All things have their season...

Omnia tempus habent et suis spatiis transeunt universa sub caelo

Tempus nascendi et tempus moriendi tempus plantandi et tempus evellendi quod plantatum est

Tempus occidendi et tempus sanandi tempus destruendi et tempus aedificandi

Tempus flendi et tempus ridendi tempus plangendi et tempus saltandi

Tempus spargendi lapides et tempus colligendi tempus amplexandi et tempus longe fieri a conplexibus

Tempus adquirendi et tempus perdendi tempus custodiendi et tempus abiciendi

Tempus scindendi et tempus consuendi tempus tacendi et tempus loquendi

Tempus dilectionis et tempus odii tempus belli et tempus pacis

Quid habet amplius homo de labore suo?

I thought it would be good to begin this New Year with a personal meditation on this scriptural text.. "There is a time for everything.."(Ecclesiastes 3: 1-9)  The background photo was taken at 00.00 (GMT+01:00) last night 01.01.2010. I was in Piazza Giuseppe Garibaldi watching the Italians welcoming the New Year. It was an attempt to snap some fireworks but the figure of the lady was unintentionally captured. Allora... (Italian word for 'now/so/then') ..must say that the inadvertent focus has enhanced this otherwise distorted photo. I couldn't help but to wonder how small unexpected thing could really make a  great difference.. (^__^) ...and it confirms to me again and again that "there is a time for everything and there is a reason for everything"  :))

The Man of the Shroud

The "Man of the Shroud" (as it has been always named)  is an anatomical study based on the Shroud of Turin by Isabel Piczek, a noted monumental artist and theoretical physicist and a highly respected Shroud researcher.

This 24" X 5" bronze depicting Piczek's works captured my attention as I entered the Casa Nuovisima in Collegio San Pietro Apostolo. Placed on the right side of the staircase facing the main entrance of the house, one would never miss to notice the significance of it.  My own word to describe it is the "Humiliation of the Lord"..

"In his humiliation justice was denied him. Who can describe his generation? For his life is taken up from the earth." (Acts 8:33)

On the Threshold

"Songs of Chokhamela"
Why have you thrown this challenge, god?
Solve this riddle of mine;
Enter my shoes, know in your own self:
An outcast, what rights do I enjoy?
Says Chokha, this low born human body
Every one drives away?


Chokhamela was a fourteenth-century untouchable saint-poet who belong to the varkari tradition of Maharashtra. These poems, the first expression of dalit poetry, express poignantly a peculiar dichotomy: the awareness of living at the margin, and God's need and love for him.

Each of us is necessary..

..extract of the His Holiness Benedict XVI's Homily, Sunday, April 24th 2005

I came across this beautiful words of the Holy Father in the souvenir shop of the Catacomb of St Peter's Basilica last year (2008). It was imprinted as bookmark available in 5 languages (English, French, Italian, German, Spanish). Needless to say, every single word is impressively wonderful and inspiring...

And only where God is seen
does life truly begin.
Only when we meet
the Living God in Christ do
we know what life is.
We are not some casual
and meaningless product of evolution.
Each of us is a result
of the thought of God.
Each of us is willed,
each of us is loved,
each of us is necessary.
There is nothing more beautiful
than to be surprised by the Gospel,
by the encounter with Christ.
There nothing more beautiful
than to know Him and to speak to others
of our friendship with Him

Discovery

Today I smiled, and all at once
things didn't look so bad.
Today I shared with someone else a bit of hope I had.

Today I sang a little song,
and felt my heart grow light,
and walked a happy little mile,
with not a cloud in sight.

Today I worked with what I had,
nor longed for any more,
and what had seemed
like only weeds,
were flowers at my door.

Today I loved a little more,
complained a little less,
and in the giving of myself,
forgot my weariness.

HEAL THE WOUND - Point of Grace

I used to wish that I could rewrite history
I used to dream that each mistake could be erased
Then I could just pretend
I never knew the me back then

I used to pray that You would take this shame away
Hide all the evidence of who I've been
But it's the memory of
The place You brought me from
That keeps me on my knees
And even though I'm free

Heal the wound but leave the scar
A reminder of how merciful You are
I am broken, torn apart
Take the pieces of this heart
And heal the wound but leave the scar

I have not lived a life that boasts of anything
I don't take pride in what I bring
But I'll build an altar with
The rubble that You've found me in
And every stone will sing
Of what You can redeem

Heal the wound but leave the scar
A reminder of how merciful You are
I am broken, torn apart
Take the pieces of this heart
And heal the wound but leave the scar

Don't let me forget
Everything You've done for me
Don't let me forget
The beauty in the suffering

Heal the wound but leave the scar
A reminder of how merciful You are
I am broken, torn apart
Take the pieces of this heart
And heal the wound but leave the scar