mercoledì 26 dicembre 2012

Second Day of the Christmas Octave, St. Stephen, First Martyr

Opening Prayer from the Liturgy:  “Lord, today we celebrate the entrance of Saint Stephen into eternal glory. He died praying for those who killed him. Help us to imitate his goodness and to love our enemies. We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

Acts of the Apostles 6:8-10; 7:54-59; The Story of St. Stephen’s Martyrdom

One wonders why the Church would celebrate the feast of a martyr on the Second Day of the Octave of Christ’s nativity.  Pope John Paul II supplied the answer:  “The Church calls the day of martyrdom a dies natalis (day of birth). Indeed, by virtue of Christ's death and Resurrection, the death of the martyr is a birth in Heaven. This is why it is so meaningful to celebrate the first martyr the day after Christmas: Jesus who was born in Bethlehem gave his life for us so that we too, reborn "from on high" through faith and Baptism, might be willing to give up our own lives for love of our brothers and sisters” (John Paul II, Angelus, Feast of St. Stephen, 2002).
“Boxing Day” is a popular tradition in England, Germany and Holland. A practiced developed in the middle-ages whereby priests opened the parish poor box and distributed the wealth to the poor on the feast of St. Stephen.  Similarly, the laity imitated the Church’s practice and kept their own poor “boxes” throughout the year.  On the day following Christmas, the box was opened, the money tallied, and distributed to the poor. Eventually, Boxing Day became a day of giving and receiving gifts.
The poor, according to the Fathers of the Second Vatican Council is defined as “anyone in need.”  Today, find those people:  the lonely, the forgotten, the shut-in, the sick, the materially poor, the spiritually poor, and give them the gift of your presence.  Do not be cynical.  Do not underestimate the value of your presence, the love you bring and the care you give.  We live in a world where many are poor, they await you on this day.

domenica 16 dicembre 2012

Remember this lady!

 
Irena Sendler died on 12 May 2008 (aged 98) in Warsaw, Poland.

During WWII, Irena, got permission to work in the Warsaw ghetto, as a plumbing/sewer specialist. She had an 'ulterior motive'. She KNEW what the Nazi's plans were for the Jews (being German). Irena smuggled infants out in the bottom of the tool box she carried and she carried in the back of her truck a burlap sack, (for larger kids). She also had a dog in the back that she trained to bark when the Nazi soldiers let her in and out of the ghetto. The soldiers of course wanted nothing to do with the dog and the barking covered the kids/infants noises. During her time of doing this, she managed to smuggle out and save 2500 kids/infants. She was caught, and the Nazi's broke both her legs, arms and beat her severely. Irena kept a record of the names of all the kids she smuggled out and kept them in a glass jar, buried under a tree in her back yard. After the war, she tried to locate any parents that may have survived it and reunited the family. Most had been gassed. Those kids she helped got placed into foster family homes or adopted.

Last year Irena was up for the Nobel Peace Prize. She was not selected. President Obama won one year before becoming President for his work as a community organizer for ACORN and Al Gore won also --- for a slide show on Global Warming.

In MEMORIAM - 63 YEARS LATER I'm doing my small part by remembering you about this lady. It is now more than 60 years after the Second World War in Europe ended.

I'm writing this in memory of the six million Jews, 20 million Russians, 10 million Christians and 1,900 Catholic priests who were murdered, massacred, raped, burned, starved and humiliated! Now, more than ever, with Iran, and others, claiming the HOLOCAUST to be 'a myth'. It's imperative to make sure the world never forgets, because there are others who would like to do it again.


- @Palme

sabato 15 dicembre 2012

Reading something about the latest twitter'n'fabook changes

http://www.wired.com/gadgetlab/2012/12/facebook-privacy-update/

http://www.theatlanticwire.com/technology/2012/12/facebook-new-privacy-settings-explained/59906/

http://www.digitaltrends.com/social-media/what-your-new-facebook-privacy-settings-will-look-like/

https://support.twitter.com/articles/215585-twitter-101-how-should-i-get-started-using-twitter#

http://blog.ohinternet.com/12526/new-twitter-profiles-for-all-starting-december-12/

Obama the "tolerant" fellow. thinking on Sept 25 2012


Barack Obama gave what I thought it was his last speech to the UN as President of the United States last September 25. He touched the hot topics of the previous few weeks, starting from the hatred which was manifested with the attacks on the Western embassies. He asked (to himself, dunno if as a rhetoric question or because of dumbness) if it was finally understood the reason of what had happened. He basically said: do they want overwhelm the West and Islam? Or what is it the meaning of the attacks?


The West... and Islam?

When I read the speech I was shocked. Since Cairo 2009 the dummy had said so many stupidities. Thing is it's not about silliness or lack of culture. When he talks of Islam or to Muslim people he is dangerous - very very dangerous.

He thinks the "attack to the common values​​" by "Islamic fundamentalists" is a challenge to the world, or to the United Nations. No!!! It is absolutely addressed to the West, and in particular (of course) to the United States.

