Beato Jacopone da Todi, prega per noi!

Todi, Italy

Today I celebrate—I say I for the mere fact that most people remain unaware of today's significance other than as Christmas Eve Eve Eve and therefore nigh to Christmas—the feast of Blessed Jacopone da Todi who has become my dear patron.  I first discovered him quite by accident in a way.  Of course all earthly accidents—coincidences one might say—are merely manifestations of the hidden power of God at work, but from an earthly standpoint it was an accident, as I was searching for a Saint Jack whom I expected did not exist.  That search led me to Blessed Jacopone.

Street in Todi

When I discovered that Blessed Jacopone was credited with writing the Stabat Mater everything began to come together in my mind.  I realized how long ago my Lord had prepared me for this discovery of his existence, for one of my earliest memories of being at church is of praying the Stations of the Cross and singing the Stabat Mater whose haunting melody and words have ever tugged at my heart.  How could I help but rejoice in friendship with the author of that hymn?

By the tomb of Blessed Jacopone

An amazing poet, Blessed Jacopone captures the struggle at the heart of our lives in much of his poetry: he writes of the burning desire for God and yet the pain of that encounter and even the rebellion that rises in our hearts against the Sea of Love.  He reminds me of Jacob who wrestled with God.  (And indeed the name Jacopone is derived also from the name Jacob.)

In memory of Blessed Jacopone

I was blessed to be able to visit Todi and the Church of San Fortunato where the tomb of Blessed Jacopone resides in the crypt.  The curator must have thought me odd as I sat or knelt on the cold stone in prayer or the writing of poetry.  There was such peace in being there, however, beside the final resting place of my dear patron.

San Fortunato in Todi

In honor of his feast today (sometimes alternately listed on Christmas Day), I would like to share with you one of his poems that speaks so powerfully of love:

The Soul's Over-Ardent Love

Love, that art Charity,

Why has Thou hurt me so?

My heart is smote in two,

And burns with ardent love,

Glowing and flaming; refuge finding none,

My heart is fettered fast, it cannot flee;

It is consumed, like wax set in the sun;

Living, yet dying, swooning passionately,

It prays for strength a little way to run,

Yet in this furnace must it bide and be:

Where am I led, ah me!

I once could speak, but now my lips are dumb;

My eyes are blind, although I once could see:

In this abyss my soul is stark and numb,

Silent I speak; cling, yet am held by Thee:

Falling, I rise; I go, and yet I come;

Pursue, and am pursued; I am bound yet free;

O Love that whelmeth me!

Maddened I cry:

'Why must I die,

They fiery strength to prove?'

Love, Love, of naught but Love my tongue can sing,

Thy wounded Hand hath pierced my heart so deep:

Love, Love, with Thee made one, to Thee I cling,

Upon Thy breast, let me sleep;

Love, Love, with Love my heart is perishing;

Love, like an Eagle snatching me Thy sleep,

For Thee I swoon, I weep,

Love, let me be,

By courtesy,

Thine own in death. . .

Also, I have only just now discovered one more amazing fact about Blessed Jacopone that makes him even more fitting as my patron (if Wikipedia may be believed, as I have not time to do further research at present): "He was an early pioneer in Italian theatre, being one of the earliest scholars who dramatised Gospel subjects."

Oh Jacopone, I look forward to meeting you in heaven one day!