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studiesinconnoisseurship · 2 years

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Balkanizing Bellini pt 3

In the Correr Museum at Venice is this Portrait of a Man in a Red Cap. As we see it now, the Man is off centre, looking sideways down on us; with his long face, long neck and jutting lip, he is quite a superior and forbidding presence, the kind that makes one feel judged. His cap is worn aslant, so it almost reaches his right eyebrow.

From Left: Portrait of a Man with a Red Cap, Museo Correr, Venice ; Silverpoint drawing of an old man's head looking down (from a sale at Sothebys December 1920) ; Portrait of a Man, National Gallery Washington D.C.

If we look at his eyebrows, nose and thin mouth, I think there is a striking similarity with the facial features in a silverpoint drawing sold by Sothebys in 1920. The structure of the face is also similar, and rendered, in the drawing, with fine stroking movements of the metal pencil that follow the rhythms of the flesh while telling us clearly where the bone is.The man is old and has downcast eyes. A younger man with eyes like those of the Man at the Correr Museum appears in a painting at the National Gallery in Washington D.C. and variously ascribed , to Alvise Vivarini, Bellini and Antonello da Messina. This, too, I would ascribe to the artist we are concerned with.

Left: Man praying ; Right: Profile of a old man (whereabouts unknown. Images: Witt Library)

Focussing on the mouth in Illustrations 1 and 2, and on the nose in the old man, I think one can extrapolate from a frontal view what a side one would look like, and thereby add two profile portraits of men, one at the Accademia in Venice, the other at Marseilles.

Left to Right Top: Old man looking down ; Drawing of a child with arms folded, from an image of St John, Musee du Louvre, Paris ; Bottom: Frizzoni Madonna (attrib Bellini) Museo Correr ; Drawing of the Christ Child, Uffizi Gabinetto Florence

Remembering the silverpoint ‘stroking’ in the drawing of the old man takes one to a drawing of a boy, probably the child Saint John, in the Louvre, and that in turn takes us back to the Correr Museum and a Mother and Child painting, the Child held on a parapet with blue sky and a bit of cloud behind the Mother. Another drawing, for a Christchild, at the Uffizi, exhibits the same, characteristic stroking draughtsmanship. An indicative aspect of the Correr Madonna is its colour scheme: a rose overmantel that is bleached by the light, and a deep maroon undergarment, the Madonna’s hair in much the same hue.These colours, together with the long, separated digits of the hands should be borne in mind when we look at the next item.

The Transfiguration (attrib Bellini) - Correr Museum

Amazingly, the Correr Museum yields a third and much more ambitious painting, The Transfiguration of Christ, that reveals, in the two figures to our left, one above the other, the same combinations of colours as in the Madonna.

Two drawings from the Uffizi (attrib Giovanni Bellini)

When we look at the treatment of drapery in the figure of Peter and of the still-sleeping Apostle, confirmation that the picture is by the same artist comes in a drawing at the Uffizi of a sleeping Apostle with his head against a tree, drawn in that now familiar, stroking style , and another, also at the Uffizi, of a youth sitting on a rock and looking upwards in wonder.

Whereabouts unkown (Images from Witt Library)

Two further paintings, one of a group of women around the Mother and her Child, the other of the Baptism of Christ, reveal considerable gifts of composition with a noticeable preference for arcs that link draperies and limbs.

St Christopher with the Christchild - Musee du Louvre (image from Witt Library)

Our next stop is a finely finished drawing in the Cabinet des Designs at the Louvre which shows Saint Christopher with the Christchild holding his head, legs either side of his neck. It is unfortunate that the drawing has suffered damage that literally defaces both of them, Saint and Child. However, there is plenty of evidence throughout that we are looking at a drawing by the artist we are interested in, and not Jacopo Bellini.Consider, among other things, the Saints left hand vis-a-vis the Correr Madonna’s right one.

Details of hand from Frizzoni Madonna (top left) ; St Christpher (top right) and the Agony in the Garden - National Gallery London (bottom)

How this Louvre drawing relates in time to the National Gallery’s Agony in the Garden I have no idea, but it does contain descriptive features to be found in the London picture.

Details of steps and tress from the Agony in the Garden (left) and St Christopher (right)

On the left side of the painting is a leafless tree with twisted branches like arms in agony. On the right side is a river that passes over a bridge connecting a higher bank with a lower one by means of steps leading down. In the lower right corner is a palisade of loosely woven branches. All these details are present in the Saint Christopher drawing. The latter’s minutely worked textures made of long thin strokes and flecks and dots are entirely consistent with everything already encountered

Christ, praying on the rocky knoll faces a vision in the sky of the naked Child holding the cup. This Child with his pronounced tummy resembles two similar children, amoretti, in a painting at Chicago (Ryerson Collection).

