streets of Lima filled with people hurrying to Don Gonzalo's house. Word of Rose's death had spread like wildfire, and there was an eager rush to obtain relics. Among the first to arrive was Alfonsa Serrano, a close friend of the dead girl.

"Last night Rose appeared to me!" she declared excitedly. "I was sound asleep. Suddenly, a little after midnight, a bright light shone in my room. In the middle of the light I saw Rose, dressed as a Dominican Tertiary, and shining like the sun. She told me she had just entered Paradise."

Father Alonso Velasquez, together with every other visitor in the de Massa house, listened with interest to what Alfonsa had to say. This girl had been one of Rose's most intimate associates. Indeed, the two had made a bargain some years before: the one who died first was to appear to the other, encouraging her to continue with prayers and good works.

"Rose seems to have kept her word," smiled the priest. "She was dead only a few minutes when she came to tell you about the beauties of Heaven. As far as that goes, she's appeared to several other people, too-among them Doctor John del Castillo." All morning the crowds streamed in and out of the tiny room where Rose had died. Strangely enough, no one felt sad. The sight of Rose's body, the face more beautiful than they had ever seen it, filled them with joy. There was a strange fragrance, too-as of freshly-cut roses and lilies. It was everywhere in the de Massa house, but especially about

the body.

"I don't understand it," Maria de Oliva told Father Alonso. "Surely it isn't coming from that plain little wreath of flowers we put on her head!"

"It's a miracle, señora," the priest replied, smiling. "God is taking this way to show us Rose is a saint."

As the hours passed and still more people thronged the house, Doña Maria de Usátegui was repeatedly asked to show what keepsakes she had of Rose. Accordingly, the miraculous statue of the Child Jesus, "The Little Doctor," was put on display, together with a rosary, some holy pictures, and other items. There was also a letter which Rose had written to Doña Maria some years before. The letter was signed "Rose of Saint Mary," the name so loved by Gaspar's daughter that she had taken it for her own the day she became a Dominican Tertiary.

Looking at the letter, Maria de Oliva recalled that far-off night when she had found her daughter fainting from hunger in her little garden cell. At the time she had wanted to send Marianna to a nearby store to buy chocolate and sugar with which to make a nourishing drink. But Rose had begged that Marianna should not be sent. In a few minutes, she insisted, a servant from the de Massa house would arrive with the hot chocolate already prepared, because she had asked her Guardian Angel to tell Doña Maria of the sudden attack of weakness.

"And so it happened," thought the mother. "In the middle of the night there was a great knocking at the garden gate. When I went to open it, there was the servant with a silver pitcher full of delicious chocolate. Rose drank it and felt so much better. The next day she wrote this letter to thank Doña Maria for her kindness."

Many other stories were told of Rose's gifts and virtues during the hours her body lay in state in Don Gonzalo's house. Several of these came from the Indian servant woman, Marianna. She, as well as Ferdinand (now a soldier in Chile), had shared many a secret with Rose. Faces paled as Marianna described Rose's heroic sacrifices, undertaken in the interests of sinners. For years she had worn a spiked metal crown under her white Tertiary veil: although, when the Jesuit priest, Father John de Villalobos, had heard of this unusual mortification. he had been so upset that he insisted on blunting most of the sharp points. Rose had also worn a chain about her waist, locking it in place, then

throwing the key into the well near the back door. "One night she couldn't stand this painful chain any longer," said Marianna. "She sobbed and cried, and I knew I'd have to break the lock. But how, without waking the family?"

Her hearers were silent, absorbed in the picture of heroic generosity which her words painted so vividly.

"Go on, Marianna," said Father Alonso at last. "Explain what happened."

"The blessed child began to pray to the Mother of God, and the chain loosened of itself and fell at her feet!"

At the insistence of Father John de Lorenzana, a former Provincial of the Dominicans, Marianna continued to relate other stories about Rose's heroism. Finally Don Gonzalo requested permission to speak.

"I always knew Rose was a saint, Father John. Now, will you please look at this?"

The priest turned to take the paper Don Gonzalo handed him. It was a document, signed by Rose as she lay dying, requesting that the priests of Santo Domingo grant her an alms: she begged to be buried within the cloister of their convent.

"I felt every religious Order in Lima would want that holy body." Don Gonzalo hastened to explain. "In order to avoid trouble, I told Rose she would be practicing humility if she asked her Superiors in the Dominican Order to give her a burial place." Father John de Lorenzana examined the paper carefully. There was no doubt that Rose's signature was authentic.

"It's nearly four o'clock," he said. "I wonder if the body shouldn't be taken to Santo Domingo now. There are so many people crowding this house. At the church there would be much more room."

So presently Rose was being escorted through the streets of Lima for the last time. The crowds were so huge, so eager to obtain relics, that the soldiers of the Viceroy who had been guarding the de Massa house had to clear a way for the funeral procession. Everywhere-from balconies, from windows and doorways-men and women tried to get a last look at Gaspar's holy daughter. The air resounded with repeated cries as they begged Rose's blessing from her place in Paradise. Nor did anyone seemed surprised that the six pallbearers were members of the Audiencia, that very important group of men which assisted the Viceroy in matters of government. They knew that nothing was too good for La Rosita, their little Rose, who now was not only the pride of Lima but the pride of all Peru as well.

Slowly the immense procession made its way to the Dominican church. Gone were the usual distinctions between class and race. Spanish nobles walked side by side with Indian beggars. Negro slaves found themselves elbowing learned professors. Indeed, so dense was the crowd that Bartholomew Lobo Guerrero, successor to Turribius as Archbishop of Lima, had been unable to get to the de Massa house to head the procession. His carriage was forced to make a detour and await the

body at Santo Domingo. At the church, the holy remains were placed on an elevated platform near the sanctuary. A small space was kept clear so that the sick might be able to approach and beg for cures. Rapidly the word spread that the body was warm and flexible, as though life still remained. And then there came a great cry of wonder as the Rosary Shrine, before which Rose had loved to pray, was seen to be bathed in a glorious unearthly light.

"Another miracle!" thought Father Luis de Bilbao, for fourteen years Rose's confessor. "The Mother of God herself pays honor to our little friend."

Because it was the Peruvian custom for burial to take place a few hours after death, preparations were soon being made to carry Rose's body into the convent cloister where a grave had been prepared.

But such a cry arose from the people who had not yet secured a relic that the Archbishop consented to postpone the funeral. It would be held the next day, he said. In the meantime, the body would remain where it was, so that everyone might venerate it with due devotion. During the night it would lie in state in the novitiate chapel.

But the Archbishop's plan was to suffer a change.

When dawn came, and the body was returned to the public church, the people of Lima refused to be parted from Rose. So loud was the chorus of tearful prayers that the celebrants of the funeral Mass could scarcely hear one another. The Bishop of Guatemala, Pedro de Valencia, could not believe his senses. How was he to conduct the ceremonies at the grave if such a hubbub continued?

Finally another order was given: The funeral would be postponed for an additional twenty-four hours. At this good news a great wave of relief swept through the crowded church. People cried for joy. Now there was still a chance to claim a piece of the white woolen habit in which their dead friend was clothed, or one of the beautiful roses which encircled her head.

As the hours passed, excitement reached an even higher pitch. Everyone knew that several hopeless invalids had been cured after touching the holy body. One of these, a Negro lad of twelve years, was particularly in the limelight. He had been born with such badly crippled feet that he had never been able to walk. He could only drag himself along on his knees. Urged now by his great faith in the power of Rose's intercession with God, he had somehow managed to reach the elevated platform on which her body rested and had settled himself under it, behind the folds of the richly decorated black velvet pall. No threats could dislodge him from his refuge. In the end, La Rosita had been pleased with his prayers. She had granted him the normal use of his feet, so that he might walk, run and jump like other children his age.

"Look at the boy now!" said Don Gonzalo to his wife. "Did you ever see such joy in a child's face? Why, he's positively beaming! He's even helping other sick people to reach the body."

Doña Maria nodded. She had always believed that Rose Flores was a saint. Now she knew the whole world agreed with her, and her heart sang a Te Deum all its own.

But the Archbishop, Bartholomew Lobo Guerrero, was worried. As the hours passed, he sought out the Prior of Santo Domingo.

"How many times has the body been clothed with a fresh habit?" he asked. "Four or five?"

"Six times, Your Excellency. There's been an enormous demand for bits of the habit as relics. Many people have scissors hidden in their sleeves and even the Viceroy's soldiers cannot keep all of them from reaching the body."

The Archbishop nodded. "Then we'll have a secret burial this afternoon, Father-during the siesta. It's the only way."

The Prior realized the wisdom of the Archbishop's words. If the body of Rose Flores was not buried soon, there was a chance it might suffer serious injury from the great crowds.

"A secret burial," he said slowly. "Yes, Your Excellency. I'll see that everything is in readiness."

Promptly at noon the Dominican church began to empty; soon each door could be locked and bolted. No one showed surprise, for it was the prevailing custom that everyone take a rest from twelve o'clock until three. During these siesta hours there was little activity anywhere. Churches and shops were closed, and the shutters on each house carefully drawn.

But this day there was no siesta at Santo Domingo, nor did the Fathers of the community go to dinner as usual. Instead, priests and lay Brothers came in silent procession to the spot where Rose's body was lying. Tall wax candles flickered as usual, and there was the same sweet fragrance of flowers.

Once more the onlookers' hearts marveled at the beauty of this young sister in Saint Dominic who had been dead for thirty-six hours.

"Blessed be the day you came into the world," thought Father John de Lorenzana. "Pray for us, little Rose, now that you are in Heaven!"

The pallbearers stepped forward to take up their holy burden, and soon the procession had passed from the church into the cloistered garden of the convent. No sound was to be heard but the rustle of rosaries and the muted tread of the Fathers. This last farewell to Rose was of necessity a secret affair, lest the citizens of Lima learn what was happening and attempt to storm the church. But it was joyful nonetheless; there was happiness in every heart as Gaspar's daughter was finally laid to rest. A girl had died; a new saint now walked the courts of Heaven.

January 21 - St. Agnes

 அர்ச். ஆக்னெஸ் திருநாள் - ஜனவரி 21

கன்னிகையும் வேதசாட்சியுமான அர்ச். ஆக்னெஸ் திருநாள்

ஆக்னெஸ் என்ற கிரேக்க வார்த்தைக்கு "பரிசுத்த கற்பு" என்று அர்த்தம். கி.பி. 291ம் வருடம் உரோமாவில் பணக்கார குடும்பத்தில் பிறந்த ஆக்னெஸ், 13வது அகவையில் தன்னை முழுமையாக கிறிஸ்துவுக்கே அர்ப்பணித்தார்.

ஆக்னெசின் அழகில் மயங்கிய ஒருவன் திருமணம் செய்ய முயன்ற போது, அவர் மறுத்தார். அதனால் கோபமடைந்த அந்த வாலிபன், அவரை கிறிஸ்துவ நம்பிக்கையாளர் என்று அதிகாரிகளிடம் காட்டிக்கொடுத்தான்.

