Supernatural Reality, true story

Why did the fallen angels fall?

The spoken word explains that God revealed to them, His plan for redemption.  That He, God would take human nature through Mary, suffer and die for us.  The fallen angels through Pride, could not accept Mary’s role with such privileges.

I am tired of hearing Protestants wrongly accuse Catholics of worshipping Mary!  If they only knew what they are missing!

Jesus was delighted with His mother, by keeping the Commandments He so honored her, as we all who call ourselves Christians should accept her. The Bible tells us exactly that! “For behold from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.” [Luke 1:48]
Mary was created by God the Father to carry Our Lord within her womb; therefore she was created perfect, and freed from original sin in other words brought forth into this world in a state of absolute sanctity. If anyone could imagine that Jesus, who is the Second Person of the Trinity could be part of world contamination (fallen nature) due to the sin of Adam and Eve, does not understand the purity of God.

“My hour has not yet come,”
spoken words at Cana; yet
she knew because she asked
He would yield at her request.

Impossible to worship Mary
The more we love her
love for Him magnified
affirmed — Luke 1; 46

Just Because, true story

True Story St.Michael Archangel

Yesterday was the Feast Day of St. Michael.  Years ago this true story was told on the radio and those who were privileged to hear it was impressed.  Since then it has appeared in various places; many of you I feel have already heard this inspiring story.

A young Marine named Michael who wrote a letter home to his mother while he was in the hospital after having been wounded in Korea in 1950. A Navy Chaplain named Father Walter Muldy was given the letter, checked the facts and concluded what was in the message was true. A year later he read the letter in public for the first time, to a gathering of some 5,000 Marines at the Naval Base in San Diego. Here is the letter:
Dear Mom,

I wouldn’t dare write this letter to anyone but you because no one else would believe it. Maybe even you will find it hard but I have got to tell somebody. First off, I am in a hospital. Now don’t worry, you hear me, don’t worry. I was wounded, but I’m okay you understand. Okay. The doctor says that I will be up and around in a month.

But that’s not what I want to tell you.

Remember when I joined the Marines last year; remember when I left, how you told me to say a prayer to St. Michael every day. You didn’t have to tell me that. Ever since I can remember you always told me to pray to St. Michael the Archangel. You even named me after him. Well, I always have.

When I got to Korea, I prayed even harder. Remember the prayer that you taught me? “Michael, Michael of the morning, the fresh chord of Heaven adorning,” you know the rest of it. Well, I said it every day. Sometimes when I was marching or sometimes resting. But always before I went to sleep. I even got some of the other fellas to say it.

Well, one day I was with an advance detail way up over the front lines. We were scouting for the Commies. I was plodding along in the bitter cold; my breath was like cigar smoke.

I thought I knew every guy in the patrol when along the side of me comes another Marine I never met before. He was bigger than any other Marine I’d ever seen. He must have been 6’4″ and built in proportion. It gave me a feeling of security to have such a body near.

Anyway, there we were trudging along. The rest of the patrol spread out. Just to start a conversation I said, “Cold ain’t it.” And then I laughed. Here I was with a good chance of getting killed any minute, and I am talking about the weather.

My companion seemed to understand; I heard him laugh softly. I looked at him, “I have never seen you before, I thought I knew every man in the outfit.”

“I just joined at the last minute,” he replied. “The name is Michael.”

“Is that so,” I said surprised. “That is my name too.”

“I know,” he said and then went on, “Michael, Michael of the morning …”

I was too amazed to say anything for a minute. How did he know my name and a prayer that you had taught me? Then I smiled to myself, every guy in the outfit knew about me. Hadn’t I taught the prayer to anybody who would listen? Why now and then, they even referred to me as St. Michael. Neither of us spoke for a time, and then he broke the silence.

“We are going to have some trouble up ahead.”

He must have been in excellent physical shape, or he was breathing so lightly I couldn’t see his breath. Mine poured out in great clouds. There was no smile on his face now. Trouble ahead, I thought to myself, well with the Commies all around us, that is no great revelation. Snow began to fall in great thick globs. In a brief moment, the whole countryside was blotted out. And I was marching in a white fog of sticky particles. My companion disappeared.

“Michael,” I shouted in sudden alarm.

I felt his hand on my arm, his voice was rich and strong, “This will stop shortly.”

His prophecy proved to be correct. In a few minutes, the snow stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The sun was a shining hard disc. I looked back for the rest of the patrol; there was no one in sight. We lost them in that heavy fall of snow. I looked ahead as we came over a little rise.

Mom, my heart stopped. There were seven of them. Seven Commies in their full pants and jackets and their funny hats. Only there wasn’t anything funny about them now. Seven rifles were aimed at us.

“Down Michael,” I screamed and hit the frozen earth.

