Thursday 4 December 2014

Homily of Pope John Paul I for the Holy Mass for the Inauguration of the Petrine Ministry of the Bishop of Rome (in English)


St. Peter's Square, Sunday, 3 September 1978

 Venerable Brothers and dear Sons and Daughters,
            In this sacred celebration inaugurating the ministry of the Supreme Pastor of the Church, which has been placed on our shoulders, we begin by turning our mind in adoration and prayer to the infinite and eternal God, who has raised us to the Chair of blessed Peter by his own design, which human reasoning cannot explain, and by his benign graciousness. The words of Saint Paul the Apostle come spontaneously to our lips: "O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!" (Rom 11:33).
            Next we embrace in thought and greet with paternal affection the whole Church of Christ. We greet this assembly, representing as it were the whole Church, which is gathered in this place—a place filled with works of piety, religion, and art, which is the attentive custodian of the tomb of the Chief of the Apostles. We then greet the Church that is watching us and listening to us at this moment through the modern media of social communication.
            We greet all the members of the People of God: the Cardinals, Bishops, priests, men and women religious, missionaries, seminary students, laypeople engaged in the apostolate and in various professions, people involved in the fields of politics, culture, art, and business, fathers and mothers of families, workers, migrants, young people, children, the sick, the suffering, the poor.
            We greet also with reverence and affection all the people in the world. We regard them and love them as our brothers and sisters, since they are children of the same heavenly Father and brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus (cf. Mt 23:8f).
            We have begun this homily in Latin, because, as is well known, it is the official language of the Church and in an evident and effective way expresses its universality and unity.
            The Word of God that we have just been listening to has presented the Church to us as in crescendo, first, as prefigured and glimpsed by the Prophet Isaiah (cf. Is 2:2-5) in the form of the new Temple with the nations streaming towards it from all sides, anxious to know the Law of God and to observe it with docility, while the terrible weapons of war are transformed into instruments of peace. But Saint Peter reminds us that this mysterious new Temple, the pole of attraction for the new humanity, has a cornerstone, a living, chosen and precious cornerstone (cf. 1 Pt 2:4-9), which is Jesus Christ, who founded his Church on the Apostles and built it on blessed Peter, their leader (cf. Lumen Gentium, 19).
            You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church" (Mt 16:18) are the weighty, great and solemn words that Jesus speaks to Simon, son of John, after his profession of faith. This profession of faith was not the product of the Bethsaida fisherman's human logic or the expression of any special insight of his or the effect of some psychological impulse; it was rather the mysterious and singular result of a real revelation of the Father in heaven. Jesus changes Simon's name to Peter, thus signifying the conferring of a special mission. He promises to build on him his Church, which will not be overthrown by the forces of evil or death. He grants him the keys of the kingdom of God, thus appointing him the highest official of his Church, and gives him the power to interpret authentically the law of God. In view of these privileges, or rather these superhuman tasks entrusted to Peter, Saint Augustine points out to us: "Peter was by nature simply a man, by grace a Christian, by still more abundant grace one of the Apostles and at the same time the first of the Apostles" (Saint Augustine, In Ioannis Evang. tract., 124, 5: PL 35, 1973).
            With surprised and understandable trepidation, but also with immense trust in the powerful grace of God and the ardent prayer of the Church, we have agreed to become Peter's Successor in the See of Rome, taking on us the yoke that Christ has wished to place on our fragile shoulders. We seem to hear as addressed to us the words that Saint Ephraem represents Christ as speaking to Peter: "Simon, my apostle, I have made you the foundation of the Holy Church. I have already called you Peter because you will support all the edifices. You are the superintendent of those who will build the Church on earth . . . You are the source of the fountain from which my doctrine is drawn. You are the head of my apostles . . . I have given you the keys of my kingdom" (Saint Ephraem, Sermones in hebdomadam sanctam, 4,1: Lamy T.J., S. Ephraem Syri hymni et sermones, 1,412).
            From the moment we were elected throughout the days that followed, we were deeply struck and encouraged by the warm manifestations of affection given by our sons and daughters in Rome and also by those sending us from all over the world the expression of their irrepressible jubilation at the fact that God has again given the Church her visible Head. Our mind re-echoes spontaneously the emotion-filled words that our great saintly Predecessor, Saint Leo the Great, addressed to the faithful of Rome: "Blessed Peter does not cease to preside over his See. He is bound to the eternal Priest in an unbroken unity . . . Recognize therefore that all the demonstrations of affection that you have given me because of fraternal amiability or filial devotion have with greater devotedness and truth been given by you and me to him whose See we rejoice to serve rather than preside over it" (Saint Leo the Great, Sermo V, 4-5: PL 54, 155-156).
            Yes, our presiding in charity is service. In saying this, we think not only of our Catholic Brothers and Sons and Daughters but also of all those who endeavour to be disciples of Jesus Christ, to honour God, and to work for the good of humanity.
            In this way we greet affectionately and with gratitude the Delegations from other Churches and Ecclesial Communities present here. Brethren not yet in full communion, we turn together to Christ our Saviour, advancing all of us in the holiness in which he wishes us to be and also in the mutual love without which there is no Christianity, preparing the paths of unity in faith, with respect for his Truth and for the Ministry that he entrusted, for his Church's sake, to his Apostles and their Successors.
            Furthermore, we owe a special greeting to the Heads of State and the members of the Extraordinary Missions. We are deeply touched by your presence, you who preside over the high destinies of your countries, or represent your Governments or International Organizations, for which we are most grateful. In your participation we see the esteem and trust that you place in the Holy See and the Church, that humble messenger of the Gospel for all the peoples of the earth, in order to help create a climate of justice, brotherhood, solidarity and hope, without which the world would be unable to live.
            Let all here, great or small, be assured of our readiness to serve them according to the Spirit of the Lord.
            Surrounded by your love and upheld by your prayer, we begin our apostolic service by invoking, as a resplendent star on our way, the Mother of God, Mary, Salus Populi Romani, and Mater Ecclesiae, whom the Liturgy venerates in a special way in this month of September. May Our Lady, who guided with delicate tenderness our life as a boy, as a seminarian, as a priest and as a bishop, continue to enlighten and direct our steps, in order that, as Peter's voice and with our eyes and mind fixed on her Son Jesus, we may proclaim in the world with joyous firmness our profession of faith: "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God" (Mt 16:16). Amen.