Details from the Agony in the Garden (left) ; Two Putti (right, attrib Mateo di Giovanni) Art Institute of Chicago ; Arion riding a Dolphin (right) Ashmolean Museum

Another naked child relatable to the style of this artist is Arion playing music on the Dolphin’s back, in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford. I believe that this very charming picture, with its evocative sea- and mountain-scape, is also eligible for inclusion somewhere within this artist’s oeuvre.

Before returning to the Agony in the Garden, already alluded to, mention must be made of the three predella panels of the Polyptych in the Basilica of San Giovanni e Paolo, because everything points to those being from his hand. There is much in them - too much for this Study to describe in detail - that illustrates the artist’s narrative style, composition, palette, typology and other matters.

Scenes from the Polyptych of San Vincenzo Ferreri (predella) Basilica dei Santi Giovanni e Paolo, Venice

We can fittingly end in the London National Gallery in front of the Agony in the Garden that is more A Vision in a Landscape.

The Agony in the Garden (attrib Giovanni Bellini) National Gallery London

Detail of Sleeping Apostles

The composition is not quite like any other. What we see is a wide valley lying between hills crowned with hill-top towns. A river runs through the valley, and a road that winds upwards beyond a rocky outcrop in the foreground on which Christ is praying. Behind him, to our left, his three companions sleep, not huddled together but separately. These sleeping figures should be compared with those in the Correr Transfiguration for colours and treatment of drapery. The sun has yet to rise over the rim of an equally sleepy earth, but already it touches with orange the undersides of clouds passing over the blue sky.. Seen from behind, the figure of Christ on his rocky prie-dieu is faced to that sky and the private vision he sees there of a naked child holding a cup. The circumambient air is fused with the emotional atmosphere of an hour charged with menace as well as beauty; it is the hour that soldiers of the State have always preferred for making their arrests. Something quite inevitable is going to happen.

The airiness may remind us of Claude Lorrain, but I think also of Hubert van Eyck and his evocation of an earlier hour in the Holy Women at the Sepulchre painting at Rotterdam. The painter of this picture had Hubert’s gift to combine the objective truth of a landscape with the charge of a human story within one space, one time.

Three Marys at the Tomb, Hubert van Eyck - Boijmans Museum Rotterdam

As is the case with all old masters as old as this one, we only have a fraction of what he did over his lifetime, so it is hard to do more than I have tried to do here, which is to assemble works that seem to have characteristics in common. Had we all that this painter did, I would be surprised if the Agony in the Garden did not stand out as exceptionally fine. None of the items above that one might regard as its antecedents seems to be on the same level of achievement, though they point towards it stylistically. Clearly he was not the painter of the portrait of Doge Leonardo Loredano, and even more certainly he was not the painter of the Madonna of the Meadow - those two contrasted artists I have so far distinguished in my project to sort out the muddle that is “Giovanni Bellini’. He is a third artist in an ongoing series.

#correr museum #bellini #national gallery washington #Vivarini #antonello da messina #witt library #accademia venice #frizzoni madonna #uffizi #louvre #old masters #renaissance art #st christopher #agony in the gardenn #ryerson collection #basilica di san giovanni e paolo #national gallery london #holy women at the sepulchre

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yrshots · 4 years

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| G E T H S E M A N I | . . 📸 Photo™ by @yr.shots / #YRShots / ©2020YRShots 🚩 Basilique de l'Agonie, Gethsemane, Jérusalem, Israël 🕕 Jeudi 13 février 2020, 13h26 . 📷 Canon EOS 60 D Canon EF-S 18-135mm f/3.5-5.6 IS f/5.6 -- 1/13 -- 44.00mm -- ISO800 . . 🌐 http://yrshots.ch __________________________________________________ #eclat #reflet #Gethsemane #Gethsemani #Jerusalem #Israel #basilicaofagony #basilicaoftheagony #basiliquedelagonie #churchofallnations #church #mountofolives #montdesoliviers #agony #agonie #color #couleurs #church #basilica #romanbasilica #basilique #architecture #urbanarchitecture #byzantinearchitecture #eglise #eglisedetouteslesnations #architecture #architecturephotography (à Church of All Nations) https://www.instagram.com/p/B-9ydOuHD6o/?igshid=1nog46172apit

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thepastisalreadywritten · 2 months

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The Feast of the Chair of St. Peter celebrates the papacy and St. Peter as the first bishop of Rome.

St. Peter's original name was Simon. He was married with children.

He was living and working in Capernaum as a fisherman when Jesus called him to be one of the Twelve Apostles.

Jesus bestowed to Peter a special place among the Apostles.

He was one of the three who were with Christ on special occasions, such as the Transfiguration of Christ and the Agony in the Garden of Gethsemane.

He was the only Apostle to whom Christ appeared on the first day after the Resurrection.

Peter, in turn, often spoke on behalf of the Apostles.

When Jesus asked the Apostles: "Whom do men say that the Son of Man is?"

Simon replied: "Thou art Christ, the Son of the Living God.”

