Lord, open our lips.
And we shall praise your name.
Invitatory Psalm
Psalm 23 (24)
The Lord is the king of martyrs:
come, let us adore him.
The Lord’s is the earth and its fullness,
the world and all who live in it.
He himself founded it upon the seas
and set it firm over the waters.
The Lord is the king of martyrs:
come, let us adore him.
Who will climb the mountain of the Lord?
Who will stand in his holy place?
The one who is innocent of wrongdoing and pure of heart,
who has not given himself to vanities or sworn falsely.
He will receive the blessing of the Lord
and be justified by God his saviour.
This is the way of those who seek him,
seek the face of the God of Jacob.
The Lord is the king of martyrs:
come, let us adore him.
Gates, raise your heads. Stand up, eternal doors,
and let the king of glory enter.
Who is the king of glory?
The Lord of might and power.
The Lord, strong in battle.
The Lord is the king of martyrs:
come, let us adore him.
Gates, raise your heads. Stand up, eternal doors,
and let the king of glory enter.
Who is the king of glory?
The Lord of hosts
– he is the king of glory.
The Lord is the king of martyrs:
come, let us adore him.
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end.
Amen.
The Lord is the king of martyrs:
come, let us adore him.
Hymn
Stanbrook Abbey Hymnal
O God of truth, prepare our minds
To hear and heed your holy word;
Fill every heart that longs for you
With your mysterious presence, Lord.
Almighty Father, with your Son
And blessed Spirit, hear our prayer:
Teach us to love eternal truth
And seek its freedom everywhere.
Psalm 6
A prayer for relief from affliction
Lord, save me in your merciful love.
Lord, do not condemn me in your fury:
do not destroy me in your anger.
Take pity on me, Lord, for I am sick;
heal me, Lord, for my bones are in disarray.
My spirit is deeply disturbed,
and you, Lord – how long?
Turn to me, Lord, rescue my spirit:
in your pity, save me.
If I die, how can I praise you?
Can anyone in the underworld proclaim your name?
I struggle and groan,
soak my bed with weeping night after night;
my eyes are troubled with sadness:
I grow older as my enemies watch.
Leave me, all who do evil,
for the Lord has heard my voice as I wept.
The Lord listened to my prayer,
granted me what I asked.
Let my enemies be ashamed and confounded:
let shame and confusion overtake them soon.
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end.
Amen.
Lord, save me in your merciful love.
Psalm 9A (9)
Thanksgiving for victory
The Lord is a stronghold for the oppressed in times of distress.
I will thank you, Lord, with all my heart;
I will tell of your wonders.
I will rejoice in you and triumph,
make music to your name, O Most High.
Because my enemies are in full retreat;
they stumble and perish at your presence.
For you have given judgement in my favour,
upheld my case,
taken your seat on the throne of judgement.
You have rebuked the nations,
condemned the wicked,
wiped out their name for ever and for ever.
My enemies are no more;
their land is a desert for ever.
You have demolished their cities,
their very memory is wiped away.
But the Lord will reign for ever:
he has made his throne his judgement-seat.
He himself will judge the whole world in justice,
judge the peoples impartially.
The Lord will be a refuge for the oppressed,
a refuge in good times and in bad.
Let them put their hope in you, those who know your name;
for you, Lord, have never abandoned those who seek you.
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end.
Amen.
The Lord is a stronghold for the oppressed in times of distress.
Psalm 9A (9)
I will recount all your praise at the gates of the city of Sion.
Sing to the Lord who dwells in Zion,
proclaim to the nations his loving care.
For he has remembered the poor and avenged them with blood:
he has not forgotten the cry of the weak.
Take pity on me, Lord:
see how my enemies torment me.
You raise me up from the gates of death,
and I will proclaim your praise at the gates of the daughter of Zion;
I will rejoice in your salvation.
The nations have fallen into the pit that they made,
into the very trap that they set: their feet are caught fast.
The Lord’s justice shines forth:
the sinner is trapped by his very own action.
Sinners will go down to the underworld,
and all nations that forget God.
For the weak will not always be forgotten:
the hope of the weak will never perish.
Rise up, Lord, let men not be complacent:
let the nations come before you to be judged.
Put fear into them, Lord:
let them know that they are only men.
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end.
Amen.
I will recount all your praise at the gates of the city of Sion.
Give me understanding, and I will follow your law.
– I will keep it wholeheartedly.
First Reading
Job 29:1-10,30:1,9-23
And Job continued his solemn discourse. He said:
Who will bring back to me the months that have gone,
and the days when God was my guardian,
when his lamp shone over my head,
and his light was my guide in the darkness?