Wednesday 3 December 2014

Sonnet XVIII by William Shakespeare (in English)


Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
   So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Tuesday 2 December 2014

“Adormecida” by Castro Alves (in Portuguese)



 Ses longs cheveux épars Ia couvrent tout entière.
La croix de son collier repose dans sa main,
Comme pour témoigner qu'elle a fait sa prière,
Et qu'elle va Ia faire en s'éveillant demain.
(A. de Musset)



Uma noite, eu me lembro... Ela dormia
Numa rede encostada molemente...
Quase aberto o roupão... solto o cabelo
E o pé descalço do tapete rente.


'Stava aberta a janela. Um cheiro agreste
Exalavam as silvas da campina...
E ao longe, num pedaço do horizonte,
Via-se a noite plácida e divina.


De um jasmineiro os galhos encurvados,
Indiscretos entravam pela sala,
E de leve oscilando ao tom das auras,
Iam na face trêmulos — beijá-la.


Era um quadro celeste!... A cada afago
Mesmo em sonhos a moça estremecia...
Quando ela serenava... a flor beijava-a...
Quando ela ia beijar-lhe... a flor fugia...


Dir-se-ia que naquele doce instante
Brincavam duas cândidas crianças...
A brisa, que agitava as folhas verdes,
Fazia-lhe ondear as negras tranças!


E o ramo ora chegava ora afastava-se...
Mas quando a via despeitada a meio,
Pra não zangá-la... sacudia alegre
Uma chuva de pétalas no seio...


Eu, fitando esta cena, repetia
Naquela noite lânguida e sentida:
"Ó flor! - tu és a virgem das campinas!
"Virgem! - tu és a flor de minha vida!..."

Friday 28 November 2014

“Cisnes Brancos” by Alphonsus de Guimaraens (in Portuguese)

Ó cisnes brancos, cisnes brancos,
Porque viestes, se era tão tarde?
O sol não beija mais os flancos
Da Montanha onde mora a tarde.

Ó cisnes brancos, dolorida
Minh’alma sente dores novas.
Cheguei à terra prometida:
É um deserto cheio de covas.

Voai para outras risonhas plagas,
Cisnes brancos! Sede felizes...
Deixai-me só com as minhas chagas,
E só com as minhas cicatrizes.

Venham as aves agoireiras,
De risada que esfria os ossos...
Minh’alma, cheia de caveiras,
Está branca de padre-nossos.

Queimando a carne como brasas,
Venham as tentações daninhas,
Que eu lhes porei, bem sob asas,
A alma cheia de ladainhas.