உரோமாவின் அதிகாரி செம்ப்ரோனியுஸ், ஆக்னெசை உடைகள் கழற்றிப் தெருக்களில் விபச்சார விடுதிக்குக் கொண்டு செல்ல உத்தரவிட்டான். ஆக்னெஸ் ஆண்டவரை ஜெபித்தபோது, அவரது முடி அதிகமாக வளர்ந்து உடலை மூடியது. அவரை துன்புறுத்த முயன்றவர்களின் கண்கள் குருடாயின.

பின்னர், வேறு ஒரு அதிகாரி, ஆக்னெசை உயிருடன் எரிக்க உத்தரவிட்டார். ஆனால் நெருப்பு அவரை தீண்டவில்லை. இறுதியில், ஒரு ரோமன் படைத்தலைவன் வாளால் அவரை கொன்றான்.

ஆக்னெசின் திருத்தலம்:
அர்ச். ஆக்னெசின் உடல், உரோமாவின் வியா நோமென்டானா பகுதியில் அடக்கம் செய்யப்பட்டது. அவரது கல்லறியில் ஜெபித்த எமெரன்ஷியானா என்ற பெண் கூட, கல்லால் கொல்லப்பட்டு வேதசாட்சி ஆனார்.

அர்ச். ஆக்னெஸின் பெருமை:
அவருடைய எலும்புகள் உரோமா நகரின் வியா நோமென்டானா திருத்தலத்தில் பாதுகாக்கப்பட்டு வருகின்றன. மேலும், பிளாசா நவோனா பகுதியில் உள்ள சிற்றாலயத்தில் அவரின் பரிசுத்த மண்டையோடு பாதுகாக்கப்பட்டுள்ளது.

ஆக்னெஸின் மறை சடங்குகள்:
ஒவ்வொரு ஆண்டும், ஆக்னெஸின் திருநாளன்று ரோமா நகரில் இரண்டு செம்மறி ஆடுகள் திருச்சபை சடங்குகளில் மந்திரிக்கப்படுகின்றன. இந்த ஆடுகளின் கம்பளி, கன்னியாஸ்திரிகள் மூலம் நெய்யப்பட்டு, பாப்பரசருக்கு அளிக்கப்படுகிறது.

ஆக்னெசின் வரிகள்:
"உன்னுடைய வாளால் என் இரத்தம் சிந்தப்படலாம். ஆனால் கிறிஸ்துவுக்கே அர்ப்பணிக்கப்பட்ட என் பரிசுத்தத்தைத் தீண்ட முடியாது!"

அர்ச். ஆக்னெஸே, எங்களுக்காக வேண்டிக்கொள்ளும்!

St. Agnes – Martyrdom on January 21

Martyr and Patroness of Chastity

Agnes, whose name means "chaste" in Greek, was a beautiful young girl born in a wealthy Roman family in 291 AD.

At the age of 13, Agnes consecrated herself to Jesus Christ. A pagan nobleman, captivated by her beauty, proposed marriage to her. Agnes refused, declaring her devotion to Christ.

Enraged, the young man reported her Christian faith to the Roman authorities. Prefect Sempronius sentenced her to be paraded naked through the streets and taken to a brothel. However, as Agnes prayed, her hair miraculously grew long and covered her body.

Miraculous Events and Martyrdom

All who attempted to harm Agnes were struck blind. Even the Prefect’s son, who mocked her faith, died but was revived through her prayers.

Terrified, Prefect Sempronius recused himself. Another officer ordered Agnes to be burned alive. Yet, the flames parted and did not harm her. Finally, a Roman officer ended her life by stabbing her throat with a sword on January 21, 304 AD, during Emperor Diocletian's reign.

Agnes’s blood was collected by Christians, and her body was buried along the Via Nomentana in Rome.

The Legacy of St. Agnes

A few days later, Emerentiana, a devoted Christian, was found praying at Agnes's tomb. She was stoned to death for her faith and was later canonized.

The bones of St. Agnes are enshrined beneath the high altar of the Sant’Agnese fuori le Mura church in Rome, built in 324 AD. Her skull is displayed in the Sant’Agnese in Agone church at Piazza Navona.

Feast Day Tradition

On the Feast of St. Agnes, two lambs are solemnly blessed at the Sant’Agnese fuori le Mura church. Their wool is used to weave the pallium—a white woolen band with black crosses—symbolizing the Pope's authority to grant jurisdiction to archbishops.

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Quote from St. Agnes:
"You may stain your sword with my blood, but you will never profane my body, consecrated to Christ."

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St. Agnes, Pray for Us!

St. Rose of Lima - The New Home

 

CHAPTER 11

A NEW HOME

M ARIA WAS almost beside herself at Rose's words. She a Dominican nun? Never! Yet the young Tertiary refused to listen to the protests of her mother. One day, when the Monastery of Santa Catalina was a reality, Maria de Oliva would go there to ask for the Dominican habit. She would spend her last years in God's service.

The months passed and Rose continued her hermit's life. There were times, however, when she confided to some of her friends that her real desire was to be a martyr.

"If I were a man, I'd like nothing better than to be a missionary," she told Frances de Montoya, a young woman about her own age. "Just think how many missionaries have gone straight to Heaven because they died at the hands of savages!"

Frances shivered. Although she, too, belonged to the Third Order of Saint Dominic, she had always found it hard to practice mortifications-even very small ones. Indeed, her visits to Rose caused he much concern. There were so many mosquitoes in the garden of Gaspar Flores. They filled the adobe hermitage and Frances always emerged with a great number of painful bites.

"I'd never be brave enough to want a martyr's death," she sighed. "I can't even stand being bitten by these mosquitoes of yours."

Rose smiled. "Yet you still come to see me, Frances. How do you explain that, if you're so afraid of suffering?"

"But this is different! You don't know how much better I feel after a talk with you! I'm so grateful you still let me come, Rose, even though you really don't want a lot of visitors. There's just one thing I wonder about."

"What?"

"Why don't the mosquitoes bite your mother? Or Doña Maria de Usátegui? Or you?"

"Because we've promised never to hurt these little guests."

"Guests? Is that what you call these wretched insects?"

Rose nodded. "Suppose you make the promise, too, Frances. Then you won't be bitten any more."

The visitor looked ruefully at her arm. Already there were three red marks on it. "If I could have a little peace when I come to see you, I'd promise anything."

"All right. Offer the pain of these three bites for the Poor Souls, in honor of the Blessed Trinity. Then make your promise."

Frances could not help laughing. "I'll never kill any of your guests again," she announced firmly. "I just hope they understand what I'm saying."

Rose smiled. Of course the little creatures understood. From now on Frances de Montoya would be one more person who could visit the adobe hermitage in peace.

On April 30, 1615, Rose had her twenty-ninth birthday. Some weeks later she was surprised to find her small garden retreat surrounded by an excited mob. Women were crying. Men-husbands and sons-were pale with fear. Word had just been received that a fleet of Dutch pirate ships was anchored off the harbor of Callao. This seaport, only ten miles from Lima, was poorly defended. Probably the newcomers would begin a successful invasion at any moment.

"Rose, you must pray hard!" cried Don Gonzalo de Massa. "The Dutch intend to seize our gold and silver, our slaves, even our children!"

"They're Calvinists," put in his wife. Doña Maria. "They believe it's their duty to kill every Catholic they can find."

Doctor John del Castillo, one of the finest physicians in Lima, nodded. "They'll burn the churches first," he declared. "They have a great hatred for the Blessed Sacrament, Rose. They've committed dreadful outrages in other cities. My dear, will you pray as you've never prayed before?"

Rose had come out of her hermitage. There were a great many people in the garden, and fear was stamped on every face.

"Of course I'll pray," she said quietly. "But  there's no real reason to be alarmed. The Dutch won't try to land at Callao. They won't fire on the town, either."

In vain Don Gonzalo described the dreadful things done by pirates in Panama and other Spanish colonies. Rose insisted that during the night the enemy fleet would lift anchor and sail away from Callao. But the crowd found her words hard to believe, and in the end she agreed to pray for Lima's safety, to ask the special protection of Saint Mary Magdalen, whose feast would occur the next day.

All night the city made ready for the expected attack. Couriers kept arriving from Callao with the latest news. Special services were ordered in all the churches. Confessionals were crowded. The scene was much like that which had taken place eleven years before, when a sermon by Father Francis Solano had converted enormous numbers of sinners. Fear and anxiety filled the hearts of everyone-Spaniard, Indian and Negro. No one cared to go to bed that night. People flocked to the churches instead, or followed the numerous processions of the Blessed Sacrament which wound through the darkened streets.

Having received permission from Father Alonso Velasquez to leave her little hermitage, Rose hurried to Santo Domingo with a few women friends. Her heart was torn between two desires. If the Dutch pirates were allowed to attack Lima, she might have the chance to die as a martyr. Since they were not, thousands of lives would be saved.

Yet, as she found a place in the crowded Chapel of Saint Jerome in the Dominican church, she smiled at the thought of obtaining a martyr's crown and going straight to Heaven. Certainly if the Dutch were to come, she would make no effort to hide from them. With her rosary in her hand, she would give her life in defense of the Blessed Sacrament.

When the grey dawn finally lifted, it was upon a very different scene from that of the night before. People were singing in the streets. Gone were the anxiety and fear of a few hours before. The latest message from Callao had stated that some time during the night the Dutch ships had lifted anchor, and were now no longer to be seen.

"It's a miracle!" Doña Maria de Usátegui told her husband. "And I'm sure our little Rose is responsible! Gonzalo, don't you think she may have offered her life to spare Lima from destruction?"

Don Gonzalo nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised," he said. "She has more courage and charity than any other girl I know."

There were others who shared the same opinion. Presently, to the accompaniment of joyful church bells, the air was echoing with one cry:

"The prayers of Rose Flores have saved us from harm!"

In the company of her mother and friends, Rose went slowly homeward. She was tired and a little confused. Why did people think her prayers so powerful? Didn't they realize they owed their deliverance to God's mercy? She, Rose Flores, was less than dust and not worthy of any honor.

"But I'm glad you saved the city, Lord," she thought. "And I'm not too sad that You didn't let me be a martyr. After all, You do give a kind of martyrdom to everyone in this world. It's a rather plain sort, without swords or bullets or fire-just our many little trials and troubles. If we bear these cheerfully, we can please You as much as the holy martyrs do."

It was a few days later that Father Alonso Velasquez came to his young friend's hermitage. He had some very special news. Rose was to leave her parents' house and go to live with Don Gonzalo and his wife. Doña Maria had been to see him recently, asserting that Rose's health was failing; that the hermit's life was too hard for her.

"You're lucky that Don Gonzalo and Doña Maria think so much of you," said Father Alonso. "They're very wealthy people and their one wish is to see you strong and well. You'll have a very fine home with them."

Rose could not hide her distress. "But how can I leave my own family, Father? My parents aren't young anymore. They need me."

The priest smiled. "You understand what obedience is, Rose. It is my wish that you put an end to the hardships in your life. I want you to go to the de Massas' and try to build up your health."