And Jesus said:

"Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jona: because flesh and blood have not revealed it to you, but my Father who is in heaven.

And I say to you: That you are Peter [Cephas, a rock], and upon this rock [Cephas] I will build my Church [ekklesian], and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

And I will give to you the keys of the kingdom of heaven.

And whatsoever you shall bind upon earth, it shall be bound also in heaven: and whatsoever you shall loose on earth, it shall be loosed also in heaven." (Mt 16:13-20)

In saying this, Jesus made St. Peter the head of the entire community of believers and placed the spiritual guidance of the faithful in St. Peter’s hands.

However, St. Peter was not without faults. He was rash and reproached often by Christ.

He had fallen asleep in the Garden of Gethsemane instead of praying, as Jesus had asked him to do.

He also denied knowing Jesus three times after Christ’s arrest.

Peter delivered the first public sermon after the Pentecost and won a large number of converts.

He also performed many miracles and defended the freedom of the Apostles to preach the Gospels.

He preached in Jerusalem, Judaea, and as far north as Syria.

He was arrested in Jerusalem under Herod Agrippa I but miraculously escaped execution.

He left Jerusalem and eventually went to Rome, where he preached during the last portion of his life.

He was crucified there, head downwards, as he had desired to suffer, saying that he did not deserve to die as Christ had died.

The date of St. Peter's death is not clear. Historians estimate he was executed between the years 64 and 68.

His remains now rest beneath the altar of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.

#Feast of the Chair of St. Peter #Saint Peter

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the-blind-one-speaks · 2 years

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Aight I’ve been seeing too many purring vampire tropes not to jump on the bandwagon. I love it too much. Scary murder death lad just melting…. Mmmmm…. And some feral vampire, that makes all these little sounds humans can’t make to communicate? Ooh yes. Loving it.

…………

The creature was huddled into the farthest corner of the cell, pressed against the wall until it looked like they were trying to melt into the stone. From what Hunter could see if it’s face beyond the muzzle and beneath the filthy, matted hair, it’s eyes were wide, glazed with pain and blown wide with terror.

The werewolf crossed his shaggy arms over his torso, eyeing it speculatively. “This is the basilica haunt?”

The villager at his side nodded, careful not to make eye contact with the towering soldier. “Yes, sir. We reported it as soon as we knew it was wanted, sir.”

Hunter slid him a glance, the gold of his eyes dancing with green flecks that caught the torchlight and seemed to glow. Not that the villager noticed, of course. He was too used to the whole “never look death in the face” ideology. Wise of him.

“Once you knew it was wanted — not when you first caught sight of it?” He gave the man no time to formulate a stuttered reply. With a frown, he cocked his head, taking in the story written within the cell and its occupant. He hardly needed the intimidating middling form he’d chosen for this venture to smell the full extent of what had been done here. The cell was rank. He wrinkled his muzzle in distaste, baring his silver fangs.

“Yeesh, you’ve had this thing down here for weeks, haven’t you?” The creature flinched and scrambled to lower itself to the floor, shivering. The longer he stood here, studying it, the more that Hunter felt his emotions curl up into the cold center that had once rested where most men had a heart. This was an all-too familiar sight, once. He had to remind himself that he was better than that, now, that he didn’t take joy in the blood-spattered walls and the quivering heap in the corner. Still, the smell of pain and fear was intoxicating, and he felt his lips twitching into a instinctive smile at the strength of it.

“How did you catch the blood-sucker, anyway?”

“It was hibernating, sir,” the man’s voice was trembling. Fear prickled, tangy, under his sweat. It was nothing compared to the waves of terror rolling off the creature, though. Even without a heart to beat, Hunter could hear it panting rapidly behind its muzzle. Those lungs heaved and struggled, unused to the exertion. He flicked his ears, dismissing the information. It was unnecessary, as was the man’s explanation. He was half-listening, of course, but if the creature had been hibernating it would have been child’s play to catch.

“How many of your people did it harm?” He interrupted. The man faltered for a minute. In the growing silence, Hunter felt rather than saw the sudden unease. The villager’s eyebrows drew together. Hunter felt himself relax, his muscles loosening from their rigid posture to one more suited for quick movement.

“Harm, sir?”

“How many of your people did it drain before you captured it?” He left out the torture part. That was obvious enough from the state the cell was in, and the squirming, whimpering thing on the floor. He could smell ashes, too, and it did not escape his notice that there was a skylight that could only be reached from the outside. Where the creature was huddled would be in direct sunlight if the blanket was removed. He knew that was agony for such creatures. There was a reason most of them had ebony skin, and it was not because they cherished the sun’s loving rays. No, these were creatures of the night, and he welcomed the challenge they presented when he was sent on assignment to hunt one down. Of all the things in the known world, they were the closest he had to an equal. Aside from dragons, anyway, but he wasn’t fool enough to tangle with them.

“None, sir.”

