Gifts of Love

"And Mary, what shall we say to Thee? Mary, Thou art the Sacristan of the High Priest!
Thou wert a Sacristan in Bethlehem when He did come to Thee as wheat and grapes in
the crib of Bethlehem. Thou wert His Sacristan at the Cross, where He became the Living
Bread and Wine through the Crucifixion. Thou art His Sacristan now, as He comes from
the altar of the Cross wearing only the drained chalice of His sacred Body."
​- Calvary and the Mass

Consecrated to God, each of Sister's actions are wholly His and for His glory, but she receives a special joy in caring for the sacristy and chapel for each item here is dedicated specially to His service. As she quietly moves about the chapel, adjusting the linens, checking the flowers, making sure that everything is just so for Him, she enjoys personal time with Him.  

One of the most profound honors accorded Sister Sacristan is the care of the sacred linens. She cannot approach the task of purifying, laundering, or pressing these without a sense of awe at being allowed to handle His sacred garments. No amount of care is too great, no time spent too much to ensure that all that comes in contact with His Sacred Body and Precious Blood is the best that it can be. It is her gift of love.

My Wishes Before the Tabernacle

​O little key!  I envy thee,
For thou canst open, at any hour,
The Eucharistic prison house,
Where dwells the God of Love and Power.

And yet Oh, tender mystery!
One effort of my faith alone
Unlocks the tabernacle door,
And hides me there with Christ my Own

O lamp within the holy place,
Whose mystic lights forever shine!
I fain would burn with fires of love
As bright, before my God and thine.

Yet, miracle of wondrous bliss!
Such flames are mine; and, day by day,
I can win souls to Jesus Christ,
To burn with His pure love for aye.

O consecrated altar stone!
I envy thee with every morn.
As once in Bethlehem's blessed shed,
The Eternal Word on thee is born.

Yet, gentle Saviour! hear my plea;
Enter my heart, O Lord divine!
'Tis no cold stone I offer Thee,
Who dost desire this heart of mine!

O corporal that angels guard!
What envy of thee fills my breast!
On thee, as in His swaddling bands,
I see my only Treasure rest.

Ah Virgin Mother! change my heart
Into a corporal pure and fair,
Whereon the snow white Host may rest,
And thy meek Lamb find shelter there.

​O holy paten! Jesus makes
Of Thee His sacramental throne.
Ah! if He would abase Himself,
To dwell awhile with me alone!

Jesus fulfils my longing hope,
Nor must I wait until I die;
He comes to me! He lives in me!
His ostensorium am I!

The chalice, too, I fain would be,
Where I adore the Blood divine!
Yet, at the holy sacrifice,
That Precious Blood each day is mine.

More dear to Jesus is my soul,
Than chalices of gold could be;
His altar is a Calvary new,
Whereon His Blood still flows for me.

Only one little bunch of grapes
That gladly disappears for Thee,
O Jesus, holy, heavenly Vine!
Thou knowest I rejoice to be.

Beneath the pressure of the cross,
I prove my love for Thee always;
And ask no other joy than this,
To immolate myself each day!

Among the grains of purest wheat,
O happy lot! he chooses me.
We lose our life for Him, the Christ,
What rapturous height of ecstasy!

Thy spouse am I, Thy chosen one.
My Well Beloved! come, dwell in me.
Thy beauty wins my heart. Oh, come!
Deign to transform me into Thee!

- St. Therese