Rose was silent. As a member of the Dominican family, she owed obedience to her Superiors. If Father Alonso thought it best for her to live elsewhere, she had no choice but to do as he wished.

"I'll go," she answered. "But I'm not really sick, Father. Our Lord has given me more than two years in which to serve Him."

"You'll live longer than that, my child, if only you take care of yourself. From now on you're to think more about your health."

So Rose went to live with Don Gonzalo and Doña Maria. From the start she assured these two good friends that she wanted only a plain little room and that she wished to be of use as a nurse to their younger children.

Micaela and Beatrice, the two older daughters, tried to make the newcomer feel she was their honored guest, that there was no need for her to work in her new home. Their efforts met with little success, however. Rose had been in love with humility too long.

"She's a real saint," Micaela told her mother. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's canonized as soon as she dies."

"We're really lucky to have her here," put in Beatrice. "Some day this house of ours will be famous. People will come from all over the world just to see the little room where Rose lived."

Doña Maria nodded. "There's not a day passes that I don't thank God for letting her come into our family. She does worry me a little, though...."

"You mean because she says she's going to die in two years? On Saint Bartholomew's day?"

"That's right. She'll be only thirty-one years old then. That's far too early for her to leave us."

Don Gonzalo reassured his wife. "With good food and plenty of rest, it'll be a different story, Maria. Just look at her father. He's ninety-three. If Rose takes after him, she'll be with us for a long, long time."

So the days passed. Rose missed her little garden cell, and the flowers and trees she had loved to tend, but she still kept busy. For years she had been an expert at needlework. In the de Massa house she continued this activity, making clothes for the younger children and altar linens for various churches. From time to time she also entertained the family and servants by playing the harp, the zither and the guitar. Her voice was sweet and clear, and everyone enjoyed her songs.

Father Alonso had insisted that she was not to tire herself with too many prayers or sacrifices, so all in all Rose now led a somewhat easier life. Yet she never forgot how she had dedicated herself to saving souls from Hell. Not an hour passed that she did not offer some short prayer for sinners. One of her favorites was the beginning of Psalm 69: "Incline unto my aid, O God; O Lord, make haste to help me." There were numerous short ejaculations, too. They took little time to say and were richly indulgenced.

Most of all, however, there was the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass-the greatest prayer of all. When she had been a hermit in her father's garden, Rose had been given a very wonderful grace: She had been privileged to hear in spirit, through the window of her little cell, all the Masses being offered in Lima's churches. Now that she was a member of Don Gonzalo's family, the wonderful grace continued, and the young Dominican Tertiary always applied the merit of these Masses to the welfare of others.

Sometimes Doña Maria regarded her guest a little fearfully. It was a great honor to have Rose living in the house, yet a little frightening, too. The girl worked miracles so openly; she conversed with saints and angels, and people were always coming to the door to ask for prayers and to report cures of various kinds. These clients of hers were not only the poor and ignorant. They included, for instance, no less a person than the Prior of the Dominican Convent of Saint Mary Magdalen, Father Bartholomew Martínez. This holy priest insisted he had been cured of a grievous illness because Rose had offered some prayers for him at Santo Domingo.

There was also the case of Maria Euphemia de Pareja and her only son, Roderick. Although the mother had always wanted her boy to be a Jesuit priest, Roderick showed little inclination for the religious life. As time passed, Maria Euphemia sadly admitted the truth: her boy was interested only in worldly pleasures. Finally she came to Rose. Surely if the holy woman prayed, Roderick would receive the grace of a religious vocation.

"And that's just what happened," Doña Maria thought to herself. "Overnight the boy reformed. He decided to be a priest, although in the Franciscan Order, not the Society of Jesus. Today his mother's so proud of him! I don't think she'll ever stop being grateful for the prayers Rose said."

As the months passed, Doña Maria often found herself watching Rose closely. The girl seemed well, yet there was something about her that caused the older woman to worry. It was now the year 1617. Could it be true that God would soon call her to Heaven?

"I just can't bear to lose her!" thought the good woman. "She's become another daughter to me."

Rose felt sorry at her adopted mother's grief. One April morning she approached her rather humbly. "Doña Maria, when I come to die I'll be tormented by great thirst. Will you give me water when I ask for it?"

A shiver ran through the older woman. "Of course, my child. But don't talk about dying. You're enjoying much better health here lately."

Rose smiled. "There's another thing, too. I want you and my mother to be the only ones to prepare my body for burial."

Doña Maria stared, then burst into tears. The feast of Saint Bartholomew was now so close! Only four months...

"Don't say such things!" she begged. "Life will never be the same if you leave me, Rosel"

The good woman's fears began to fade, however, as summer approached. Rose had become the picture of health. Even Father Alonso Velasquez agreed that she was looking very well.

"I should have sent her to you long ago," he told Doña Maria. "The life she led at home was far too hard."

The woman nodded vigorously. "You're right, Father. The Flores' servant, Marianna, was here the other day. What stories she told me of Rose's prayers and sacrifices! I still don't understand how anyone could do so much."

The priest smiled. "It's been going on for years, Doña Maria-ever since Rose was eleven and saw with her own eyes the paganism existing among the Indians who live in the Andes. At that time she heard Archbishop Turribius prophesy that Quivi would be destroyed. I know what those words meant to her. And then came the earthquake and the floods of 1601; she's never forgotten the hundreds of people who perished miserably at Quivi as a punishment for mocking the Archbishop and the Faith he tried to bring them. Since then her whole life has been dedicated to saving souls through prayer and suffering."

Counseled by the Dominican priest not to worry about Rose's prophecy of approaching death, Doña Maria and her household breathed more easily. And when, late in July, Rose asked permission to visit her garden hermitage, they thought nothing of it. During the night of August 1, however, the whole house was awakened by pitiful cries coming from her room. Rushing to investigate, Doña Maria found her guest sticken with a mortal illness. She could scarcely breathe, and her whole body was paralyzed.

At once the woman sent for Doctor John del Castillo, and for the various priests whom Rose knew well. Doña Maria's husband tried to comfort his wife, but she clutched his arm frantically "She's going to die, Gonzalo! And there's not a thing we can do for her!"

The treasurer of the city of Lima, whose wealth and high social position made him a noted figure throughout Peru, could scarcely control his own grief. For the past two years, ever since she had come to live in his house, Rose had seemed so well and happy. Now there was this calamity, this spectacle of a young and beautiful woman called home long before her time.

"She's resting more easily now that Father John de Lorenzana has anointed her," he thought. "Perhaps, if she's nursed carefully..."

But Rose only smiled as she saw the many medicines brought to save her life. One damp August day succeeded another, and she repeated again that the feast of Saint Bartholomew would be her last day on earth. The dreadful sufferings now afflicting her body could not be eased. They were part of the payment still required to save certain souls from Hell.

It was on the eve of the Apostle's feast that she stretched out a feeble hand. "Could I see my parents, Doña Maria? I want to say goodbye. And I want to ask forgiveness of everyone in your house for any trouble I may have caused."

The woman nodded hastily. Maria de Oliva was already in the house. And servants had been sent. with a comfortable chair, to carry ninety-five-yearold Gaspar Flores to his daughter's side.

Throughout the day visitors of all sorts passed in and out of Rose's little room-men and women she had befriended, additional doctors summoned in the hope they might give aid, priests of the various religious Orders. Everyone wanted to gaze for the last time on the girl whose sanctity had made her famous throughout the city. Only Doña Maria de Usátegui, tears streaming down her face, refused to leave her side. Rose was asking for water now-and the doctors said she could not have it.

"But I promised! I promised!" Doña Maria kept saying, remembering that April day when Rose had prophesied she would suffer from thirst. "How can I break my word now?"

"Ssh!" murmured Don Gonzalo. "Water would only make her worse."

As midnight approached, Rose turned a gentle glance upon the people kneeling in her room. The deathly pallor was gone from her face now and she seemed more beautiful than ever.

"Please don't feel sad because I'm going to leave you," she whispered. "This is really a happy day."

Maria de Oliva stifled a sob. "Rose, my little one, why didn't I try to understand you better? Forgive me, child, for being so stupid...."

From a corner of the room came the murmur of voices as Don Gonzalo, his wife, and their children repeated the familiar prayers for the dying. Near the door huddled a little group of Negro slaves, their dark faces wet with tears. Rose smiled once again at her friends, then lowered her eyes to the crucifix Father Alonso had given her.

"Jesus, be with me..." she murmured.

Quickly Maria de Oliva arose from her knees and seized a flickering candle. For a moment she stood staring down at the frail figure before her. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly calm:

"It's it's all over!" she said.

The others in the room hurried forward. As though a signal had been given, distant bells echoed through the darkness. Midnight! The feast of Saint Bartholomew! And in every one of Lima's monasteries, priests and nuns were starting the new day by chanting the special prayers of the Church in honor of an Apostle.

Maria turned to her companions. There was a strange look of contentment on her tired face.

"My little girl has gone to Heaven," she said quietly.

January 16: Martyrdom of Pope St. Marcellus I

 ஜனவரி 16 - வேதசாட்சியான முதலாம் மர்செல்லுஸ் பாப்பரசர் திருநாள் 🌹

தியோக்ளேஷியனுடைய கடைசி ஆட்சி காலத்தில், பாப்பரசர் மர்செல்லினுஸ் வேத சாட்சியாக உயிர்தியாகம் செய்தபின், பாப்பரசர் பதவி மூன்றரை வருடங்கள் காலியாக இருந்தது. கி.பி. 308 ஆம் ஆண்டு, முதலாம் மர்செல்லுஸ் பாப்பரசரானார்.

இவர் திருச்சபையின் அதிகார அமைப்பை சீர்திருத்தம் செய்ததுடன், விசுவாசத்தை மறுத்தவர்களில் மனந்திரும்பி திரும்பியவர்களுக்கு மிகுந்த இரக்கத்துடன் நடந்துகொண்டார். ஆனால், லாப்சி என அழைக்கப்பட்ட சிலர் தங்கள் செயலுக்காக மனஸ்தாபப்படாமல் இருந்ததால், அவர்களுக்கு மன்னிப்பு அளிக்க மறுத்தார்.

மாக்சென்ஷியுஸ் சக்கரவர்த்தி, பாப்பரசரின் செயல்களால் ஆத்திரமடைந்து அவரை நாடுகடத்தினார். ஆனால், பக்தியுள்ள குருக்கள் அவரை காப்பாற்றி, லூசினா என்ற விதவையின் இல்லத்தில் தங்க வைத்தனர். லூசினா தனது இல்லத்தை பாப்பரசருக்கு தேவாலயமாகப் பயன்படுத்த அனுமதித்தார்.

இதை அறிந்த சக்கரவர்த்தி, அந்த தேவாலயத்தை ஒரு குதிரை இலாயமாக மாற்றி, அந்த மிருகங்களை கவனிக்க பாப்பரசரை கட்டாயப்படுத்தினார்.