In the silence that followed, Hunter could hear the faint, latent beat of a third heart. He blinked away his surprise. The creature had a heart. That was… unnerving.

“How man of your people were attacked?”

“None, sir.”

“None at all?”

The slight hesitation in the man’s words were telling. “We captured it on sight, sir, before it had the chance to do any injury.” The man’s voice was defensive. He tried to keep his tone even, but all that Hunter could do was laugh. He tipped back his shaggy head and let his mirth bubble out of him, the sound anything but humorous. He shook his head, flicking his ears a couple times in an attempt to fling away the urge to tear the man in half just for the sake of feeling something rip apart between his bare hands.

“The capture I could excuse. The torture?” He drew his lips back, baring his teeth in a furious parody of a mocking grin. Flinging his broad hand at the cell, he allowed his claws to flex as they swung past the man’s face. “This? With revenge as a motive, I could understand.”

There was a whimper from the corner of the cell. Hunter ignored it, eyes locked in the man’s face. The human was white with fear, flabby jowls trembling, jaw hanging half-open as excuses died in his tongue. Ignoring the foul smell of the man’s breath, Hunter leaned in closer. He snarled. “How dare it exist as anything but a human. That is a crime, indeed.” He felt the emotions in his breast coil hot and tight, rushing to fill his veins with warmth. He chuckled without any humor. “What a shame. I had just gotten used to existing myself, actually. Care to have a go?”

The man turned and fled. Hunter bit back the leap that was quivering at his legs, forcing down the instinct to pounce. With a long, rattling exhalation of breath, he turned to gaze into the cell. “Fucking monsters,” he muttered. “Of course it had to be my assignment. Brianna’ll be lucky if I don’t slaughter the whole village.” He shook himself roughly, like a dog ridding itself of water. When the last tremor had run down to the tip of his tail, he dropped his weight forward and did it again, perched on all fours. He felt much calmer, some of the rampant energy pulsing through him expelled. He had more important things to do than deal with disgusting humans. He always had more important things to do.

He padded into the cell.

…..

Sterling watched the werewolf prowl closer through wide eyes. He had heard the stories. He’d been sleeping for maybe a hundred years, but he had still heard the stories. Hunter was even older than his sire, and everyone who wanted to live back then had whispered in the dark about the young werewolf who had risen up and slaughtered his own pack. He’d even destroyed the lake, determined to be the only and thus strongest of his kind. No more lake to swim across, no more way to be bound by the curse, no more werewolves who could possible challenge him.

Sterling had been awake for this hell of two and a half weeks, and now the werewolf was coming for him, and all he knew how to do was sob.

His sire was dead. He wouldn’t have slept so long if he had still been alive. Sterling depended on him for safety, to come and awaken him when it was safe for him to come out and stretch his limbs, savor the moonlight for a while. Sterling only knew how long he’d slept because he could recognize the language the humans spoke — could recognize it, but not speak or understand it. The dialect was far too strange, the grammar mangled, the pronunciation sloppy. He’d been around for enough language shifts to understand the time it took for it to change so much. His sire was gone. Sterling was alone. He had nothing left and no one to protect him. No one was coming for him. He had wallowed in pain and just wanted it to end.

At least, he thought with some hysteria through the dull ache and sharp pains that had become his body, he would know what it was like to be bitten himself. The werewolf would use his fangs, when he decided to finish him off — they were silver, part of the curse; only another werewolf could do lethal damage to one of his own kind. The werewolf would have no problem with executing him. He couldn’t resist. He was just happy that at least the werewolf was experienced enough with killing to know what he was doing. He might die relatively painlessly, if the werewolf wasn’t bored and felt like it. He hoped he wasn’t bored. He’d been entertaining the villagers for far too long.

He shut his eyes, listening and praying to whatever deities would listen that he would die quickly.

The click of claw against stone drew closer, closer… and stopped. A ruffle of warm air brushed his face, ghosting across his eyelids. He whined at the breath.

“You really do have a heart, don’t you?” The wolf’s tone was thoughtful. Sterling cringed away, breath stuttering. No. No nononono. He couldn’t be interesting, he couldn’t be intriguing — all he wanted was to be dead! “That can’t be right.”

Sterling squinted at him through his eyelashes, hot tears prickling. The werewolf was squatting over him, palms resting against the stone floor, head cocked. A frown pulled at his muzzle, drawing his lips down and converting his fangs. Sterling looked away.

“You’re rather young, aren’t you?” The tone was soft, softer even than his sire spoke to him, and he was the gentlest person Sterling had ever known. The tears gathered on his eyelashes. The werewolf huffed softly into his face, crouching down further, until he was laying in the floor of the disgusting cell. “No worries, little pup. I won’t harm such an injured cub. I am not the man I once was.”

The tears spilled onto Sterling’s cheeks, hot against his clammy skin. He was exhausted. There wasn’t enough left in him to be terrified. His sire had warned him of this, the wolf’s tendency to play with his prey. Why did he have to toy with Sterling, though? Why must he be so cruel?

