From 'Mementoes of the Martyrs' : "...which provoked a Frenchman who was there to comment on the strange ways of the English, "those who are for the pope are hanged, those who are against him are burned:"                                               Saint John-Paul II wrote: "The fact that one can die for the faith shows that other demands of the faith can also be met."                                                 Cardinal Müller says, “For the real danger to today’s humanity is the greenhouse gases of sin and the global warming of unbelief and the decay of morality when no one knows and teaches the difference between good and evil.”                                                  St Catherine of Siena said, “We've had enough exhortations to be silent. Cry out with a thousand tongues - I see the world is rotten because of silence.”                                                  Chesterton said, “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult; and left untried.”                                                Brethren, Wake up!


Ivory rosary bead with Morthead and the Holy Face. 16thC. Louvre, Paris
During this month of November, Holy Mother Church invites us to think of Death, to pray for the souls of those who have died, and to prepare for our own inevitable end.

Those with responsibility for the young should not shy away from teaching them these things, which are all too frequently hidden away in our humanist age.  One day we shall be dead in our turn, you too, and yearning in Purgatory for younger souls on earth to pray for us, for you.

Blessed Robert Southwell, a Jesuit, was martyred on 21st February 1595. He penned these lines, upon dwelling on the Image of Death.  We do not have his advantages in the visual arts of our day, so must try harder!
BEFORE my face the picture hangs
That daily should put me in mind
Of these cold names and bitter pangs
That shortly I am like to find;
But yet, alas! full little I
Do think hereon that I must die. 
I often look upon a face,
Most ugly, grisly, bare and thin;
I often view the hollow place
Where eyes and nose had sometime been;
I see the bones across that lie,
Yet little think that I must die. 
My ancestors are turned to clay,
And many of my mates are gone;
My youngers daily drop away,
And can I think to 'scape alone?
No, no, I know that I must die,
And yet my life amend not I. 
If none can 'scape Death's dreadful dart,
If rich and poor his beck obey;
If strong, if wise, if all do smart,
Then I to 'scape shall have no way.
Oh! grant me grace, O God, that I
My life may mend, sith I must die.
Saint Robert Southwell, pray for us at our last hour.

Do NOT forget the indulgence, four days left!