Shall I ever see my autumn days again
when God hedged round my tent;
when Shaddai dwelt with me,
and my children were around me;
when my feet were plunged in cream,
and streams of oil poured from the rocks?
When I went out to the gate of the city,
when I took my seat in the square,
as soon as I appeared, the young men stepped aside,
while the older men rose to their feet.
Men of note interrupted their speeches,
and put their fingers on their lips;
The voices of rulers were silenced,
and their tongues stayed still in their mouths.
And now I am the laughing-stock
of my juniors, the young people,
whose fathers I did not consider fit
to put with the dogs that looked after my flock.
And these are the ones that now sing ballads about me,
and make me the talk of the town!
To them I am loathsome, they stand aloof from me,
do not scruple to spit in my face.
Because he has unbent my bow and chastened me
they cast the bridle from their mouth.
That brood of theirs rises to right of me,
stones are their weapons,
and they take threatening strides towards me.
They have cut me off from all escape,
there is no one to check their attack.
They move in, as though through a wide breach,
and I am crushed beneath the rubble.
Terrors turn to meet me,
my confidence is blown away as if by the wind;
my hope of safety passes like a cloud.
And now the life in me trickles away,
days of grief have gripped me.
At night-time, sickness saps my bones,
I am gnawed by wounds that never sleep.
With immense power it has caught me by the clothes,
clutching at the collar of my coat.
It has thrown me into the mud
where I am no better than dust and ashes.
I cry to you, and you give me no answer;
I stand before you, but you take no notice.
You have grown cruel in your dealings with me,
your hand lies on me, heavy and hostile.
You carry me up to ride the wind,
tossing me about in a tempest.
I know it is to death that you are taking me,
the common meeting place of all that lives.
Responsory
At night-time sickness saps my bones,
I am gnawed by wounds that never sleep;
it has thrown me into the mud,
where I am no better than dust and ashes.
Leave me, Lord,
for my days are but a breath;
it has thrown me into the mud,
where I am no better than dust and ashes.
Second Reading
A sermon
by Pope Paul VI
The glory of the martyrs - a sign of rebirth
The African martyrs add another page to the martyrology – the Church’s roll of honour – an occasion both of mourning and of joy. This is a page worthy in every way to be added to the annals of that Africa of earlier which we,
living in this era and being men of little faith, never expected to be repeated.
In earlier times there occurred those famous deeds, so moving to the spirit, of the martyrs of Scilli, of Carthage, and of that “white robed army” of Utica commemorated by Saint Augustine and Prudentius; of the martyrs of Egypt so highly praised by Saint John Chrysostom, and of the martyrs of the Vandal persecution.
Who would have thought that in our days we should have witnessed events as heroic and glorious?
Who could have predicted to the famous African confessors and martyrs such as Cyprian, Felicity, Perpetua and
– the greatest of all – Augustine,
that we would one day add names so dear to us as Charles Lwanga and Matthias Mulumba Kalemba and their 20 companions?
Nor must we forget those members of the Anglican Church who also died for the name of Christ.
These African martyrs herald the dawn of a new age.
If only the mind of man might be directed not toward persecutions and religious conflicts but toward a rebirth of Christianity and civilisation!
Africa has been washed by the blood of these latest martyrs, the first of this new age
(and, God willing, let them be the last, although such a holocaust is precious indeed).
Africa is reborn free and independent.
The infamous crime by which these young men were put to death was so unspeakable and so expressive of the times. It shows us clearly that a new people needs a moral foundation, needs new spiritual customs firmly planted, to be handed down to posterity. Symbolically, this crime also reveals that a simple and rough way of life – enriched by many fine human qualities yet enslaved by its own weakness and corruption –
must give way to a more civilised life wherein the higher expressions of the mind and better social conditions prevail.
Responsory
God looks on, his angels look on, Christ, too,
looks on as we struggle and strive in the contest of faith.
What great dignity and glory are ours,
what happiness to join battle in the presence of God and to be crowned by Christ, the Judge!
Let us be armed with a great determination and be prepared to face the combat,
pure in heart, sound in faith,
and full of courage.
What great dignity and glory are ours,
what happiness to join battle in the presence of God and to be crowned by Christ, the Judge!
Let us pray.
Lord God, you have made the blood of martyrs
become the seed of Christians.
In your love, grant that your Church,
the field that was moistened by the blood of Saint Charles and his companions,
may always yield a fertile harvest for you.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever.
Amen.
Let us praise the Lord.
– Thanks be to God.