Sterling hissed weakly at him, the force of expelling the sound rattling his broken ribs. He coughed behind the muzzle and whimpered around the iron bit, scorching his tongue once more. He was lucky it hadn’t burned through, honestly. The werewolf shushed him, dwindling into his man-form. He reached for the muzzle with those disturbingly human hands and Sterling finally knew the mercy of blacking out before the pain began. He hoped never to wake up again.

….

It was warm. He recognized the brush of fur against his cheek and nuzzled into it, sighing. He was floating, wrapped in something firm and soft, tucked against a radiant heat and the sound of a steady, pounding heart. He kneaded his broken hands deeper into the fur, letting himself drift. Somewhere, high above him, he could hear the gentle sound of the moon singing its lunar lullaby.

Cold air, fresh with the scent of pine, stung his lungs. He coughed weakly, drinking it in, listening for the sound of his sire’s dark wings brushing together as he came in to land. His back prickled and ached where his own wings had never grown in, but he did not hear his sire returning. He clicked and chirped weakly, sending a question into the cool night.

A hand gently tangled in his hair, scritching at his scalp. He muttered in the back of his throat, not wanting to awaken from the dream. It was broad and rough, lacking the slender sophistication of his sire’s hands, but he pushed weakly into it, chasing the sensation of being coddled, of being held. When the touch cupped his skull in its palm, cradling his head, he allowed a pleased chirp to echo out of him. The sound was interrupted by a rumbling purr, his thin chest loosening with the vibrations as he melted into the touch.

He was completely enveloped, held carefully in a way that soothed some of his hurts while irritating others, but all he knew was that he never wanted it to end. Was this the embrace of death? Why hadn’t he tried dying sooner, if that was the case?

“Poor little pup,” a gruff voice muttered, the tone obviously unused to speaking with such softness. “Little cub, I will take care of you now. You rest up, pup.” The hand holding the back of his head began to slowly massage at his scalp again. He purred louder, nuzzling into the embrace. A sigh rumbled out of him, quavering with the force of his contended purr. He clicked and muttered in the back of his throat, kneading his hands in the warm, soft fur that surrounded him.

His sire would be back soon, he was sure of it. In the meantime, this friend he must have sent was being kind and gentle. He would savor it while he could, for as long as the dream lasted.

After all, some part of him knew he was not to wake up again.

He purred louder and drowned out that voice. It was not long before he fell asleep, cradled in the arms of a stranger and the song of the moon.

#hurt/comfort #Hunter #purringvampire #my writing #Sterling

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spymeister · 2 years

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@justificatusductus

Continued from here.

The main part of the Basilica has recently been renovated- with the visages and art of the false Primes having already been removed. His kith and kin have been steadily at work- making sure that the renovations have gone according to the Lord Prime’s wonderous visions. Imagery of Unicron bound and bleeding in on the bare metal of Cybetron- Primus’ sword buried in his neck as the energon runs freely from the wound.

And in their midsts, mecha being born from the river of agony and defeat- a testament to Primus’ divine power and dominion over all.

He finds the frescos comforting, rather than frightening- sunlight streaming in from newly rebuilt stained plasti-glass windows. The prismatic colors reflect off of their armor- bouncing back a scattering of bright rainbows here and there.

The small bells around the swaths of steelsilk hardly move with the Dacoit's glide, one servo having placed itself over the swell of white armor that covers Prowl’s fore-greave. Light claws curl ever so slightly, not quite possessive- but something close to it.

“Priime has been talking about expanding his works outside of Iacon,” he hums as they stride through the main antechamber. Their words barely reverberate- as hushed and quiet as they are in this holy place.

“You’re the finest tactical processor that Primus has ever brought to us,” looking at him askance from that behind that visor, lips pulled into a knowing smile. “It is both the Will of Prime and Primus that we bring you before the communion altar and baptize you fully into the Sacred Ones.” A thoughtful pause, gently guiding Prowl to pause with him. The shorter mech turns to face him- faceplates considering- even as his other clawed servo gently rests it’s palm against the sort duraflesh of Prowl’s faceplate. “Is there someone you would like to bring for the rite? Someone whose energon you wish to share?”

It is a perfunctory question, as the rawest agony always brings forth the sweetest energon.

#s h a t t e r e d / v i s a g e s → [ m a e s t r o ]#s h a t t e r e d → j u s t i c e // P r o w l // ← [Blind Justice]#tw: blood #tw:gore #tw:manipulation #tw:blood-drinking #just #tw everywhere #trigger warning #content warning

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tinyshe · 3 years

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A Collection of Prayers for Perpetual Adoration

From Various Sources

Angel's Prayer At Fatima

"Most Holy Trinity; Father, Son, and Holy Spirit -- I adore Thee profoundly. I offer Thee the most precious body, blood, soul and divinity of Jesus Christ, present in all the tabernacles of the world, in reparation for the outrages, sacrileges, and indifferences whereby He is offended. And through the infinite merits of His Most Sacred Heart and the Immaculate Heart Of Mary, I beg of Thee the conversion of poor sinners."

