Our Toys

In the spirit of my last blog, and simply because I love this poem for its beauty and truth (is there any other reason to love a thing?) I submit to you Our Toys for your reflection.

I first heard this poem recited by Archbishop Fulton Sheen during a retreat talk I have on audio tape. It speaks to the truth of man's relationship with Christ and religion. To often too many of us, even those who would never think so, play at religion without really realizing the implications of what we pray for and what we believe. We often attempt to make Christ over into our own image, rather than allowing Him to make us over in His. The former leads to spiritual laxity, pride, and eventually hell. The latter leads to joy, peace, faith, hope, love, and heaven. The former leads to a cross of despair, the latter leads to the cross of hope and resurrection.

This was brought home to me by a friend who is going through RCIA right now. She was baptized as a child, and received none of the other sacraments. She is now delving into her religion with such seriousness and faith as to be an example to us all. She commented on the theme of Advent, "Come Lord Jesus" with this surprising insight. To paraphrase, she said, "I am not ready for Him to come yet, and praying for it makes me nervous."

Wow. Only a believer, who knows the power of prayer, and the power of her prayer, would say something like that. "Reality would only add to our unrest." (I also owe this person a blog on indulgences that I have not forgotten about!)

Let us take Christ as He is, and allow Him to make our hearts more like His Sacred Heart, pierced for love of a fallen world, so that what the Father sees and loves in Him, He may see and love in us.

God love you!
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Our Toys

A blithe infant, lapped in careless joy
sports with a woolen lion. If the toy

should come to life, the child so direly crossed

to face with this reality were lost.

Leave us our toys, then; happier we shall stay

while they remain but toys, and we can play

with them and do with them as suits us best.

Reality would only add to our unrest.

We want no living Christ, whose Truth intense

pretends to no belief in our pretense,

and flashing on all folly and deceit

would blast our world to ashes at our feet.

We want no more of Him than is displayed

in the dead plaything our own hands have made

to lull our fears and comfort us in loss:

a plastic Christ upon a plastic cross.

Padre Miguel Pro preparing for the firing squad.
His crime: being a priest.

Padre Pro waiting for the squad to fire.
His dying words: "Viva Christo Rey!- Long live Christ the King!