Perhaps he pretends to be naive, but it is certain that these "values" ​​are meaningless if they have no foundation. Everyone knows that their foundation is in the natural law. This notion is completely absent from the thought of Obama. He walks on the surface of a swamp, when he falls, we fall all.


- by @Paolme

"Christmas Eve at the Gas Station"

The Christmas story we all love :)

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. He had no decorations, no tree, no lights. It was just another day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a reason to celebrate. There were no children in his life. His wife had gone.
He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through.
Instead of throwing the man out, George, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the space heater and warm up.
"Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger. "I see you're busy. I'll just go."
"Not without something hot in your belly," George turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. "It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty. Stew. Made it myself. When you're done there's coffee and it's fresh."
Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell. "Excuse me be right back," George said.
There, in the driveway, was an old 53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front. The driver was panicked. "Mister can you help me!" said the driver, with a deep Spanish accent. "My wife is with child and my car is broken."
George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from the cold; the car was dead. "You ain't going in this thing," George said, as he turned away.
"But, mister. Please help ." The door of the office closed behind George as he went in. George went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building and opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting.
"Here, take my truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good." George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the night. George turned and walked back inside the office.
"Glad I gave 'em the truck. Their tires were shot, too. That 'ol truck has brand new ..." George thought he was talking to the stranger. But, the man had gone. The thermos was on the desk, empty with a used coffee cup beside it.
"Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought. George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered the block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator.
"Well, shoot, I can fix this," he said to himself. So, he put a new one on.
"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter either." He took the snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln. They were like new and he wasn't going to drive the car.
As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran outside and, beside a police car, an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Help me." George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention.
"Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The uniform company had been there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound.
"Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease. "Something for pain," George thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back. "These ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills.
"You hang in there. I'm going to get you an ambulance." The phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your car."
He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way radio. He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. "Thanks," said the officer. "You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the area."
George sat down beside him. "I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right through 'ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think, with time, you're gonna be right as rain." George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?" he asked.
"None for me," said the officer.
"Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain't got no donuts."
The officer laughed and winced at the same time. The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. "Give me all your cash!
Do it, now!" the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before.
"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.
"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George. "You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt."
The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot you, too. Now, give me the cash!"
The cop was reaching for his gun. "Put that thing away," George said to the cop. "We got one too many in here now." He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve. If you need the money, well then, here. It ain't much but it's all I got. Now, put that pee shooter away." George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time.
The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. "I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've lost my job. My rent is due. My car got repossessed last week."
George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes. But, we make it through the best we can."
He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair, across from the cop. "Sometimes, we do stupid things." George handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Being stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't the answer. Now, sit there and get warm and we'll sort this thing out."
The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. "Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer."
"Shut up and drink your coffee," the cop said.
George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn.
"Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.
"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?"
"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young man. Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran."
George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other. "That guy work here?," the wounded cop continued.
"Yep," George said. "Just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job."
The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, "Why?" Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas boy ... and you, too, George, and thanks for everything."
"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some of your problems." George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box. "Here you go. Something for the little woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day."
The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. "I can't take this," said the young man. "It means something to you."
"And now it means something to you," replied George. "I got my memories. That's all I need." George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car, and a truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. "Here's something for that little man of yours."
The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had handed him earlier. "And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that, too," George said. "Now, git home to your family."
The young man turned, with tears streaming down his face. "I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good."
"Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the day after."
George turned around to find that the stranger had returned. "Where'd you come from? I thought you left?"
"I have been here. I have always been here," said the stranger. "You say you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?"
"Well, after my wife passed away I just couldn't see what all the bother was. Puttin' up a tree, and all, seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by myself and besides I was getting a little chubby."
The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder, "But, you do celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor. The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man and not take any for himself. That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man."
George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how do you know all this?" asked the old man.
"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And, when your days are done, you will be with Martha again." The stranger moved toward the door.
"If you will excuse me, George, I have to go, now. I have to go home, where there is a big celebration planned."
George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room. "You see, George ... it's my birthday. Merry Christmas."
George fell to his knees and replied, "Happy Birthday, Lord."


author unknown

giovedì 13 dicembre 2012

December 13 - ST LUCY, VIRGIN, MARTYR — A.D. 304

At Syracuse, in Sicily, in the persecution under the Emperor Diocletian, the holy Virgin and martyr Lucy. By command of Paschasius the Consular she was handed over to panders to make a public mock of her chastity, but when they would have led her away they could not move her even with ropes, and not even when these were drawn by many yoke of oxen then they poured upon her boiling pitch, rosin, and oil but these did not hurt her, and at length she was smitten in the neck with a sword, and so finished her testimony, in the year 303.


"There are few Lucys nowadays among Christian ladies, because sensuality, pride, and vanity are instilled into their minds by the false maxims and pernicious example of those with whom they first converse. Alas I unless a constant watchfulness and restraint both produce and strengthen good habits, the inclinations of our souls lean of their own accord toward corruption." - Rev. Alban Butler

Islamic terrorism is not over

Islamic Terrorism Is Over If You Want It