Blessed Sacrament Chaplet

BLESSED SACRAMENT BEADS These consist of a medal of the Blessed Sacrament and thirty-three beads, recalling the thirty-three years of Christ's life on earth.

On the medal one makes a spiritual communion as follows:

As I cannot now receive Thee, my Jesus, in Holy Communion, come spiritually into my heart and make it Thine own forever

On each bead say:

Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, have mercy on us!

(Source: "My Treasury of Chaplets" by Patricial S. Quintiliani)

A Short Visit to the Blessed Sacrament Before Meditation

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

I place myself in the presence of Him, in whose Incarnate Presence I am before. I place myself there.

I adore Thee, O my Saviour, present here as God and man, in soul and body, in true flesh and blood.

I acknowledge and confess that I kneel before that Sacred Humanity, which was conceived in Mary’s womb and lay in Mary’s bosom; which grew up to man’s estate, and by the Sea of Galilee called the Twelve, wrought miracles, and spoke words of wisdom and peace; which in due season hung on the cross, lay in the tomb, rose from the dead, and now reigns in heaven.

I praise, and bless, and give myself wholly to Him, Who is the true Bread of my soul, and my everlasting joy.

(by John Henry Newman)

Our Lady of Mt. Carmel - Morning Offering of Reparation

O Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, (here kiss your Brown scapular) and in union with the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass being offered throughout the world, I offer You all my prayers, works, joys and sufferings of this day in reparation for the offenses committed against the Immaculate Heart of Mary, for my sins and the sins of the whole world.

Chaplet of The Divine Mercy

Say it on the Rosary beads.

Sign of the Cross 1 Our Father 1 Hail Mary 1 Apostles' Creed

On large beads:

"Eternal Father we offer you the body and blood, soul and divinity, of your dearly beloved son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, in atonement for our sins and those of the whole world."

On the small beads:

V: "For the sake of His sorrowful passion" R: "Have mercy on us and on the whole world"

End with (repeat three times):

"Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us and on the whole world"

(Source: St. Faustina was given this by our Lord. )

Sanctity of Life

My God, we adore You here in the Blessed Sacrament. As we kneel before You, we recognize You as the Creator of all Life. We thank You and praise You for the lives you have given to us and to those we love. Give us a true and lasting respect for all life, for we recognize it as coming from You. We pray for all who have suffered or died as a result of disrespect whether that suffering and death has come as a result of abuse, war, gossip, or abortion. We pray for an end for all disrespect of life. As we kneel before You we ask You to forgive all those who do not respect the sanctity of life. We repeat the words you spoke as you hung on the cross, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.'

Stay with us

"Stay with us today, and stay from now on, every day, according to the desire of my heart, which accepts the appeal of so many hearts from various parts, sometimes far away... Stay that we may meet You in prayers of adoration and thanksgiving, in prayers of expiation and petition to which all those who visit this basilica are invited... May the unworthy successor of Peter and all those who take part in the adoration of Your Eucharistic Presence attest with every visit and make ring out again the truth contained in the Apostle's words: 'Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.' Amen".

(Source: On December 2, 1981 Pope John Paul II inaugurated perpetual adoration in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel of St. Peter's Basilica with a Mass. At the end of the Mass following exposition of the Blessed Sacrament he prayed, in part: (see above) (L'Osservatore Romano, Dec. 14, 1981))

Consecration to the Sacred Heart of Jesus

* Adorable Heart of Jesus, the tenderest, the most amiable, the most generous of all hearts, penetrated with gratitude at the sight of Thy benefits, I come to consecrate myself wholly and unreservedly to Thee! I wish to devote all my energies to propagating Thy worship and winning, if possible, all hearts to Thee. Receive my heart this day, O Jesus!

Or rather take it, change it, purify it, to render it worthy of Thee; Make it humble, gentle, patient, faithful and generous like Thine, by inflaming it with the fire of Thy love. Hide it in Thy Divine Heart with all hearts that love Thee and are consecrated to Thee; never permit me to take my heart from Thee again. Let me rather die than grieve Thy Adorable Heart. Thou knowest O Heart of Jesus, that the desire of my heart is to love Thee always, to be wholly Thine in life and in death, in time and eternity. Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us. Sacred Heart of Jesus, I trust in Thee.

Hail to Thee, True Body

(A Prayer to our Eucharistic Lord)

Hail to thee, true body born From Virgin Mary's womb! The same that on the cross was nailed And bore for man the bitter doom.

Thou, whose side was pierced and flowed Both with water and with blood; Suffer us to taste of thee, In our life's last agony.

O kind, O loving one! O sweet Jesus, Mary's Son!

