Meditation & Mental Prayer: Catholics Talking To God.
Meditation & Mental Prayer: Catholics Talking To God.
Every Idle Word
Imagine standing before the throne of God, held accountable for every idle word spoken. This episode journeys through the teachings of Jesus, emphasizing the weight of our words and inviting you to reflect on your own speech. We walk you through the scenes of biblical narratives, pausing to let the poem by Father John O'Brien, 'Trimmings on the Rosary', wash over you, prompting contemplation on family, prayer, and the power of intercession. Let's open our hearts to the profound wisdom embedded in these narratives and poetry, and allow them to nurture our faith.
De I, i F God and Mary and Saint Patrick to you. You are listening to the Meditation and Mental Prayer podcast Catholics Talking to God. This podcast is predominantly about mental prayer and all the things that lead to mental prayer. Now for your host, Mrs Christabel Pankhurst, catholic teacher and theologian.
Speaker 3:Welcome to today's episode and a loving welcome especially to our listeners in the state of Texas. We have a very good treat today for our listeners in Australia and New Zealand. After the meditation we have a poem, "he Tremins on the Rosary, by Father John O'Brien. Our meditation today is on the words of warning from Jesus in Matthew, chapter 6, verse 36, when He says: """ but I say unto you that every idle word that men shall speak, they shall render an account of it on the day of judgment. So let's begin and we'll look at the scene of when Jesus was saying this. So, with our eyes closed and an awareness of God in our heart, we enter our imagination. Now you see before you a crowd of people. They're seated on the ground around a raised hillock. The Pharisees are standing a little way to the left. They have followed the crowd after making a consultation against Jesus on how they might destroy him. These Pharisees are grouped around a scribe who is seated at a small portable table. He has a sheet of papyrus and wooden quills on the desk, ready to collect evidence against Jesus.
Speaker 3:At the front of the gathering, Matthew is seated on the ground with Thomas beside him. Matthew has a large goat skin bag, Thomas has a rectangular object wrapped in blue material. From this cloth he takes a beautifully carved piece of wood. He handles it with care, for the mother of Jesus had given it to him this morning. Years ago it had been made by St Joseph for the young Jesus to use as a desk at synagogue school. Thomas now places it on the ground before Matthew. From the bag, matthew takes the tools of his trade, an empty scroll and a scribal palette Into this circular indents. In the palette he places small dried cakes of red and black ink, then a small flask of water to wet the ink and lastly his collection of fine brushes. He sets these writing materials upon the carved wood.
Speaker 3:The rest of the disciples approach from the right and Jesus steps forward and stands before the crowd. The crowd had just witnessed the verbal altercation between Jesus and the Pharisees, as they did everything they could to trap and condemn Jesus. They had called Jesus satanic. The people are alert and their anticipation is palatable. Like you, they are watching Jesus intently. Jesus speaks and his voice carries strongly across the crowd. Every soul hears his words.
Speaker 3:"O generation of vipers, how can you speak good things Whereas you are evil? For out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaketh. A good man out of good treasure bringeth forth good things, and an evil man out of evil treasure bringeth forth evil things. But I say unto you that every idle word that man shall speak, they shall render an account for it on the day of judgment, for by thy words thou shalt be justified and by thy words thou shalt be condemned. Beside you, a woman gathers her little boy closer to her and repeats the words of Jesus softly. But I say unto you that every idle word that man shall speak, they shall render an account for it on the day of judgment. You also repeat the words, every idle word. Suddenly, all the world is gone and you are standing before the throne of God. There is an angel standing just to the left and behind the throne he is holding a huge open book, the book of your life. He calls out a heading.
Speaker 3:Every idle word you hear the sound of a trumpet and a whirring, rattling sound begins within your heart, as all the words you have ever spoken gather like black, flies and stream out of your mouth, swarming up into the air above you for all heaven and all earth to hear and see. Lying words, words carrying scandal and detraction. Negative words, rattling sentences that mean nothing, prideful words, words of vanity, demanding words, words of blame, controlling words, manipulating words, words of flattery, complaining on grateful words, hundreds of words of self-pity followed by words of despair. The scene changes again and you find yourself in a small confessional room kneeling before Jesus. Spend a little time considering what has happened and tell Jesus how sorry you are for wasting the beautiful God-given gift of speech. Tell him that you love him and want to love him more. To prove your love, you will begin today to watch over all your words. You thank Jesus and tell him how grateful you are that he has given you this warning before it is too late. Jesus is silent. You feel the gentle love of God filling your heart and become silent too. You stay quiet for a time so that Jesus can speak silently to you in your heart. Now.
