St. Thomas' Mass







On the Feast of St. Thomas, I would like to share a poem by one of our Sisters who reflects on the Doubting Apostle's ongoing act of faith.









St. Thomas’ Mass

This is my Body—
That Body pierced for me,
Passing through doors of wood that day
And harder doors of my soul’s stubbornness.

His eyes were proof enough for me
That day he came
Drawing me from my hiding place of shame
Among the other ten.

I thought only of repairing then,
Fearing that His risen Heart
Could still bleed for me,
I said that which none had dared to say:
“My Lord, my God!”

This is my Blood—
That Blood outpoured for me
Now caught and held in this
Blessed cup, its opening
One round wound upon His Heart.

“Thomas, take you hand,”
Yes, daily I hold you and
Constantly probe those wounds.
My being and Yours united in
This mystery, yet I unperceiving,
So my faith too, You bless.

Take then, my people
My children of India,
Take and eat.
Blessed are you
Who have not seen
And have believed.

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