Consecration to the Immaculate Heart of Mary

* I, (name), a faithless sinner, renew and ratify today in Thy hands, O Immaculate Mother, the vows of my baptism; I renounce Satan, his pomps and works; and I give myself entirely to Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Wisdom, to carry my cross after Him all the days of my life, and to be more faithful to Him than I have ever been before.

In the presence of all the Heavenly court I choose thee this day for my Mother and Mistress. I deliver and consecrate to thee, as Thy slave, my body and soul, my goods, both interior and exterior, and even the value of all my good actions, past, present and future; leaving to thee the entire and full right of disposing of me, and all that belongs to me, without exception, according to Thy good pleasure, for the greater glory of God, in time and in eternity. Amen.

Prayer to the Eucharistic Heart of Jesus

Heart of Jesus in the Eucharist, I adore You. Sweet Companion of our exile, I seek You. Holy God become man, I beat with Your Heart.

Eucharistic Heart of Jesus, solitary, abandoned, humiliated, cursed, despised, outraged, ignored by men, have mercy on us. Lover of our hearts, pleading for Your beloved, patiently waiting for us, eager to hear our confidences, desirous of our devotion, have mercy on us. Heart of grace, silent and wishing to speak, Refuge of the hidden life, Sharer of the secrets of union with God, Eucharistic Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us.

Jesus, Victim, I want to comfort You. I unite myself with You. I offer myself in union with You. I count myself as nothing before You. I desire to forget myself and think only of You, to be forgotten and rejected for love of You, not to be understood, not to be loved, except by You. I will hold my peace that I may listen to You. I will forsake myself in order to be lost in You. Grant that I may quench Your thirst for my salvation, Your burning thirst for my sanctification, and that, being purged, I may give You a true and pure love. I no longer want to deny Your expectations. Take me. I give myself to You. I entrust to You all my actions and thoughts -- my mind, that You may enlighten it, my heart, that You may fill it, my will, that You may establish it, my soul and body, that You may feed and sustain them. Eucharistic Heart of Jesus, Whose Blood is the life of my soul, may it no longer be I who live, but You alone Who lives in me.

Prayer for the Spread of Perpetual Adoration

Heavenly Father, increase our faith in the Real Presence of Your Son Jesus Christ in the Holy Eucharist. We are obliged to adore Him, to give Him thanks and to make reparation for sins. We need your peace in our hearts and among nations. We need conversion from our sins and the mercy of Your forgiveness. May we obtain this through prayer and our union with the Eucharistic Lord. Please send down the Holy Spirit upon all peoples to give them the love, courage, strength and willingness to respond to the invitation to Eucharistic Adoration. We beseech You to spread Perpetual Adoration of the Most Blessed Sacrament in parishes around the world. We ask this in the name of Jesus the Lord. Amen

Our Lady of the Most Blessed Sacrament Help us to spread the glory of Your Son through Perpetual Adoration.

Pope John Paul II Eucharistic Adoration Phone: 708-728-0840

At the Feet of Christ in the Eucharist

O Jesus, Divine Prisoner of Love, when I consider Your love and how You emptied Yourself for me, my senses deaden. You hide Your inconceivable majesty and lower Yourself to miserable me. O king of Glory, though You hide Your beauty, yet the eye of my soul rends the veil. I see the angelic choirs giving You honor without cease, and all the heavenly Powers praising You without cease, and without cease they are saying: Holy, Holy, Holy.

Oh, who will comprehend Your love and Your unfathomable mercy toward us! O Prisoner of Love, I love up my poor heart in this tabernacle that it may adore You without cease night and day. I know of no obstacle in this adoration: and even though I be physically distant, my heart is always with You. Nothing can put a stop to my love for You. No obstacles exist for me...

O Holy Trinity, One and Indivisible God, may You be blessed for this great gift and testament of mercy. Amen.

I adore You, Lord and Creator, hidden in the Most Blessed Sacrament. I adore You for all the works of Your hands, that reveal to me so much wisdom, goodness and mercy, O Lord. You have spread so much beauty over the earth and it tells me about Your beauty, even though these beautiful things are but a faint reflection of You, incomprehensible Beauty. And although You have hidden Yourself and concealed your beauty, my eye, enlightened by faith, reaches You and my souls recognizes its Creator, its Highest Good, and my heart is completely immersed in prayer of adoration.

My Lord and Creator, Your goodness encourages me to converse with You. Your mercy abolishes the chasm which separates the Creator from the creature. To converse with You, O Lord, is the delight of my heart. In You I find everything that my heart could desire. Here Your light illumines my mind, enabling it to know You more and more deeply. Here streams of grace flow down upon my heart. Here my soul draws eternal life. O my Lord and Creator, You alone, beyond all these gifts, give Your own self to me and unite Yourself intimately with Your miserable creature.