I heard those rifles fire almost as one. I heard the bullets. There was Michael still standing. Mom, those guys couldn’t have missed, not at that range. I expected to see him blown to bits. But there he stood, making no effort to fire himself. He was paralyzed with fear. It sometimes happens, Mom, even to the bravest. He was like a bird fascinated by a snake. At least, that was what I thought then. I jumped up to pull him down, and that was when I got mine I felt a sudden flame in my chest. I often wondered what it felt like to be hit, now I know..

I remember feeling strong arms around me, arms that laid me ever so gently on a pillow of snow. I opened my eyes, for one last look. I was dying. Maybe I was even dead; I remember thinking well, this is not so bad. Perhaps I was looking into the sun. Maybe I was in shock. But it seemed I saw Michael standing erect again only this time his face was shining with a terrible splendor. As I say, maybe it was the sun in my eyes, but he seemed to change as I watched him. He grew bigger, his arms stretched out wide, perhaps it was the snow falling again, but there was a brightness around him like the wings of an angel. In his hands was a sword. A sword that flashed with a million lights. Well, that is the last thing I remember until the rest of the fellas came up and found me. I do not know how much time had passed. Now and then I had but a moment’s rest from the pain and fever. I remember telling them of the enemy just ahead.

“Where is Michael,” I asked.

I saw them look at one another. “Where’s who?” asked one.

“Michael, Michael the big Marine I was walking with just before the snow squall hit us.”

“Kid,” said the sergeant, “You weren’t walking with anyone. I had my eyes on you the whole time. You were getting too far out. I was going to call you in when you disappeared in the snow.”

He looked at me, curiously. “How did you do it, kid?”

“How’d I do what?” I asked half angry despite my wound. “This marine named Michael and I were just …”

“Son,” said the sergeant kindly, ” I picked out this outfit myself and there ain’t another Michael in it. You are the only Mike in it.

He paused for a minute, “Just how did you do it, kid? We heard shots. There hasn’t been a shot fired from your rifle. And there isn’t a bit of lead in them seven bodies over the hill there.”

I didn’t say anything, what could I say. I could only look open-mouthed with amazement.

It was then the sergeant spoke again, “Kid,” he said gently, “a sword stroke killed every one of those seven Commies.”

That is all I can tell you, Mom. As I say, it may have been the sun in my eyes; it may have been the cold or the pain. But that is what happened.

Love, Michael

 

true story

True Story … a little bit of Time Travel

An occurrence, of all the experiences one lives, the most wonderful of all would be attending the Mass of all times. The Tridentine Latin Mass!
You would for a brief time, perhaps seconds become a “time traveler.”
Time travel is the concept of movement between specific points in time without the need for a “time machine.” Do I have your attention yet!

Allow an explanation, of the Mass and what happens at a precise time.
During the Last Supper, Christ, according to custom a little water was mixed with the wine which He changed into His Blood. This water represents the Christian people, united with Christ. Jesus chose elements recognized as food for humanity, bread, and wine. In the Eucharist, at the words of consecration by the priest at Mass, bread, and wine are changed into the Body and Blood of Christ. (The Italic font is from “My Way of Life” ~St. Thomas pg.533)

When a priest adequately ordained, he receives power. And during that most sacred moment of consecration, he calls upon God from eternity. Imagine time suspended for one quintillion of a second as if the priest reaches up from time to eternity and receives a twinkling of the Last Supper. A moment in time that words aren’t invented to describe.
The question is, why did the Vatican change the Mass?

Consider the fact that in 1570, the pope wrote a papal bull known as Quo Primum, which explicitly stated that no one, regardless of their rank, not even a pope, could substantially rewrite the Mass.
Another question is why then the Mass was altered?

For an answer to the question, obtain a copy of the Alta Vendita a document which describes the plans of Freemasons to infiltrate and subvert the Catholic Church. But, we know the end of the story.

Just Because, true story

Just DO IT!

Not Thy Will be done … but My Will!  WRONG!
Thinking back on my life, in the 70’s; while wondering, does God exist?
Being raised through the Catholic school system my religion meant much, my lifestyle based on what I learned by the nuns. Suddenly then, why was I doubting?
Now I realize why the doubt; I was losing His grace, grace that was keeping me from falling. The Church was changing subtly but fast enough for me to pretend teachings, disciplines no longer mattered. I started to relax; doing my own will.
Mentioning this confession above is essential to the rest of this blog post because I want to write about an account or scenario where an unbeliever wants to believe, and with God’s grace; where to begin is the question. A beginner should start at the beginning with prayer. I had to begin again and know the feeling.

 

Prayer is talking to God. If one has never prayed before, has in the past but not lately; begin by talking to God as you do with a friend. The critical part, vital is somewhere within your talking to God sincerely, because He knows sincerity; you must petition Him for three things. 1. To see the Truth when you hear it. 2. To love the Truth. 3 To be given the grace to act on this Truth.
Now don’t expect anything to happen immediately, pray daily, and you will be surprised. One more request especially these days when there are so many churches with different lifestyles pulling souls from one direction to another. During your search for Truth ask Him when you draw your very last breath you will be in His grace, and united to the Church that He founded.