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Praying
the Rosary with H. Lyman Stebbins (Part One)
To Live the Faith
“Pray always and never lose heart...” (Lk. 18:1)
by H. Lyman Stebbins
This article originally appeared on page 15 of the March
1982 issue of Lay Witness.
Today, once again, let us speak of the Rosary. All you wonderful
CUF people are spread out all over the place. We here in the
Central Office wish you were all much closer, wish we could
see you more often. For CUF is more than the sum of the individuals
who constitute it. It is a thing-in-itself, of which we are
members to which we (in a literal sense) belong.
We are a family; and the word applies to us too, that the
family that prays together stays together.
Widely separated as we are, how can we pray together?
With all that we have written here during several years we
have been groping towards some degree of praying together.
It may well be that the one tangible thing which unites us
most often is the Holy Rosary, especially now since we have
all consecrated ourselves to the Immaculate Heart of Mary.[1]
Perhaps that bond could be even stronger if many of us could
be united in the same general intention for each of the decades.
With that in mind I venture to place before you the general
intentions which some of us follow here in New Rochelle.[2]
We start with the express intention of offering the Rosary,
as praise and worship, to the Divine Majesty, at the hands
of the Most Holy Virgin Mother of God, and with the intercession
of our own particular patrons in heaven, some of whom we silently
name.
Then, whether we are praying the Joyful or the Sorrowful
or the Glorious Mysteries, we invariably offer the first
decade for those who have died, especially those who
were closest or dearest to us in life, or for whom we have
some special responsibility.
The second decade is always for our Holy Father
the Pope—together with all bishops and clergy in faithful
union with him. The entire Church—one, holy, Catholic
and apostolic—is included in this intention, since Ubi
Petrus, ibi Ecclesia: Where Peter is, there is the Church!
The third decade is always for Catholics United
for the Faith, in the sense and spirit found in the official
CUF prayer.
The fourth decade is for all those living whom
we have promised to pray for or ought to pray for. They are
very numerous as a matter of fact: too numerous to be remembered
individually each day (the sick people in our parish; a friend’s
nephew who had a bad fall; pathetic victims of misfortune
or violence whom we read about in the papers . . . ) Probably
we cannot remember them all by name; but God can.
And the fifth decade is for all who are especially
near or especially dear to us, for all the members of our
immediate families, including (perhaps particularly) ourselves
as being among those most in need of the divine mercy.
How do those intentions fit in with the separate mysteries?
The First Decade: For all our beloved dead. Let
us recall that each one of them was born a member of our fallen
and exiled race: Against each of them, as against each of
us, the gates of heaven were eternally shut. Think, then,
what a shudder of astonished and joyful hope must shake every
human soul when it is witness to the ANNUNCIATION! The Angel
of the Lord has announced to Mary, and she by her humility
and her unconditional self-donation has conceived Him who
will open the gates of heaven to all believers, using the
Key of the Cross. Alleluia! Alleluia! Lord, receive them into
your joy!
But it is yet only an intimation, a hope. The Key has not
yet been forged. A price—the dreadful price—must
first be paid; and our beloved dead must be witnesses, with
us, of that AGONY IN THE GARDEN where our Savior, inconceivably
holy and pure, took up the huge chalice of all the putrid
sins of us sinners and in His limitless love, overcoming His
revulsion and His dread, offered to drain it for our sakes.
Lord, be merciful to us sinners! The Sun of Justice Who just
now rose upon us at the zenith, in Bethlehem, seems at once
to set in the same manner on the Mount of Olives; and all
is again enveloped in darkness. The little flicker of newfound
joy seems now to have been extinguished. What will follow?
Death; burial; darkness; the seeming end, right at the beginning.
But although we must do all our work while we have
the light of life, God frequently does His greatest works
in the dark. Darkness was upon the face of the deep when God
began His creation, saying, “Let there be light!”
He, the Light of the world, was brought forth to us in the
darkness of midnight, from the darkness of the womb of the
Holy Virgin, within the darkness of the cave in the City of
David. And it can be thought that the payment of the great
Ransom began when, from the Upper Room, Judas went out; and
it was night. (Jn. 13:39) Such was the prelude to the
Agony, the Crucifixion, the Burial. Our beloved dead are perhaps
not exempted from that darkness which fell upon the world.
Yet, very early in the morning on the third day, while it
was yet dark to the bodily eye, the RESURRECTION was disclosed.
Again—and forever—the Sun had risen: In very truth
the Lord had risen from the dead.
Queen of heaven rejoice, alleluia!
for He whom you were worthy to bear, alleluia!
Has risen as He said, alleluia!
Pray for us to God, alleluia!
In that glory the heavens and the earth rejoice; and our
beloved dead join in the jubilation. Alleluia!
(Next time: the second and third decades.)
Go to Part
Two
Go to Part
Three
——————
[1] The CUF apostolate was consecrated to the Sacred Heart
of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary on August 22, 1981.
[2] CUF was headquartered in New Rochelle, New York, until
the summer of 1994, when CUF moved to its present headquarters
in Steubenville, Ohio.
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From Our Founder
How different the holy Church would be this very day if, years ago, we had
been filled with a spirit of humility and compunction, of patience and ready
obedience, with the spirit of the Publican, who stood afar off, not
venturing to raise his eyes to heaven, but only saying, “Lord, be merciful
to me, a sinner” (Lk. 18:13). Or if, like St. Paul, we had begun by saying,
from the bottom of our hearts, “Lord, what would you have me do?” Or if,
like St. Catherine of Siena, we had been able to cry: “Thanks be to Thee,
Eternal Father! . . . I was sick and you gave me . . . a medicine against a
secret infirmity that I knew not of, in this precept that in no way can I
judge any rational creature, and particularly Thy servants, upon whom oft
times I, as one blind and sick with this infirmity, passed judgment under
the pretext of Thy honor and the salvation of souls.”
H. Lyman Stebbins
March 1987
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