Humorous Mysteries and a Meditation

My dad says that there should be "humorous" mysteries for the Rosary. After reading yesterday's Gospel passage, I agree with him:

As they were gathering in Galilee, Jesus said to them, "The Son of Man is to be handed over to men, and they will kill him, and he will be raised on the third day." And they were overwhelmed with grief. When they came to Capernaum, the collectors of the temple tax approached Peter and said, "Doesn't your teacher pay the temple tax?""Yes," he said. ²² When he came into the house, before he had time to speak, Jesus asked him, "What is your opinion, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth take tolls or census tax? From their subjects or from foreigners?"When he said, "From foreigners," Jesus said to him, "Then the subjects are exempt. But that we may not offend them, go to the sea, drop in a hook, and take the first fish that comes up. Open its mouth and you will find a coin worth twice the temple tax. Give that to them for me and for you." Matthew 17:22-27


Hah! Ok, well I thought it was funny...

On a more serious note, the meditation yesterday in the Magnificat was a very beautiful piece on Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament and I wanted to share that with you also:

Union with Christ's Passion

For many years now, O Lord, each day at five o'clock in the afternoon, I have been the client of your blessed cross. A disappointing client. The air which this sluggish character displaces when he moves would not be enough to turn the sails of a windmill. It doesn't matter. He likes to be here, he likes to feel totally dissolved and ignored here, to accept his part of silence and general immobility. Most of the time, nothing happens, at least nothing perceptible. He is happy when, after long repeated periods of watching, he feels deep within himself something as important as the falling of a grain of sand. But is it nothing just purely and simply to exist? Is it nothing just to coexist with that lamp, with that tiny particle of red light which at times diminishes and at other times abruptly flashes out, as it testifies to God over yonder in the sanctuary? Passion has become patience. It is you, O Lord, and it is the cross! Is it nothing to have for one instant espoused Eternity in the abdication of time, and to participate in the patience of God? Above me the sad stream of memories, images, and ideas continues its whirling iridescent course. I am somewhere else, below, a little lower down. I am substantially myself where the principal function is purely and simply to continue and to breathe. I look at nothing. I ask for nothing. I am here, and I wait. It is good to be here...
Oh Lord, I understand now that it is no slight thing, I don't mean carrying your cross, but simply accompanying it, measuring it with my eyes, at once attracted, astonished, and terrified. Now, up there where it has flown high, it beckons to me.

~Paul Claudel (1953) poet, playwright, diplomat, and member of the French Academy.