Ó cisnes brancos, cisnes brancos,
Doce afago da alva plumagem!
Minh’alma morre aos solavancos
Nesta medonha carruagem.

Quando chegaste, os violoncelos
Que andam no ar cantaram no hinos.
Estrelaram-se todos os castelos,
E até nas nuvens repicaram sinos.

Foram-se as brancas horas sem rumo,
Tanto sonhadas! Ainda, ainda
Hoje os meus pobres versos perfumo
Com os beijos santos da tua vinda.

Quando te foste, estalaram cordas
Nos violoncelos e nas harpas...
E anjos disseram: - Não mais acordas,
Lírio nascido nas escarpas!

Sinos dobraram no céu e escuto
Dobres eternos na minha ermida.
E os pobres versos ainda hoje enluto
Com os beijos santos da despedida.

Thursday 27 November 2014

“Lua Adversa” by Cecília Meireles (in Portuguese)



Tenho fases, como a lua.
Fases de andar escondida,
fases de vir para a rua...
Perdição da minha vida!
Perdição da vida minha!
Tenho fases de ser tua,
tenho outras de ser sozinha.

Fases que vão e vêm,
no secreto calendário
que um astrólogo arbitrário
inventou para meu uso.

E roda a melancolia
seu interminável fuso!
Não me encontro com ninguém
(tenho fases como a lua...)
No dia de alguém ser meu
não é dia de eu ser sua...
E, quando chega esse dia,
o outro desapareceu...

Wednesday 26 November 2014

"Ballad of Reading Gaol" - Version I, Part V by Oscar Wilde (in English)

V.

I know not whether Laws be right,
Or whether Laws be wrong;
All that we know who lie in goal
Is that the wall is strong;
And that each day is like a year,
A year whose days are long.

But this I know, that every Law
That men have made for Man,
Since first Man took his brother's life,
And the sad world began,
But straws the wheat and saves the chaff
With a most evil fan.

This too I know-and wise it were
If each could know the same-
That every prison that men build
Is built with bricks of shame,
And bound with bars lest Christ should see
How men their brothers maim.

With bars they blur the gracious moon,
And blind the goodly sun:
And they do well to hide their Hell,
For in it things are done
That Son of God nor son of Man
Ever should look upon!

The vilest deeds like poison weeds
Bloom well in prison-air:
It is only what is good in Man
That wastes and withers there:
Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,
And the Warder is Despair

For they starve the little frightened child
Till it weeps both night and day:
And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,
And gibe the old and grey,
And some grow mad, and all grow bad,
And none a word may say.

Each narrow cell in which we dwell
Is foul and dark latrine,
And the fetid breath of living Death
Chokes up each grated screen,
And all, but Lust, is turned to dust
In Humanity's machine.

The brackish water that we drink
Creeps with a loathsome slime,
And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
Is full of chalk and lime,
And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
Wild-eyed and cries to Time.

But though lean Hunger and green Thirst
Like asp with adder fight,
We have little care of prison fare,
For what chills and kills outright
Is that every stone one lifts by day
Becomes one's heart by night.

With midnight always in one's heart,
And twilight in one's cell,
We turn the crank, or tear the rope,
Each in his separate Hell,
And the silence is more awful far
Than the sound of a brazen bell.

And never a human voice comes near
To speak a gentle word:
And the eye that watches through the door
Is pitiless and hard:
And by all forgot, we rot and rot,
With soul and body marred.

And thus we rust Life's iron chain
Degraded and alone:
And some men curse, and some men weep,
And some men make no moan:
But God's eternal Laws are kind
And break the heart of stone.

And every human heart that breaks,
In prison-cell or yard,
Is as that broken box that gave
Its treasure to the Lord,
And filled the unclean leper's house
With the scent of costliest nard.

Ah! happy day they whose hearts can break
And peace of pardon win!
How else may man make straight his plan
And cleanse his soul from Sin?
How else but through a broken heart
May Lord Christ enter in?

And he of the swollen purple throat.
And the stark and staring eyes,
Waits for the holy hands that took
The Thief to Paradise;
And a broken and a contrite heart
The Lord will not despise.

The man in red who reads the Law
Gave him three weeks of life,
Three little weeks in which to heal
His soul of his soul's strife,
And cleanse from every blot of blood
The hand that held the knife.

And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand,
The hand that held the steel:
For only blood can wipe out blood,
And only tears can heal:
And the crimson stain that was of Cain
Became Christ's snow-white seal.