இந்த துயரமான சூழல்களில், முதலாம் மர்செல்லுஸ் பாப்பரசர் கி.பி. 310, ஜனவரி 16 அன்று மறைந்தார்.

கல்லறை: முதலில் அவர் அர்ச் பிரிஸ்கிலா என்பவரின் சுரங்கக் கல்லறையில் அடக்கம் செய்யப்பட்டார். பின்னர், உரோமாபுரியில் உள்ள அர்ச் இராயப்பர் தேவாலயத்தில் அவரது உடல் மீண்டும் அடக்கம் செய்யப்பட்டது.

அர்ச்.மர்செல்லுஸே! எங்களுக்காக வேண்டிக்கொள்ளும்!

January 16: Martyrdom of Pope St. Marcellus I

🌟🌹

Life and Papacy
Pope St. Marcellus I succeeded Pope Marcellinus in 308 AD, after the papal seat had been vacant for three and a half years during the severe persecution under Emperor Diocletian.

As pope, Marcellus focused on reorganizing the Church and extending mercy to those who repented after denying their faith during the persecution. These individuals, known as the Lapsi, were encouraged to perform penance to be reconciled with the Church. However, some Lapsi refused to repent, leading to tensions.

Persecution by Emperor Maxentius
The pagan Emperor Maxentius, angered by Marcellus' actions and authority, exiled the pope. However, the clergy later rescued him and brought him to the home of a devout widow named Lucina. She offered her home as a place of refuge and even allowed it to be used as a church.

When Emperor Maxentius discovered this, he desecrated Lucina’s home by converting it into a stable and cruelly forced Pope Marcellus to care for the animals housed there.

Martyrdom and Legacy
In these harsh conditions, Pope Marcellus succumbed to suffering and passed away on 16 January 310 AD. Initially buried in the Catacombs of Priscilla, his remains were later moved to the altar of the church in Rome that bears his name, the Church of San Marcello al Corso.

January 15: Feast of St. Paul of Egypt

ஜனவரி 15: அர்ச்‌. வனத்து சின்னப்பர் திருநாள்

🌹 முதல் தபோதனரின் வாழ்க்கைக் கதைகள்
அர்ச்‌. வனத்து சின்னப்பர், கி.பி. 229ம் ஆண்டு, எகிப்தின் தேபாய்டு பகுதியில் பிறந்தார். 15வது வயதில் பெற்றோர்களை இழந்த சின்னப்பர் அனாதையானார். அவருடைய சொத்துக்களை அபகரிக்க முயன்ற சகோதரியின் கணவர், உரோமைச் சர்க்காரின் கிறிஸ்துவர்களை கொல்லும் உத்தரவை பயன்படுத்தி சின்னப்பரை காட்டிக்கொடுக்க முயன்றார்.

இதை அறிந்த சின்னப்பர், 16வது வயதில் தேசியுஸ் சக்கரவர்த்தியின் வேட்டையிடும் காலத்தில், தேபாய்டு பாலைவனத்தில் ஒளிந்து கொண்டார்.

🌴 பாலைவன வாழ்க்கை
பாலைவன மலைகளில் ஒரு குகையில் சின்னப்பர் வசித்தார். அருகிலிருந்த நீரூற்று மற்றும் ஈச்சமரமே அவரது வாழ்வின் ஆதாரமாக இருந்தன. ஈச்சமரத்தின் பழங்களை உணவாகக் கொண்டு வாழ்ந்தார். 43வது வயதில், ஒரு காகம் தினமும் அரை அப்பத்தை கொண்டு வந்து சின்னப்பரின் உணவுத் தேவையை பூர்த்தி செய்தது.

சின்னப்பர் 113வது வயதுவரை இக்குகையிலேயே தபசை மேற்கொண்டார்.

🌟 அர்ச்‌. வனத்து அந்தோணியாருடனான சந்திப்பு
கி.பி. 342ல், தேவதூதர்களின் அறிவுறுத்தலின் பேரில், அர்ச்‌. வனத்து அந்தோணியார், சின்னப்பரை தேடி கண்டு பிடித்தார். இருவரும் ஒரு நாள் மற்றும் இரவு முழுவதும் ஜெபத்திலும் ஞான உரையாடலிலும் ஈடுபட்டனர்.

சின்னப்பர், அந்தோணியாரிடம், மேற்றிராணியார் அர்ச்‌. அத்தனாசியார் அளித்த போர்வையை கொண்டு வரும்படி கேட்டார். அந்தோணியார் போர்வையை கொண்டு திரும்பிய போது, சம்மனசுகள் சின்னப்பரின் ஆத்துமத்தை மோட்சத்திற்கு எடுத்துச் செல்வதை கண்டார்.

🌟 கல்லறையும் மரியாதையும்
114வது வயதில் சின்னப்பர், முழங்காலிலிருந்து ஜெபித்தபடியே இறந்தார். அவரை அத்தனாசியாரின் போர்வையால் மூடி, இரண்டு சிங்கங்கள் தோண்டிய கல்லறையில் அடக்கம் செய்யப்பட்டது.

அந்தோணியார், சின்னப்பரின் ஈச்சமர இலைகள் கொண்டு உருவாக்கப்பட்ட ஆடையை மதிக்கத்தக்கதாக பராமரித்து, ஈஸ்டர் மற்றும் பெந்தேகோஸ்தே திருநாள்களில் மட்டும் அணிந்தார்.

🌹 அர்ச்‌. வனத்து சின்னப்பரே, எங்களுக்காக வேண்டிக்கொள்ளும்! 🌹

 January 15: Feast of St. Paul of Egypt (The First Hermit)

Early Life
St. Paul of Egypt was born in 229 AD in Thebaid, Egypt. Orphaned at the age of 15, Paul faced betrayal from his brother-in-law, who sought to deliver him to Roman persecutors to claim his inheritance.

To escape the persecution of Emperor Decius, Paul fled to the Theban desert at the age of 16.

Life in the Desert
Paul lived as a hermit in a cave near a clear spring and a palm tree. The palm tree provided him shelter and sustenance with its fruit until he turned 43. At that point, a raven began bringing him half a loaf of bread daily—a divine provision that continued for the rest of his life.

Paul lived a life of solitude, prayer, and devotion in the desert until he reached the remarkable age of 113.

Meeting with St. Anthony of Egypt
In 342 AD, St. Anthony of Egypt, prompted by an angel's vision, sought out St. Paul in the desert. The two saints conversed deeply about spiritual matters for an entire day and night.

Paul then requested Anthony to bring back the cloak gifted to him by Athanasius, the bishop, for his burial. However, when Anthony returned with the cloak, he witnessed a vision of St. Paul's soul being carried to heaven by angels.

St. Paul's Burial
Upon reaching the cave, St. Anthony found Paul had passed away. As Anthony prepared to bury him, two lions miraculously appeared and dug the grave with their claws. St. Paul was laid to rest in the cloak given by Athanasius.

Legacy and Reverence
St. Anthony returned to his monastery, bringing with him the robe St. Paul had woven from palm leaves. Anthony honored this robe greatly, wearing it only twice a year: on Easter and Pentecost.

Reflection
St. Paul of Egypt is a powerful symbol of solitude, faith, and devotion to God. His life inspires us to seek the divine even in isolation and trust in God's providence in all circumstances.

January 14 - Feast of St. Hilary of Poitiers

 ஜனவரி 14: 

மேற்றிராணியாரும் வேதபாரகருமான அர்ச். ஹிலாரியார் 

அர்ச். ஹிலாரியார் பிரான்ஸ் நாட்டின் புவாரியெஸ் நகரில் கி.பி. 310ம் ஆண்டு, உரோமைக் குடும்பத்தில் பிறந்தார். கிறிஸ்தவர்கள் உரோமை சக்கரவர்த்தி மகா கான்ஸ்டன்டைன் அறிவித்த சுதந்திரத்துக்கு மூன்று வருடங்களுக்கு முன்பு இவர் பிறந்தார்.

இவருக்கு சிறந்த கல்வி அளிக்கப்பட்டது. ஆனால் அஞ்ஞான மதம் மனநிறைவை அளிக்காததால், பரிசுத்த வேதாகமத்தை படித்து உண்மையான அறிவு பெற்றார். தனது 30வது வயதில் ஞானஸ்நானம் பெற்று, கத்தோலிக்க விசுவாசத்தை ஆர்வத்துடன் பிரசங்கிக்க தொடங்கினார்.

ஆரிய பதிதத்தின் எதிர்ப்பு:
அர்ச். ஹிலாரியார் மேற்றிராணியாராக பதவி ஏற்ற பிறகு, ஆரிய பதிதம் என்ற தப்பறையை எதிர்த்தார். கி.பி. 325ம் ஆண்டு நிசேயா பொதுச்சங்கத்தில் ஆரிய பதிதம் கண்டனம் செய்யப்பட்டாலும், அது அதிகாரத்தளத்தில் தொடர்ந்து ஆதரிக்கப் பட்டது.

2ம் கான்ஸ்டன்ஷியுஸ் சக்கரவர்த்தி இவரை நாடுகடத்தினார். துருக்கியில் ஃபிர்ஜியா என்ற இடத்தில் வாழ்ந்த காலத்தில், அர்ச். ஹிலாரியார் "தே திரினிதாதே" என்ற பிரபலமான நூலை எழுதியார்.

புனித அருளிக்கைகள்:
அர்ச். ஹிலாரியார் பழைய மற்றும் புதிய ஏற்பாட்டில் இருந்து வேதாகமத்தை விளக்கும் நூல்களை எழுதியுள்ளார். கி.பி. 361ல் பிரான்ஸிற்கு திரும்பிய அவர், 68வது வயதில் மறைந்தார்.

புகழ்பெற்ற சாதனைகள்:

• முதலாம் பத்திநாதர் பாப்பரசர் 1857ல் இவருக்கு வேதபாரகர் பட்டம் வழங்கினார்.
• 1572ல் கால்வினிஸ்ட் பதிதர்கள் இவருடைய நூல்களை அழித்தனர்.

பரிசுத்த அருளிக்கைகள்:
அர்ச். ஹிலாரியாரிடம் பாம்புகளிடமிருந்து பாதுகாப்பு வேண்டிப் பிரார்த்திக்கலாம்.

அர்ச். ஹிலாரியாரே! எங்களுக்காக வேண்டிக்கொள்ளும்!

January 14:Feast of St. Hilary of Poitiers

Early Life and Conversion
St. Hilary was born in 310 AD to a pagan Roman family in Poitiers, France, three years before Christianity gained official toleration in the Roman Empire. Despite receiving an excellent education, he found no satisfying answers in pagan theology about the destiny of man.

His search for truth led him to study the Holy Bible. Upon discovering the profound mystery of God becoming man to save humanity, Hilary converted to Christianity. At the age of 30, he was baptized and began preaching the Catholic faith with great zeal.

Bishop of Poitiers and Defender of Faith
In 350 AD, Hilary was appointed Bishop of Poitiers. His tenure coincided with a turbulent period in Church history—the second wave of the Arian heresy, which denied the divinity of Christ. Although the Council of Nicaea (325 AD) had condemned this heresy, it remained influential within the Church and the Roman Empire.

