-- Psalm 98:4 --
Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth,
burst into jubilant song with music...
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How people are shouting nowadays! On cable news networks, discussions turn
into shouting matches. Much of today's music isn't so much sung as
shouted.
Film dialog is shouted. And listen to spectators at s****ting events. If
anyone should be shouting, it's Christians. Psalm 98 says, "Shout joyfully
to the Lord, all the earth...Shout joyfully before the Lord, the King."
Don't let the world do all the shouting. This Christmas, let's "go tell it
on the mountain, over the hills, and everywhere." Tell someone about it!
Shout joyfully to the world! The Lord has come! --David Jeremiah
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October 21st - St. Finton of Taghmon, Abbot (RM)
(also known as Finton Munnu, Mundus, Finian, Fintan)
Died October 31, c. 635. Saint Finton, born into the noble Ui Niell clan,
forsook the world as a youth to become a monk first under Saint Comgall,
then under Saint Sinell at Cluain Inis, Ireland. After 18 years of
monastic
life, he left to become a monk for a time on Iona. On his arrival in 597,
he
found that Saint Columba had died (though one tradition has him living at
Iona or a daughter abbey at Kilmore until Columba died). He was told by
the
new abbot, Baithene, that Columba had left instructions that Finton not be
admitted because his destiny was to found another abbey.
Whether he returned to Ireland because his desired master had died, or
whether Columba actually left instructions, Finton returned to Ireland.
There he founded and became abbot of a monastery at Taghmon (Tech Munnu)
in
County Wexford, which he developed into an outstanding monastery. He was a
firm sup****ter of the Celtic liturgical practices at the synod of Magh
Lene
in 630 in opposition to Saint Laserian and others.
Reputedly, Finton contracted leprosy in the later years of his life in
response to his prayers to add to his spiritual merit through added
penance.
Finton Munnu was mentioned in the vitae of Saint Canice, Mochua, and
Molua.
Several churches in Scotland are dedicated to Finton, which may be due to
the work of his disciples rather than his own evangelistic efforts
(Attwater, Benedictines, Delaney, Farmer, Husenbeth, Montague).
Troparion of St Fintan tone 8
As a disciple of Iona's founder,/
thou wast rooted firmly in the Faith and the monastic disciplines,/
O Founder of Taghmon's Monastery, holy Father Fintan,/
Righteous Ascetic and Champion of our Church./
As thou didst defend the tradition of our Fathers in the Faith,/
defend us, O Saint, from soul destroying innovations,/
that we stray not from the way of salvation.
Saint Quote
Resist your impatience faithfully, practicing, not only with reason, but
even against reason, holy courtesy and sweetness to all, but especially to
those who weary you the most.
-St. Francis de Sales
Bible Quote:
But Jesus called them to him, and said: You know that the princes of the
Gentiles lord it over them; and they that are the greater, exercise power
upon them. It shall not be so among you: but whosoever will be the
greater
among you, let him be your minister: And he that will be first among you,
shall be your servant. Even as the Son of man is not come to be
ministered
unto, but to minister, and to give his life a redemption for many.
(Matthew
20:25-28)
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At the Cross Stabat Mater
At the cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.
Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,
All His bitter anguish bearing,
Now at length the sword had pass'd.
Oh, how sad and sore distress'd
Was that Mother highly blest
Of the sole-begotten One !
Christ above in torment hangs;
She beneath beholds the pangs
Of her dying glorious Son.
Is there one who would not weep,
Whelm'd in miseries so deep
Christ's dear Mother to behold ?
Can the human heart refrain
From partaking in her pain,
In that Mother's pain untold?
Bruis'd, derided, curs'd, defil'd,
She beheld her tender child
All with bloody scourges rent.
For the sins of His own nation,
Saw Him hang in desolation,
Till His spirit forth He sent.
O thou Mother! fount of love!
Touch my spirit from above;
Make my heart with thine accord.
Make me feel as thou hast felt;
Make my soul to glow and melt
With the love of Christ our Lord.
Holy Mother! pierce me through;
In my heart each wound renew
Of my Saviour crucified.
Let me share with thee His pain,
Who for all my sins was slain,
Who for me in torments died.
Let me mingle tears with thee,
Mourning Him who mourn'd for me,
All the days that I may live.
By the cross with thee to stay,
There with thee to weep and pray,
Is all I ask of thee to give.
Virgin of all virgins best,
Listen to my fond request
Let me share thy grief divine.
Let me, to my latest breath,
In my body bear the death
Of that dying Son of thine.
Wounded with His every wound,
Steep my soul till it hath swoon'd
In His very blood away.
Be to me, O Virgin, nigh,
Lest in flames I burn and die,
In His awful Judgment day.
Christ, when Thou shalt call me hence,
Be Thy Mother my defence,
Be Thy cross my victory.
While my body here decays,
May my soul Thy goodness praise,
Safe in Paradise with Thee.
Amen.
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