Speaker 3:The poem Trimmings on the Rosary was written by Father John O'Brien, who was originally born as Patrick Joseph Hartigan in 1878. His parents were Irish immigrants to Australia. The poem is about the family saying the Rosary every night, the highlight of which was what they called the Trimmings, which were the long list of people to be prayed for after the Rosary was finished. The Trimmings on the Rosary are the memories that find me now. My hair is turning grey, drifting in like painted butterflies from paddocks far away, dripping dainty wings in fancy, and the pictures, fading fast, stand again in rose and purple in the album of the past. There's the old drab dwelling dreaming by the wistful watchful trees, where the coulobas are listening to the stories of the breeze. There's a homely welcome beaming from its big, bright, friendly eyes with a sugarloaf behind it, blackened in against the skies. There's the same dear happy circle round the Bore's cheery blaze with a little Irish mother telling tales of other days.
Speaker 3:She had one sweet holy custom which I never can forget and a gentle benediction crowns her memory for it. Yet I can see that little mother still and hear her as she pleads. Now it's getting on to bed time. All you children get your beads. There were no steel-bowing conventions and that old slab dwelling free only this.
Speaker 3:Each night she lined us up to say the rosary and the stranger there who stayed the night upon his journey knew he must join the little circle I and take his deck at two. I believe she darkly plotted when a sinner hoven sight who was known to say no prayer at all to make him stay the night. Then he'd softly gather round her and we'd speak in accents low and pray like sainted Dominic so many years ago. And the little Irish mother's face was radiant, for she knew there were two or three are gathered. He is gathered with them too. Or the panniers and the avays. How her reverend head would bend, how she'd kiss the cross devoutly when she counted to the end, and the visitor would rise at once and brush his knees, and then he looked very, very foolish as he took to the boards again.
Speaker 3:She had other prayers to keep him. They were long, long prayers in truth, and we used to call them trimmings in my disrespectful youth. She would pray for Kith and Kin and all the friends she'd ever known. Yes, and every one of us would boast a triman all his own. She would pray for all our little needs and every shade of care that might darken, or the sugarloaf. She'd meet it with a prayer. She would pray for this one's sore complaint or that one's hurt at hand, or that someone else might make a deal and get that bit of land, or that dad might sell the cattle. Well, and season good might rule, so that little John the weekly one might go away to school.
Speaker 3:There were trimmings too, that came and went, but she never closed without adding one for something special None of you must speak about. Gentle was that little mother, and her wit would sparkle free. But she'd murder him who looked around while at the rosary and if perchance you lost your beans, disaster waited you for. The only one she'd pardon was himself, because she knew he was hopeless and to a sinful. What excuses he'd invent. So she let him have his fingers and he cracked them as he went and be dad. He wasn't certain if he'd counted five or ten. Yet he'd face the crisis bravely and would start around again. But she tallied all the decades and she'd block him on the spot with a glory, dadda glory, and he'd glory like a shot. She would portion out the decades to the company at large, but when she reached the trimmings she would put herself in charge, and it oft was cause for wonder how she never once forgot but could keep them in their order till she went right through the lot.
Speaker 3:For that little Irish mother's prayers enhanced the country wide. If a neighbour met with trouble or was taken ill or died, she would count upon a triman till. In fact it got that way that the rosary was but a triman to the trimmings, she would say, then himself would start at annoying for the public good. We thought, sure you have us all here till morning, you're a, cut them trimmings short. But she'd take him very gently. Well then, let us get it over. Come now all hands to their knees.
Speaker 3:So the little Irish mother kept her trimmings to the last ever, growing as the shadows over the old selection passed, and she lit our drab existence with her simple faith and love. And I know the angels lingered near to bear her prayers above, for her children trod the path she trod. Nor did they later spurn to impress her wholesome maxims on their children in their turn Aye. And every sore complaint came right and every hurt at hand. And we made that deal from time to time and got that bit of land. And dad did sell the kettle well, and little John, her pride, was he who said the mass in black the morning that she died. So her gentle spirit triumphed forth was this, without a doubt, was the very special triman that she kept so dark about.
Speaker 3:But the years have crowded past us and the fledgings all have flown and the nests beneath the sugarloaf no longer is there. Own for a hand has written thinnest and the book has closed for good. There's a stately red-tiled mansion where the old slab dwelling stood there. The stranger has her evenings and the formal supper spread, but I wonder, has she trimmings now? Or is the rosary said? Ah, those little Irish mothers passing from us one by one, who will write the noble story of the good that they have done? All their children may be scattered and their fortunes win, words hurled, but the trimmings on the rosary will bless them round the world.
Speaker 2:We serve as nominus oneeon tu sol tu sanctus, tu sol, tu dominus, tu sol, tu saltisimus Jesu. Christus Kursan dos diridus yin gloria de ipades Amen.