Hilary became a staunch defender of Catholic doctrine, often standing alone against Arian bishops in the region of Gaul (modern southern France). His unyielding faith drew the ire of Emperor Constantius II, who supported a version of Arianism. In retaliation, the emperor exiled Hilary to Phrygia in Asia Minor.

Contributions to Catholic Theology
During his exile, Hilary wrote extensively, producing one of his most significant works, De Trinitate (On the Trinity). This masterpiece explained the Holy Trinity and provided scriptural evidence for this central Catholic doctrine. He also authored commentaries on the Old and New Testaments, including detailed reflections on the Psalms.

Hilary returned to Poitiers in 361 AD and continued his ministry until his death in 368 AD.

Legacy and Honors

• Declared a Doctor of the Church in 1851 by Pope Blessed Pius IX.
• Relics of St. Hilary were destroyed by Calvinists in 1572.
• St. Hilary is traditionally invoked for protection against snakes.

Prayer to St. Hilary
St. Hilary of Poitiers, defender of truth and faith, pray for us!

குருத்துவம் {PriestHood}

 குருத்துவம்

அறிமுகம்

கடந்த ஒன்றரை ஆண்டுகளாக, இந்தக் குருமடத்தின் அதிபராகப் பணியாற்றும் சலுகையை நான் கொண்டிருந்திருக்கிறேன். இன்று, அர்ச். பத்தாம் பத்திநாதர் சபையின் (SSPX) அடிப்படையான பணி பற்றியும், குருத்துவத்தின் அடிப்படை முக்கியத்துவத்தைப் பற்றியும் நான் பேச விரும்புகிறேன். குருக்களை உருவாக்குவதும், குருத்துவத் திற்கான தேவ அழைத்தல்களைப் பெருகச் செய்வதுமே அர்ச். பத்தாம் பத்திநாதர் சபையிடம் ஒப்படைக்கப்பட்டுள்ள முதன்மையான பணி யாக இருக்கிறது. நம் குருமடத்தின் ஐம்பதாம் ஆண்டு நிறைவாகிய விசேஷ தருணத்தில் நாம் இருப்பதால், 1974-ஆம் ஆண்டில், ஒரு சிறு வீட்டில் நாம் இந்தக் குருமடத்தைத் தொடங்கியதிலிருந்து பார்த்து வந்திருக்கிற வளர்ச்சிக்காக நன்றி செலுத்துகிறோம். நம் வரலாறு எப்போதும் மிகச் சிறப்பானதாக இருந்து வந்திருக்கவில்லை என்றாலும், கடவுளின் வரப்பிரசாதத்தின் வல்லமைக்கு நாம் சாட்சி யாக இருக்கிறோம். ஆயினும், நம் முன்னேற்றத்தையும் மீறி, உலகின் எல்லாப் பகுதிகளிலிருந்தும் தேவ அழைத்தல்கள் வருவதற்கான ஒரு பெரும் தேவை இன்னும் இருக்கிறது. அதனால்தான் இந்தத் தலைப்பில் நான் உரையாற்றுகிறேன்.

கிறீஸ்துநாதரிடமும், குருத்துவத்திடமும் ஒப்படைக்கப்பட்டுள்ள பணி

கிறீஸ்துநாதரின் பணி காலத்தின் ஊடாக நீட்டிக்கப்பட்டுள்ளது. மனுக்குலத்தைப் பாவத்திலிருந்து மீட்டு இரட்சிப்பதற்காகக் கடவுள் இவ்வுலகில் நுழைந்த ஆழ்ந்த பரம இரகசியத்தை நாம் இப்போதுதான் கொண்டாடினோம். கிறீஸ்துநாதர், கடவுள் என்ற முறையில், பாவி களை மீட்டு இரட்சிக்கும்படி, அவர்களுடைய துன்பத்தைப் பகிர்ந்து கொள்ளுமாறு தமது பரலோக இராச்சியத்தை விட்டு வர சித்தங் கொண்டது பற்றி நாம் வியப்பும், அச்ச நடுக்கமும் கொள்ள வேண்டும். ஆத்துமங்களின் மீது அவர் எவ்வளவு அதிகமான அக்கறை கொண்டிருக்கிறார்! மற்றவர்களுக்காக, அவர்களுடைய பாவங்களுக் காகத் துன்புற விரும்பிய ஒருவரின் மாபெரும் அன்பை தியானிப்பதால் மட்டுமே கூட பலர் கத்தோலிக்க விசுவாசத்திற்கு ஈர்க்கப்பட்டிருக் கிறார்கள்.

உடல் ரீதியாகத் துன்புற்றவர்கள் மீது கிறீஸ்துநாதர் தயவிரக்கம் கொண்டார், மனப் போராட்டங்களுக்கு உட்பட்டவர்களின் இருளை அவர் உணர்ந்தார். ஆனால் எல்லாவற்றையும் விட அதிகமாக, அவர் நம் தார்மீகச் சுமைகளைச் சுமந்து கொண்டு, நம் பாவங்களுக்குரிய பலியாடாக ஆனார். என்றாலும், கிறீஸ்துநாதர் ஆத்துமங்களை இரட்சிக்கும் தமது பணியில் சேர மற்றவர்களுக்கு அழைப்பு விடுக் கிறார். தாராளமுள்ள ஆத்துமங்கள், காலந்தோறும், போதிப்பதும், இரட்சணிய வரப்பிரசாதத்தை ஆத்துமங்களின் மீது பொழிவதுமான தமது பணியைத் தொடர்ந்து நிறைவேற்ற வேண்டுமென்று அவர் விரும்புகிறார். இந்தப் பணி குருத்துவத்தின் வழியாக ஒரு விசேஷமான முறையில் நிறைவேற்றப்படுகிறது.

குருத்துவம் என்பது ஆத்துமங்களுக்காக ஒப்புக்கொடுக்கப்படும் கிறீஸ்துநாதரின் திவ்ய பலியின் தொடர்ச்சியாக இருக்கிறது. ஆயினும், குருவானவர் தனியாகப் பணி புரிவதில்லை. அவருக்குப் பின்னால் துறவிகள், தேவ வசீகரம் செய்யப்பட்ட தனி மனிதர்கள் ஆகியோரின் ஒரு படையே இருக்கிறது. இவர்கள் ஜெபிக்கிறார்கள், பரித்தியாகம் செய்கிறார்கள், குருத்துவப் பணியில் குருவுக்கு உதவியாக இருக் கிறார்கள்.

குருத்துவத்தின் அவசியம்

இன்று உலகில் குருவானவர் எவ்வளவு அவசியமானவராக இருக்கிறார்? இதற்கு மற்றொரு கேள்வியைக் கொண்டு நாம் பதில் சொல்வோம்: இரட்சணியம் எவ்வளவு அவசியமானது? உலகத்தின் நிர்ப்பாக்கிய நிலையை நாம் பார்ப்போம் என்றால், மனுக்குலத்திற்கு ஒரு இரட்சகர் எவ்வளவு அவசரமாகத் தேவைப்படுகிறார் என்பதை நம்மால் காண முடியும். இரட்சணியத்தைத் தேடினாலும், இறுதியில் அதைக் கண்டடைய இயலாத அஞ்ஞானக் கொண்டாட்டங்களையும், சடங்குகளையும் நாம் காண்கிறோம். ஒரே ஒரு இரட்சகர்தான் இருக்கிறார். அவர் நம் ஆண்டவராகிய சேசுக்கிறீஸ்துநாதர் அவருடைய இரட்சணியம் காலத்தின் ஊடாகச் செயல்படுகிறது. ஆனால் அது, குறிப்பிட்ட இடங்களிலும், குறிப்பிட்ட நேரங்களிலும் குருக்களால்தான் செயல்படுத்தப்படுகிறது. ஆகவேதான் உலகத் திற்குப் பல பரிசுத்த குருக்கள் இன்று அவசரமாகத் தேவையாயிருக்கிறார்கள்.

ஆனால் குரு என்பவர் யார்? பூசை வைப்பவரும், தேவத்திரவிய அனுமானங்களை நிறைவேற்றுபவரும், பிரசங்கம் செய்பவருமான ஒரு மனிதராக மட்டும் குருவானவரைப் பார்ப்பது போதாது. குரு என்பவர் யாராயிருக்கிறார் என்பதை உண்மையாகவே புரிந்துகொள்வதற்கு, நாம் வெளித்தோற்றங்களுக்கு அப்பால் செல்லவும், விசுவாசத்தின் பரம இரகசியத்தைப் புரிந்துகொள்ளவும் வேண்டும். நாம் ஒரு மனிதரை நமக்கு முன்பாகக் கண்டாலும், அவர் ஒரு சாதாரண மனிதனை விட மிக மேலானவர் என்று விசுவாசம் நமக்கு வெளிப் படுத்துகிறது.

பலிபீடத்தில் குருவானவர்

குருவானவர் யார் என்பதைப் புரிந்துகொள்வதற்கு, குருத்துவச் செயல்பாடாகிய திவ்ய பலிபூசை பற்றி நாம் சிந்திப்போமாக. பீடத்தருகில் பூசைப் பாத்திரத்தை உயர்த்திப் பிடித்தபடி குருவானவர் நிற்கிறார். அவருக்கு மேலே பரலோகம் இருக்கிறது. அவருக்குப் பின்னால் விசுவாசிகளின் கூட்டம் இருக்கிறது. இந்தக் காட்சி குருவானவரிடம் ஒப்படைக்கப்பட்டுள்ள முழுமையான பணியை அடையாளப்படுத்திக் காட்டுகிறது. அர்ச். சின்னப்பர் எபிரேயருக்கு எழுதிய நிருபம் 5:1-ல் குறிப்பிடுவது போல, "எந்தக் குருவும் மனி தர்களுக்குள்ளே தெரிந்துகொள்ளப்பட்டு, காணிக்கைகளையும் பாவங் களுக்காகப் பலிகளையும் செலுத்தும்படிக்குத் தேவாராதனைக்கடுத்த காரியங்களில் மனிதர்களுக்குச் சனுவாக (உதவியாக) ஏற்படுத்தப் படுகிறார்." குருவானவர் தமது பதவியின்படி, மக்களின் சார்பாகப் பலி ஒப்புக்கொடுத்தபடி, கடவுளுக்கும், மனிதனுக்குமிடையே மத்தியஸ்த ராக நிற்கிறார்.

ஆனால் இன்னும் அதிகம் இருக்கிறது: ஒரே ஒரு தலைமைக் குருதான் இருக்கிறார். அவரே சேசுக்கிறீஸ்துநாதர். ஆகவே, ஒரு மனிதன் குருவாகும்படி அழைக்கப்படுகிறான் என்றால், குருவின் வழியாகச் செயல்படுபவர் கிறீஸ்துநாதரே என்னும் அளவுக்கு, கிறீஸ்து நாதருக்கும், குருவுக்குமிடையில் ஓர் ஆழ்ந்த ஐக்கியம் இருக்க வேண்டும்.