O Christ, let my greatest delight be to see You loved and Your praise and glory proclaimed, especially the honor of Your mercy. O Christ, let me glorify Your goodness and mercy to the last moment of my life, with every drop of my blood and every beat of my heart. Would that I be transformed into a hymn of adoration of You. When I find myself on my deathbed, may the last beat of my heart be a loving hymn glorifying Your unfathomable mercy. Amen.

(by St. Faustina)

Lauda Sion

By St. Thomas Aquinas

Laud, O Sion, thy Salvation Laud in songs of exultation this thy Shepherd and thy King: All thy might in triumph raising Praise Him Who surpasses praising Far beyond thine honouring.

Be our theme of high thanksgiving Living Bread and source of living Set to-day before us here:- Broken at that Supper blessed, As by every mouth confessed, For the brethren gathered there.

Laud be lifted, sweet and sounding, Ringing from an heart abounding, Rising into jubilee! Laud in duteous celebration Of this Table's consecration For such high solemnity.

Lo, the King His Law revises; Newer truth from elder rises, Newer Law and Paschal rite. Ancient truths their room surrender, Glows the twilight into splendour, Darkness vanishes to light.

That He wrought at supper lying In remembrance of His dying Christ hath bid His Church renew; We the ordinance obeying, Earthly bread and wine displaying, Consecrate the Victim due.

Now the sacred truth receiving We,- the Bread His Flesh believing and the Wine His Blood to be, What tho' eye and mind be failing, Nature's order countervailing - Grasp by faith the mystery.

Under diverse kinds concealed While to sense yet unrevealed Lies a wonder all-divine. Flesh and Blood hath each its token Yet abides there Christ unbroken Hidden under either sign.

Perfect to the priest who breaks It, Perfect in the hand who takes It, Christ is undivided there. One or thousands may receive Him Yet true hearts in truth believe Him Unconsumed everywhere.

Good and bad alike partaking Each, by diverse lot, is making One to woe and one to weal, Each from each is set asunder: Mark the word of grace and wonder - One to hurt and one to heal.

Thus the Lord His Presence hiding Dwells in many parts abiding, - Every soul in Him confiding Doubts not that the Whole is there. He the One remaineth ever Under every part: for never Aught can Christ from Christ dissever, still abiding everywhere.

The Bread of Angels, lo! is sent For weary pilgrims' nourishment; The children's Bread, not to be spent On worthless dogs profane; In types significant portrayed, Young Isaac on the altar laid, And paschal offerings duly made, And manna's fruitful rain.

O Thou good Shepherd, Very Bread, Jesu, on us Thy mercy shed; Sweetly feed us, Gently lead us, Till of Thy Fullness us Thou give Safe in the Land of those that live. Thou who can'st all, and all dost know Thou who dost feed us here below, Grant us here to share Thy banquet there, Co-heirs and partners of Thy love With the blest citizens above.

AMEN.

PRAYER

"Do grant, oh my God, that when my lips approach Yours to kiss You, I may taste the gall that was given to You; when my shoulders lean against Yours, make me feel Your scourging; when my flesh is united with Yours, in the Holy Eucharist, make me feel Your passion; when my head comes near Yours, make me feel Your thorns; when my heart is close to Yours, make me feel Your spear."

-St. Gemma Galgani

PRAYER

Our Lady of the Most Blessed Sacrament

O Virgin Mary, Our Lady of the Most Blessed Sacrament, the glory of Christians, the joy of the universal Church, and the hope of the world, pray for us. Kindle in all the faithful a lively devotion to the most Holy Eucharist, so that they may all be made worthy to receive Holy Communion every day.

V. Pray for us, O Virgin Immaculate, our Lady of the Most Blessed Sacrament. R. That the Eucharistic Kingdom of Jesus Christ may come among us!

PRAYER

Totus tuos Totally yours, Immaculate Conception, Mary my Mother, Live in me, Act in me, Speak in me and through me, Think your thoughts in my mind, Love through my heart, Give me your dispositions and feelings, Teach, lead me and guide me to Jesus, Correct, enlighten and expand my thoughts and behavior, Posses my soul, Take over my entire personality and life, replace it with Yourself, Incline me to constant adoration, Pray in me and through me, Let me live in you and keep me in this union always.

- The Holy Father

Hail full of grace!

Hail full of grace! With every virtue was the Virgin adorned who as a lamp carried the unquenchable Light more splendid than the sun. Hail, full of grace, golden urn containing the heavenly Manna! Hail, full of grace, quenching the thirst of men with the fresh water of the eternal fountain! Hail, full of grace, spiritual ocean in whom was found the heavenly pearl, even Christ! Hail, full of grace, glorious heaven containing the God whom the heavens cannot contain! Hail, full of grace, excelling the cherubic throne of godly splendor! Hail, full of grace, pillar of light containing God who leads His people through the desert!

You are blessed, O holy Virgin Mary, and most worthy of all praise, since from you has risen the Sun of justice, Christ our God.

V. In your glory and your splendor. R. Go forth, advance with victory and reign.

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