A friend visited Rome

A friend text-ed early Saturday morning that he and his daughter were in Rome. I wrote back that he might visit the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore (St. Mary Major) and "Up front, under the main altar, there is a tiny chapel housing the relic of the crib of Bethlehem. Pray for the children of the world there." 

Here we can see it above the little grotto altar. Notice there is a kneeler and a small wooden chair behind the rope. We can imagine our own visit: the place is quiet, no other visitors; so we are left to ourselves and the intimacy of our prayer. Imagine going behind the rope and sitting there, awake and attentive.

O Jesus, I pray

for the children I know,

even the grown-up children,

and for grandchildren

and great-grand children,

nieces and nephews

and the children around me at Mass.

But the many others too.
Have pity, 
have mercy, O Jesus,
that any of us might ever ever handily say
for the plight of children:

Of course, it's just terrible...just awful...

Oh, what a shame...

Might I feel something of their terror,

some upset,

some holy anger,
a prophet's just-anger.

Forgive us, Jesus, 

as we get more upset over over-ripe strawberries,

angered having to walk too far in the parking lot,

grieved when when the weather ruins our day,

than over the news of the children

thrown away,

sent away,

blown away,

withered away.

By your Bethlehem bed,

over which your mother sang,

restore us

who have lost our sense of outrage for the 

neglect of the planet's children.

The sociologist said:

"It's charity-exhaustion; not to worry."

Nah!

But Kierkegaard said:

"The function of prayer is not to influence God,

but rather to change the nature of the one who prays."

That's me Jesus!

That's us, Jesus!

Before I leave this so lovely chapel,

the manger where

Mother Mary placed you,

no room in the inn,

give me some new idea,
shed some Bethlehem light -
what I might do

for the most vulnerable of your children.

Even just one.

Amen.