இந்த ஐக்கியம் எவ்வளவு நெருக்கமானது என்றால், குருவானவர் குரு என்னும் தமது அதிகாரத்தில் செயல்படும்போது, அவர் கிறீஸ்து நாதரின் உத்தமமான கருவியாக இருக்கிறார். ஒரு கலைஞனின் ஆள்தன்மை அவனுடைய தூரிகை அல்லது பியானோ வழியாக வெளிப்படுவது போலவே, கிறீஸ்துநாதரின் பணி குரு வழியாக வெளிப் படுகிறது. குருவானவர் “நம் ஆண்டவருக்குக் கூடுதலான ஒரு மனுஷீகத் தைப் போல் இருக்கிறார்” என்று மிக வந்திக்கத்தக்க அதிமேற்றிராணி யார் லெஃபேவர் ஆண்டகை கூறினார். கிறீஸ்துநாதர் மீண்டும் ஒரு முறை குருவானவரில் மனிதனாக அவதரிக்கிறார்; குருவானவர் இனி வெறுமனே ஒரு மனிதனாக மட்டும் இருக்க இயலாது.

குருத்துவத்திற்கான பாதை

இளைஞர்களைக் குழப்புகிற கேள்வி: "என் வாழ்வைக் கொண்டு நான் என்ன செய்ய வேண்டும்?" என்பதாகும். அவன் செல்வதற்குப் பல பாதைகள் இருக்கின்றன. ஆனால் நோக்கம் ஏதுமின்றி வாழ்வின் ஊடாகக் கடந்து செல்வது அவற்றில் ஒன்று அல்ல. ஒரு மனிதனுக்கு எல்லாத் தொழில்களும் பொருத்தமானதாக இருப்பதில்லை. ஒருவன் தன் மன பலம், சரீர பலம், குண நலம், கல்வி வாய்ப்புகள் ஆகியவற்றை எண்ணிப் பார்க்க வேண்டும்.

கடவுள் வெவ்வேறு வகையான வேலைகளுக்காக வெவ்வேறு வகையான மனிதர்களைப் படைத்தார். ஆனால் இறுதியில், ஒவ்வொரு வனும், "அவருடைய சமுகத்திலே பரிசுத்தரும் மாசற்றவர்களுமாய் இருக்க" வேண்டியவனாயிருக்கிறான் (எபே.1:4). இந்த அழைப்பு எல்லோருக்குமானது, குருக்களுக்கும், துறவிகளுக்கும் மட்டுமின்றி, நம் அனைவருக்குமானது. ஆகவே, ஒவ்வொரு மனிதனும் தன் இருதயத் தில், உலகத்தின் பராக்குகளாலும், பொய்க் கவர்ச்சிகளாலும் கறைபடாத ஓர் இருதயத்தில், கடவுளுக்கென்று ஓர் இடத்தை ஒதுக்கி வைக்க வேண்டும்.

இந்த உத்தமதனமே நம் குறிக்கோள். அது சுபாவமான திறமைகளின் உத்தமதனமல்ல, மாறாக, கடவுளுக்கு நெருக்கமாயிருப்பதன் உத்தமதனமாகும். இந்த உத்தமதனத்தை வாழ்வின் எல்லா அந்தஸ்து களிலும் காணலாம். ஆனால் குருத்துவத்தின் வழியாக அல்லது துறவற வாழ்வின் வழியாக, கடவுளுக்கு வசீகரிக்கப்பட்ட வாழ்வில்தான் அது பரிபூரண முழுமையில் நிறைவேறுகிறது.

குருத்துவத்திற்குக் குறிக்கப்பட்டவர் யார்?

அப்படியானால், குருத்துவத்திற்கு அழைக்கப்படுகிறவன் யார்? கிறீஸ்துநாதரும், அர்ச். சின்னப்பரும் இதில் நமக்கு வழிகாட்டு கிறார்கள். திருமணம் செய்துகொள்வதை விட, அதைத் தவிர்த்து விடுவது அதிக நல்லதா என்று சேசுநாதரின் சீடர்கள் ஒரு முறை அவரிடம் கேட்டபோது, “வரம் பெற்றவர்களல்லாதே, மற்ற எவரும் இந்த வார்த்தையை உணர மாட்டார்கள். கண்டுபிடிக்க வல்லவன் கண்டுபிடிக்கட்டும்" (மத். 19:11, 12). இவ்வாறு, குருத்துவத்திற்கான அழைத்தல் கடவுளிடமிருந்து வரும் ஒரு கொடையாக இருக்கிறது. ஆனால் அதற்குப் பதிலளிப்பது தனிப்பட்ட தீர்மானமாகவும் இருக்கிறது. அழைக்கப்படுகிறவர்கள் அதைத் தேடவும், அதை ஆசிக்கவும், அதைப் பெற்றுக்கொள்ள உழைக்கவும் வேண்டும்.

கடவுளின் அழைத்தலுக்குப் பதிலளிக்கும் விதமாக, எதிர்கால குரு, “அத் சும்,” “இதோ, நான் தயாராயிருக்கிறேன்" என்று சொல்ல வேண்டும்.

குருத்துவத்திற்கான ஆயத்தம்

கடவுளின் அழைப்பிற்குத் தரப்படும் இந்தப் பதிலுக்குக் கவன முள்ள ஆயத்தம் தேவைப்படுகிறது. குருமடம் முறையான பயிற்சியைத் தரும் அதே சமயம், ஆயத்தம் அதற்கு மிக முன்பாக, குறிப்பாக வீட்டிலேயே தொடங்கி விடுகிறது.

• தந்தை ஆண்மையுள்ள புண்ணியங்களுக்கு மாதிரிகையாக இருக்க வேண்டும்; தன் குழந்தைகளிடமிருந்து அதையே எதிர்பார்க்கும் அதே சமயம், அவர் வாழ்வுக்கும், கடமைக்கும் தீவிர முக்கியத்துவம் தர வேண்டும்.
• பெற்றோர் ஆன்ம நன்மைகளுக்கு முதலிடம் தர வேண்டும்; கவனத்தோடு ஜெபிக்கவும், கடவுளின் காரியங்களை மற்ற எல்லாவற்றிற்கும் மேலாக மதிக்கவும் அவர்கள் தங்கள் பிள்ளைகளுக்குக் கற்பிக்க வேண்டும்.
• இன்றைய உலகில், தொழில்நுட்பத்தால் விளையும் ஆபத்துகளுக்கு, குறிப்பாக, தொடுதிரை அலைபேசிகளுக்கு (ஸ்மார்ட்ஃபோன்களுக்கு) எதிராக நாம் எப்போதும் நம் குழந்தைகளை எச்சரித்து வர வேண்டும். இவை இளம் இருதயங்களின் கவனத்தைத் திசை திருப்பி, கடவுளின் அழைத்தலிலிருந்து அவர்களை விலக்கி விடக்கூடும்.
• குடும்பம் திருச்சபையின் பணியைத் தங்கள் வாழ்வுகளின் மையமாக ஆக்கிக்கொள்ள வேண்டும்; குருக்களுக்கும், துறவிகளுக்கும் அவர்கள் மிகுந்த மரியாதை காட்ட வேண்டும்.

இவை, இளம் இருதயம் ஒன்று கடவுளின் அழைத்தலுக்குப் பதிலளிக்கத் தயாரிக்கப்படும் வழிகளில் ஒரு சில மட்டுமே.

தேவத் திரவிய அனுமான வரப்பிரசாதத்தின் பங்கு

தேவத் திரவிய அனுமான வரப்பிரசாதத்தில் கொள்ளும் விசுவாசம் அத்தியாவசியமானது. குருவானவர் பலியின் மனிதராக இருக்கிறார். மற்ற எல்லா தேவத்திரவிய அனுமானங்களிலும் நிகழ்வது போலவே, குருத்துவத்திற்கு அழைக்கப்படுபவர்களுக்கும் ஒரு விசேஷ வரப் பிரசாதம் வழங்கப்படுகிறது. குருத்துவத்தின் பொறுப்புகள் பற்றி அச்சம் கொள்வது இயல்பானதுதான். ஆனால் குருத்துவ முத்திரை ஒரு முறை ஆத்துமத்தில் பதிக்கப்பட்டபின், நாம் கடவுளின் வரப்பிர சாதத்தில் நம் நம்பிக்கையை வைக்க வேண்டும். நமக்குத் தரப்பட்டுள்ள வரப்பிரசாதத்தை நாம் சார்ந்திருந்தால், நாம் ஒருபோதும் தவறமாட்டோம். நம்முடைய பிரமாணிக்கத்திற்கும், தாழ்ச்சிக்கும் சம்பாவனையாக, இந்த வரப்பிரசாதம் மேன்மேலும் மிக விரைவாகப் பெருகும்.

முடிவு: குருத்துவ அழைத்தல்களுக்காக ஜெபியுங்கள்

நாம் தேவ அழைத்தல்களுக்காக, அநேக அழைத்தல்களுக்காக, அநேக பரிசுத்த அழைத்தல்களுக்காக ஜெபிக்க வேண்டும். மேலும் இந்த குருக்கள் தங்கள் குருத்துவத்தில் நிலைத்திருப்பதற்காகவும் நாம் ஜெபிக்க வேண்டும். திருச்சபைக்குக் குருக்கள் எப்போதுமே தேவையா யிருக்கிறார்கள். சர்வேசுரன் தம்முடைய திராட்சைத் தோட்டத்திற்கு வேலையாட்களை அனுப்பும்படி அவரிடம் மன்றாடுவதை நாம் ஒருபோதும் நிறுத்தக் கூடாது.

St. Rose of Lima - The Hermit

 

CHAPTER 10

THE HERMIT

Ο N THE morning of July 14, a few months after Rose received her golden ring, the bells of Lima sent their mournful music over the city once again. The holy Franciscan missionary, Father Francis Solano, was dead.

Listening to the somber sound, Maria de Oliva muttered a brief prayer. "We'd better go at once to the Franciscan convent, Marianna. I'm sure there'll be miracles over there today. Get all our rosaries and medals. We can touch them to the body of Father Francis and use them as relics."

The Indian woman nodded. Both mistress and servant realized the loss. Father Francis Solano was a real saint. Back in 1589, when he had first come to the New World, he and his companions had been shipwrecked off the coast of Colombia. For weeks the little group of survivors wandered through the coastal forests without meeting a soul. Then a few of the men died from eating poisonous plants, and despair seized the rest. Only Father Francis remained calm. He insisted that his companions stay near the coast. Another boat would arrive from Panama soon, he assured them, and carry them safely to Peru.

"I remember when he finally did reach Lima," said Marianna slowly. "We were so disappointed when he insisted on leaving almost at once. Ah, señora, he was already weak from hardship, yet he thought nothing of walking fourteen hundred miles, across mountains and jungles, to his Franciscan mission in Argentina!"

"And he made that trip twice, Marianna. Don't forget that."

"Sí, señora-eleven years later, when his hard work among the Indians was finished. Ah, but he was a good soul! I'll go now and find the rosaries and medals."

