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Vì lỗi kỹ thuật nên số lượng người truy cập sẽ được đếm lại từ tháng 3 ngày 25 năm 2014 và bắt đầu từ con số 1.581.247 (số người truy cập cũ)


Feb 2 at 9:18 AM

Good Morning PhoteDinh,

Let's pray for those who are sick in our family, friends, relatives, community, nursing homes, and hospitals.

Tend Your sick ones, O Lord Christ.

Rest Your weary ones.

Bless Your dying ones.

Soothe Your suffering ones.

Pity Your afflicted ones.

Shield Your joyous ones.

And for all Your love's sake. Amen


God Is Love

--John Henry Newman

Jesus saith to him, "Love you me more than these?" (John 21:15).

You ask us to love you, O my God, and you are your self love. There was one attribute of yours that you exercised from eternity, and that was love. We hear of no exercise of your power while you were alone, nor of your justice before there were creatures on their trial; nor of your wisdom before the acts and works of your providence; but from eternity you loved, for you are not only one but three. The Father loved from eternity his only-begotten Son, and the Son returned to him an equal love; and the Holy Spirit is that love in substance, wherewith the Father and the Son love one another. This, O Lord, is your ineffable and special blessedness. It is love. I adore you, O my infinite Love!

And when you had created us, then you did but love more, if that were possible. You loved not only your own coequal Self in the multiplied personality of the God-head, but you loved your creatures also. You were love to us, as well as love in yourself. You were love to man, more than to any other creatures. It was love that brought you from heaven, and subjected you to the laws of a created nature. It was love alone that was able to conquer you, the Highest—and bring you low. You died through your infinite love of sinners. And it is love that keeps you here still, even now that you have ascended on high, in a small tabernacle and under cheap and common outward forms. O Amor meus, if you were not infinite love, would you remain here, one hour, imprisoned and exposed to slight, indignity, and insult? O my God, I do not know what infinity means, but one thing I see: that you are loving to a depth and height far beyond any measurement of mine.

And now you bid me love you in turn, for you have loved me. You woo me to love, to love you specially, above others. You ask, "Love you me more than these?" O my God, how shameful that such a question need be put to me! Yet, after all, do I really love you more than the run of men? The run of men do not really love you at all, but put you out of their thoughts. They feel it unpleasant to them to think of you; they have no sort of heart for you yet. You have need to ask me whether I love you even a little. Why should I not love you much; how can I help loving you much, whom you have brought so near to yourself, whom you have so wonderfully chosen out of the world to be your own special servant and son? Have I not cause to love you abundantly more than others, though all ought to love you? I do not know what you have done for others personally—though you have died for all—but I know what you have done especially for me. You have done that for me, O my Love, which ought to make me love you with all my powers.