The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1913-03-29
THE MOTHER OF A PRIEST.

The following beautiful letter was
written to friend by mother on
the day following the ordination of
her son.
Dear Friend-Bless, bless God,
am the mother of a priest 1t was to
you l wrote, twenty-five years ago,
when the child was given me. / re-
call it; 1 was foolish with joy; / felt
him living by my side; / stretched
out my hand toward him. touched
him as he lay in his cradle as if to
assure myself that 1 really possessed
him.
All, what a distance between the
joys of then and the events of today,
which lift up my soul and fill it with
sentiments it has never known be-
fore. Today, l am a mother Of a
priest!
Those hands that, when they were
so small, kissed with warmest love,
those hands are consecrated; those
fingers have touched God. The I'M
derstanding that received enlighten-
ment from me, and to which taught
life's aim, has developed, it is flooded
with great truths study and grace
have made it surpass my own intelli-
gence, and now, behold, it is conse-
Grated to God. That body which l
cared for and protected, which made
sickness would rob me of my treasure
that body has become large and
strong; behold, it is consecrated to
God!
That body has become the servant
of priests soul; it will fatigue itself
in order to uplift the sinner, to in
struct the ignorant, to give to each
and every creature who asks and seeks
of him, their God.
That heart, ali! heart so holy and
so good, so true to me through all
these years-that heart which trem-
bled at contact with aught that was
of earth; behold it is the heart of the
Lords anointed! The only love that
heart doth know we call by the sweet
name of Charity.
My son! my son! 1t is who know
his nature, and what priceless treas
ures are concentrated in his character;
they will be his safeguard against the
world and against himself. When in
the secrecy of his priestly work God
may put in his path some faltering
soul, he will know how to find words
to lift up that soul and make it trust
in the goodness of God.
Oh, yes! my child will do good, he
will be according to Gods heart, he
will be all charity. Yes, yes! am
the mother of priest, of a true priest!
What shall tell you of yesterdays
ceremonies? / was there, but I saw
nothing save only him; when he knelt,
when he stood upright, when he lay
PROSTATE, when he arose, when he
passed away so recollected from be-
meath the hand of the Bishop-a priest
forever!
And this morning he said his first
Mass, in the little chapel of a humble
convent, where pure and loving hands
adorned the altar with lilies and roses,
white and red; no pomp was there
save the silent flowers and the modest
love-lit candles; his server, a child,
his congregation, seemed alone-I,
his mother and few dear friends.
All! when they wish to paint the
happiness of heaven should they not
try to picture the happiness of
mother who sees God descend at the
voice of her son, to mother lost in
alteration so deep that she has forgot
ten the world, forgotten that she lives,
and who gazes upon but two objects,
God, and her own son.
At a certain moment 1 heard him
move as he bent down before the sa-
cred host. 1 prayed no longer, or at
least know not what to call my emo
lions. Yes! it was the ecstacy of a
Christian mother. l was saying
thanks, my God, thanks forevermore
This priest, he was mine; it was l
who formed him; his soul was lit up
by mine. He is mine no longer, he
belongs to Thee, o my God. Protect
him from even the shadow of evil: he
is the salt of the earth; keep him
from being contaminated My God l
love Thee, and I love him, I respect
him, venerate him for he is Thy
priest.
At the moment of communion the
young server recites the confiteor; the
celebrant has turned around, he has
raised his right hand, it is the absolu-
ton which descends upon his mother.
My poor child, sob has escaped
him; he takes the holy ciborium, he
has come to me; my son, he brings
me my God. What moment! What
union! God, His priest, and I! Was
praying? In truth l cannot tell.
My being was wrapt in peace that
has no name. I was bathed in tears,
tears of love and gratitude. I was
saying in low, subdued voice: my
God! My SOM" Yes, for one who is
mother I believe this was a prayer.
OH l am too happy. l shall never
again complain In my life there
have been beautiful days; this was the
most beautiful of all, because unmin-
gled with thoughts of earth. Adieu.
cannot write more, my tears food
this paper, they are the tears of my
| ha~