Out in the garden, among her beloved trees and flowers, Rose was thinking of Father Francis, too. She would never forget that December day in the year 1604 when the brown-clad friar had preached his famous sermon in the market place. She had been just eighteen then. Now, six years later, the memory was still fresh.

"He told people to do penance for their sins," she recalled. "He insisted that God would destroy Lima unless they ceased to offend Him. That night there weren't enough priests in the city to hear everyone who wanted to go to confession. Enemies were reconciled, stolen goods restored to their owners, three thousand marriages properly ratified. Ah, dear Father Francis, give me some of that zeal for souls which you so truly possessed!"

Having offered her brief prayer, Rose turned down the path that led to the back of the garden. There a familiar figure awaited her.

"Doña Maria! Why, I didn't expect to see you this morning!"

Doña Maria de Usátegui, the wife of Don Gonzalo, gave Rose an affectionate embrace. "My dear, I came in quietly by the side gate. Your mother doesn't know I'm here yet. You see, I wanted to have a word with you alone."

"The children aren't sick again?"

"No, no. They're fine. Rose, my dear, how would you like to live with Don Gonzalo and me? Be a daughter of ours, so to speak?"

The young woman stared at her visitor in amazement. "I don't understand..."

"Of course you don't. But my husband and I both feel you'd be happier with us. Since your mother can't understand the type of life you want, since she's never been happy that you joined the Third Order of Saint Dominic..."

Rose laughed. No one would have guessed that Doña Maria's words cut through her like a knife. They were so true! Maria de Oliva never lost an opportunity to show she did not approve of Dominican Tertiaries.

"Mother just doesn't understand yet. She finds it hard to believe that I'm still myself, underneath this white habit."

"Exactly. I've heard some of her criticisms and so has my husband. Dear little friend, we've a large house and plenty of this world's goods. Why don't  you come and live with us? The children would be so happy!"

For the rest of the day, and for many days thereafter, Rose pondered this kindly offer of Doña Maria de Usátegui. In the end she decided to decline. Even though Maria de Oliva frequently found fault with Dominican Tertiary life, with the prayers and sacrifices to which her daughter was dedicated, Rose knew such trials could be turned into great merit.

"Long ago I offered to pray and suffer for others," she thought. "Dear Lord, don't let me run away from any pain now. Let Mother's failure to understand only bring me closer to You. Let it help to make me a saint."

The weeks passed, with their ceaseless round of ordinary activities. Always clad in her white Tertiary habit and veil, Rose tended her flowers and herbs, did her fine sewing and embroidery. She was completely unaware of the rumors spreading throughout the city to the effect that she was quite as holy as those other great servants of God, Archbishop Turribius, Father Francis Solano, and Brother Martin de Porres. Hardly a day passed that men and women did not come to beg her prayers, to ask her advice on one subject or another, to touch her famous statue of the Child Jesus, which she called "The Little Doctor."

"Rose is another Saint Catherine of Siena," they told one another. "She fasts all the time. She sleeps only two hours a night. She has given her whole self to the saving of sinners."

Eventually, however, some of all this did reach the young woman's ears. Quickly she went in search of her mother with a strange request. She wanted permission to be a hermit in the garden. If she cut herself off from the world, if she appeared only rarely in the streets, perhaps people would forget about her. But since the little oratory she had made as a child, far back among the banana trees, was nearly in ruins, it would be necessary to build another. And this second hermitage would have to be of more durable material with a door that would lock.

Maria de Oliva refused to listen to any such suggestion. It was bad enough to see her pretty daughter in a religious habit, to know that she had thrown away forever the chance to have a husband and children. But that she should live as a hermit in a little adobe house in the garden-never!

Four years passed. Rose did not give up hope of having her little adobe house. Finally, overcome by the pleadings of Father Alonso Velasquez, Doña Maria de Usátegui and Don Gonzalo, her mother gave in. Yes-Rose could bury herself as a hermit, if Father Alonso thought this the proper thing to do. She could stop having visitors. She could ruin her health by spending hours in a damp mud hut.

"Mother, how can I ever thank you?" cried the girl. "I've wanted it for so long!"

Maria sighed as she looked at her daughter, now twenty-eight years of age. She was still pretty, but far too thin. The white Dominican habit could not hide the fact that for years Rose had been following a very difficult life.

"Sometimes I can't understand why you didn't enter a convent, child. What other girl in Lima prays as much as you?"

Rose laughed, remembering that Sunday afternoon at Santo Domingo when a mysterious power had kept her kneeling at the Rosary Shrine. "It was never my vocation to be a nun, Mother. Please believe me. And please pray that I serve God well as a hermit."

"I'll pray," said the mother sadly. "But just remember this if it hadn't been that Father Alonso thought it the thing to do, I'd never have given my permission. It's it's such an odd kind of life for a young woman!"

For the next few days Rose and Ferdinand were very busy. A site had been chosen for the hermitage, closer to the house this time, and not cut off from the sunlight. An area five feet by four had been traced on the ground, and near at hand was a supply of rough adobe bricks. They were light brown in color and not too heavy to lift.

"Ferdinand, what would I do without you?" said Rose as the two set to work on the proposed cell. "You've always been so good to me, ever since we were small."

"It's no great trouble to build this little place, Rose. The only thing that worries me is how you're going to be able to live in such a tiny house. Couldn't we make it just a little bigger?"

The girl shook her head. "I want it small so there won't be room for many visitors. And just one tiny window."

"What about the door? How do you want that?"

"I have special plans for the door. It's to be very low, and just big enough for a person to crawl through on his hands and knees. You see, the smaller and more uncomfortable we make this little cell, the fewer people will want to come and see me."

The young man smiled. This was certainly true. Not many of his mother's friends, for example, would want to crawl through a tiny door on their knees.

"You tell me what you wish and that's the way it will be, Rose. I want you to have happy memories of me when you come to live in this little hermitage."

"Memories? You're not going away, Ferdinand?"

"Yes. I'm going to Chile next month."

"On business?"

"No, I plan to join the arıny. After all, I'm thirty years old and it's time I settled down somewhere."

Rose checked her surprise and disappointment. This favorite brother spoke the truth. Most men his age were already married, with homes and families of their own. Yet she would miss him so much.

"I'll pray for you every day," she said gently. "No matter where you go, my prayers will follow you. And I'm sure you'll like living in Chile, Ferdinand. You'll marry a nice girl...and you'll have a beautiful little daughter...."

"What are you talking about?" the man asked incredulously.

"You're going to name the little girl after me. She'll be called Mary Rose."

"Well," said Ferdinand, laughing heartily, "you're right about one thing: if I ever do have a daughter, she'll have your name. Who knows-maybe some day she'll even visit this little hermitage!"

Rose smiled at him. Although he did not guess it, her brother spoke the truth. Mary Rose would indeed come to Lima one day, a very famous little girl.

After a few more days of hard work, the adobe hermitage was at last finished. The younger Flores children had great fun crawling in and out of the tiny door, and standing on a chair to look through the one small window that opened onto the garden. Friends and neighbors, and even several priests, came to view the adobe house which Rose and Ferdinand had made. A few even measured the dimensions to make sure their eyes were not playing tricks.

"Five feet long, four feet wide, six feet high!"

declared Father Alonso Velasquez in amazement.

"Rose, it's far too small!"

"Father, it's large enough for Our Lord and me. I think I'll be very happy here."

Doña Maria de Usátegui, who was also among the visitors inspecting the hermitage, laid an affectionate hand on the younger woman's shoulder.

"The invitation still stands," she whispered. "My husband and 1 still want you to come and live with us. You'll let us know if you change your mind?"

Rose nodded. Don Gonzalo and Doña Maria were such very good friends. She knew they both worried about her health, about the life of hardship to which she had dedicated herself.

"I won't forget the invitation," she smiled. "Or your other kindnesses, either. Thank you so much for everything, Doña Maria."

After she had begun to live in the little hermitage, Rose continued to work at her sewing, her embroidery, the raising of flowers and herbs. When night came, however, she shut herself in and gave herself over to prayer. There, amid the silence of the darkened garden, she poured out her heart in praise and petition.

Such actions were pleasing to God, and He flooded the new hermit's soul with many graces. Frequently He appeared to her as a little Child, encouraging her to continue with her difficult vocation. He taught her she had nothing to fear as long as she put all her confidence in Him.

At such times Rose thought she would die of sheer happiness. What a wonderful thing life is, she told herself. Any soul that has Sanctifying Grace, no matter how weak the soul is, can be of use to its fellows. All that is necessary is to think of God and His goodness. Then will come such an urge to be like Him, to share in His truth and beauty, that the soul cannot help exchanging its cowardice for courage. It begins to resemble God. And because of that, it glows with a great love for other souls. It wants them to have Sanctifying Grace and to love God, too. It wants them to share its happiness.

"It's like a beggar who finally becomes rich." Rose would reflect. "When he is poor, he is afraid of other people. He has a low opinion of himself, knowing he can never do anything great. But once he becomes a rich man, everything is changed. His starved body becomes strong. He realizes other people look up to him. And he finds real happiness in sharing his wealth with them."

One summer afternoon Maria de Oliva went in search of her daughter. The sun was warm and the garden bright with the flowers Rose tended so well. But the woman's face as she made her way toward the little adobe hermitage was hard with anger.

"Rose! Are you in there?"

There was no answer. Catching a glimpse of someone moving among the fruit trees, Maria started off in that direction. Probably Rose was gathering oranges for Marianna to take to market the next day.

"Rose! Are you deaf? Haven't you heard me calling you?"

The girl set down a basket half full of luscious fruit. "Did you want me, Mother?"

"I certainly did. Doña Isabel de Mejía came to see me. She has told me something that's upset me dreadfully."

"Her mother's not sick again?"

"Of course not. I'm the one that's sick. Rose, is it true you've told people there's going to be a convent of Dominican nuns in Lima? That Doña Lucia de la Daga will be the first Prioress?"

A smile lit up the young woman's face. "Yes, Mother. It will be called the Monastery of Santa Catalina, after Saint Catherine of Siena."

Maria's voice was shrill. "Doña Lucia is a happily married woman, with five lovely children! What business have you to spread the rumor that she's going to be a nun?"

"But it's true, Mother. There will be a Monastery of Santa Catalina. Doña Lucia will go there with her sister Clara. Father Luis de Bilbao will say the first Mass...."

"So you're turning into a prophet, are you? What do you know about the future? Are you losing your senses since you've shut yourself up in that wretched hermitage?"

Rose lowered her eyes. How could she make her mother understand that the news about Santa Catalina had been given to her in prayer? That her beloved friend and patroness, Saint Catherine of Siena, had come in person to tell her about the new monastery?

"I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't realize you'd be so upset about what I told Doña Isabel."

"Why shouldn't I be upset? What's Doña Lucia going to think of me? And her husband? Why, you've really said the good man is going to die...and his five children, too. Otherwise how could Doña Lucia enter a convent?"

Rose smiled faintly. "Please don't be cross, Mother. Things really will happen as I've said."

"Stop!" cried Maria. "Soon you'll be telling people that your own mother is going to found a convent. I won't have such talk, Rose. It's too embarrassing!"

The girl looked down at the golden ring which Ferdinand had obtained for her four years ago. There were tears in her eyes.

"You won't found a monastery, Mother, but some day you'll enter one. Doña Lucia will give you the Dominican habit at Santa Catalina. You'll be very happy there. And I promise you that when you're ready to die, I'll come to get you myself."

 

St. Rose of Lima - A DAUGHTER OF SAINT DOMINIC

 

CHAPTER 9

A DAUGHTER OF SAINT DOMINIC

T WAS a few weeks later, on August 10, the I feast of Saint Laurence, that Rose joined the Dominican Order as a Tertiary. Her face was radiant as she knelt before the Rosary Shrine in Santo Domingo and heard her confessor, Father Alonso Velasquez, begin the ceremony of reception:

O Lord Jesus Christ, Who didst vouchsafe to clothe Thyself with the garment of our mortality, we beseech Thee, of the abundance of Thy great mercy, that Thou wouldst be pleased so to bless this kind of garment, which the holy Fathers have appointed to be worn in token of innocence and humility, that she who is to be clothed with it may be worthy to put on Thee, Christ Our Lord.

Rose looked up at the garment Father Alonso was blessing. It was the Dominican habit of white wool. spread out now upon the altar-the very same type of dress once worn by Saint Catherine of Siena and other holy souls. In a few minutes this white habit would be hers to wear, instead of the fine clothes of her mother's choice.

How good God was to bless a poor Peruvian girl with the vocation of a Dominican Tertiary. In just a few minutes she would no longer be alone in the task of saving her own soul and the souls of others. The prayers of Dominicans everywhere-priests, nuns, lay Brothers, other Tertiaries-would be joined to hers in a very special way.

Rose shut her eyes in sheer happiness as Father Alonso sprinkled her with Holy Water and continued the prayer:

May the Lord also sprinkle thee with hyssop, who art now going to be clothed with our garments, that thou mayest be made clean, so that being thus cleansed and made whiter than snow in thy soul, thou mayest so appear outwardly in our habit..

Maria de Oliva, kneeling a few feet away, dabbed her tearful eyes. This certainly was not what she had planned for her favorite child a life in the world as a lay member of a religious Order. Yet what could she do? The girl absolutely refused to be interested in marriage. All she cared about was saving souls.

"Perhaps she'll change her mind in a little while," the mother told herself between sobs. "Perhaps after a few months she'll find the Tertiary life too hard."

But Rose of Saint Mary, the new Tertiary daughter of Saint Dominic, was happier than she had ever been before. At last she was walking the same road walked by Saint Catherine of Siena nearly two hundred and fifty years before. Even Don Gonzalo was satisfied, as the months passed, that Rose had chosen the right path. Although other men and women might be called to the religious life, her vocation was to become a saint in the world. Never again would he urge that she be a nun in any of Lima's five convents.

"God has given that girl a very special work," Don Gonzalo told himself. "She is to be a model for all who must reach perfection without the help of the cloister."

On August 10, 1607, Rose returned to the Rosary Shrine at Santo Domingo. Her one year's probation as a Tertiary was over. Was she willing to continue the life? asked Father Alonso Velasquez. Was she willing to make a promise to live according to the Rule of the Dominican Order until she died?

The girl, now twenty-one years old, had not a single doubt concerning her Tertiary profession. As Rose of Saint Mary, she gave the necessary promise. Now she was a real member of the Dominican Order.

Time passed. To all outward appearances Rose seemed changed very little: she still lived quietly at home, raising her flowers and doing fine sewing for the wealthy women of Lima. Yet a change was taking place, nevertheless. Little by little, through devoutly receiving the Holy Eucharist, through patiently bearing trials and troubles, Gaspar's daughter was slowly becoming more like Christ. Sometimes when her mother argued that she took too little care of her health, she answered gently: "You and I shall live as long as God wishes, Mother. When our work for Him is done, then we can worry about our health."

"Who's going to think about such things then?" demanded Maria sharply. "It'll be too late."

Rose smoothed the folds of her white woolen habit. "Mother dear, life is really very simple if only we remember that we are servants-servants of God and our neighbor."

"Servants? Who wants to be a servant? Rose, such talk is disgusting! At that rate, a Negro or an Indian is as good as a white man! And a person with money and education is no better than an ignorant beggar! To think that you talk this wayafter all I've done for you.

Rose took a deep breath. "Mother, please don't be angry! I'm only trying to help a little. After all, if we really believe that God is our Father and His Son our Brother..."

"Enough of your preaching, young lady. Ever since you became a Tertiary you've been far too pious to suit me. Just remember this: I don't want to hear any more talk about being a servant. Your father may be poor but he comes from a good family. And so do I!"

The failure of this and other conversations proved  to Rose what she had always known-that relief for the lonely heart can be found in prayer. In prayer, weak human nature reaches out for God and becomes strong with His help. Troubles of all kinds, when they are offered to Him in union with the sufferings His Son knew on earth, turn into merit of untold value. That was one reason why there was so much sorrow in the world: without pain very few souls would ever think of turning to God.

"Everyone wants to be happy," Rose often thought. "That's why we were made. But how hard it is to remember that we can only be satisfied with the greatest good of all-God Himself!"

On Palm Sunday of the year 1610, when she was twenty-four years old, Rose went to Mass at Santo Domingo. The ceremony was a long one, with the blessing of the Palms and the procession through the church preceding the Holy Sacrifice. As two lay Brothers finished distributing the blessed Palm to the people, the choir broke into a triumphant hymn and everyone made ready to join in the procession. Rose hesitated. Somehow or other she had been overlooked in the distribution of the green branches. She alone, of all the people in Santo

Domingo, had no piece of blessed Palm.

"Why?" she thought. "Can it be that I'm not worthy to walk with the others?"

She thrust her disappointment aside, however. It was only a mistake the lay Brothers had been too busy to notice her. There was no reason why she could not walk in the procession, too. Even though she had no Palm branch to carry, she could still call  to mind the first Palm Sunday, when Our Lord had entered Jerusalem amid the welcome of His happy followers.

When the choir finally finished singing and the long line of people returned to their seats, Rose cast a swift glance at the Rosary Shrine. How she loved this statue of Our Lady holding her Infant Son! Here, four years ago, she had received the Blessed Mother's approval of her vocation to the Third Order of Saint Dominic. That Sunday afternoon when she had been forced to remain on her knees before the golden altar, a voice had spoken in her heart. It had told her she was not called to work out her salvation in a monastery. Rather, she was to stay in the world-she was to be a saint amid everyday surroundings. She would spend her time praying, helping with the housework, sewing, working in the garden, and caring for the sick poor.

"Dearest Mother, thank you again for letting me be a Dominican Tertiary," she whispered. "And I'm not sad about the lay Brothers' forgetting to give me a Palm branch. The Palm I really want is the one that will never fade, the one you give to the blessed in Heaven."

As Rose breathed this little prayer, her startled eyes suddenly beheld the Blessed Mother smile and turn lovingly toward the Child in her arms. No one else in the crowded church saw the wonder, nor did they hear the words which the Child presently uttered-words which echoed in the girl's heart like the sweetest music:

"Rose of My Heart, be thou My spouse!"

Rose saw and heard, however, and her heart filled with pure joy. God had blessed her with still another wonderful gift! In her beloved Dominican church He had told her that she was really numbered among His chosen ones!

"It's too much!" she whispered. "I'm not worthy of such love."

Yet she knew she had not been mistaken about the vision. She, a poor girl of Peru, had been chosen from all eternity to belong to God, to be one of His especially beloved friends forever and ever. She had read of such favors being given to others, including her dear patroness, Saint Catherine of Siena. Now, through a miracle of grace, the marvelous honor was to be hers, too.

For the rest of the day Rose could think of little else. When Ferdinand remarked that she seemed very happy, she nodded.

"It's quite true-I am. And I've another favor to ask."

The young man laughed. "I suppose you want me to take you some place?"

"No, I just want you to make me a ring."

"A ring? You want a piece of jewelry?"

"That's right. But nothing from the markets. Just a plain ring of your own design. Ferdinand, you will do this for me? It's really so very important."

As the young man looked at his sister's eager face, he realized that something unusual had taken place. For years Rose had been thinking constantly of other people-praying for them, helping out when they were sick, seeing that the poor had all the flowers and fruit she could spare from the garden. Now the time had finally come when she wanted something for herself.

"Of course I'll get you a ring. Do you want it of silver or of gold? And what's your favorite stone?"

Rose hesitated. Both metals were common in Peru. And diamonds and emeralds were common, too, being found in abundance in the mines of the Andes. She could have a really beautiful ring without very much expense.

"I'd like a gold ring, Ferdinand. But without any stone. Just a plain gold band."

"How about having a little motto on it? A few words engraved on the outside? That could be easily done."

"What words would you suggest?"

The young man thought a moment. "How about this: 'Rose of My Heart, be thou My spouse'?"

The girl's heart filled. She could not express her great emotion. Without realizing it, her brother had been divinely inspired to choose the very words she had heard in church-the words spoken to her that morning by the Child Jesus Himself.

"Well, what's the matter? Don't you like my idea?"

"Ferdinand, it's beautiful! I can't think of anything I'd like better."

"All right. We'll have a plain gold ring made for you, with those words on the outside. I know the very jeweler to do the job, too-an old friend of mine who hasn't been very busy lately."

Rose smiled gratefully. "And he can make the ring soon?"

"Of course. Probably in a couple of days. I'll go to see him tomorrow with a sketch of what we want."

When she was once more alone, Rose sought out her little oratory at the back of the garden. It was always quiet and peaceful here. Only infrequently did anyone else in the family come down among the banana trees. There were too many spiders and mosquitoes, they said. Besides, the sun very rarely penetrated the dense tangle of vines and branches. It was a dark and gloomy place at best.

Rose was not afraid of the spiders and mosquitoes, however. She had never once harmed them, and they seemed eager to show her their friendship. Whenever she said the Rosary or her other prayers in her little oratory, the mosquitoes buzzed in a most friendly fashion. It was almost as though they were trying to pray, too. As for the spiders, they stopped their wanderings and their weavings: they would do these things when their young friend had finished talking to God.

Rose was not thinking of spiders or mosquitoes, however, as she entered her little shrine. Rather it was of the wonderful grace that had been given to her that morning in the Dominican church. And of course there was the ring-the beautiful golden ring she would always wear to remind herself that she belonged to God. How could she forget that?

"This is Palm Sunday," she thought. "If my ring is ready by Wednesday, perhaps Father Alonso could put it in the Repository on Holy Thursday. How wonderful that would be!"

Yes, it would be wonderful. But unusual, too. Probably it would take quite a lot of explaining to make her confessor understand.

"I'll do my best," she resolved within herself. "Our Lord is hidden in the Repository on Holy Thursday. I want my ring to be with Him then. On Easter Sunday, when He comes back to us in glory, I will take my ring and wear it until I die!"