Works: Volume 6

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Published on
Dec 31, 1872
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448
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English
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Over the years, the brilliant and often voluminous scholarly writings of Bl. John Henry Newman (1801-1890), have drawn into the Church thousands more converts after him.

In this more modest work, his Everyday Meditations, we encounter not Newman the intellectual but Newman the simple Christian, on his knees face-to-face with God. Confident that the Church teaches us rightly but knowing as well that each of us must walk closely with God — hearing His voice not only through the Church but in the depths of our own hearts — Newman here shows us how to look to Jesus and declare:

I need you to teach me day by day, according to each day's opportunities and needs. Teach me . . . to sit at your feet and to hear your word. Give me that true wisdom which seeks your will by prayer and meditation. . . . Give me the discernment to know your voice from the voice of strangers, to rest upon it, and to seek it in the first place.

This was Newman's greatest desire. It awakened in him ceaseless prayer, countless good works, a profound love of the sacraments, and the habit of daily meditation which strengthened his will, deepened his understanding, and enkindled in him an ever greater love of God. For those qualities, Pope Benedict XVI recently proclaimed Newman "Blessed," just one step from declaring him a saint.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church says that ongoing growth in sanctity is "an uninterrupted task for the whole Church." If in recent times yours has been interrupted (or merely slowed down), let it begin anew with this modest book.

To help you discern God's voice daily, rest in it, and respond to it according to each day's opportunities and needs, we have here gathered fifty of Newman's most moving Christian meditations, each guaranteed to enkindle in your soul the very same kind of love they enkindled in his. As they nurtured Newman's daily acts of conversion and finally made him worthy of the title "Blessed," so will they call you to daily acts of conversion and finally lead you, as they led Newman, "to bow down in awe before the depths of God's love."

“Love thy God, and love Him only,
And thy breast will ne’er be lonely.
In that One Great Spirit meet
All things mighty, grave, and sweet.
Vainly strives the soul to mingle
With a being of our kind;
Vainly hearts with hearts are twined:
For the deepest still is single.
An impalpable resistance
Holds like natures still at distance.
Mortal: love that Holy One,
Or dwell for aye alone.”
De Vere

In no province of the vast Roman empire, as it existed in the middle of the third century, did Nature wear a richer or a more joyous garb than she displayed in Proconsular Africa, a territory of which Carthage was the metropolis, and Sicca might be considered the centre.


The latter city, which was the seat of a Roman colony, lay upon a precipitous or steep bank, which led up along a chain of hills to a mountainous track in the direction of the north and east. In striking contrast with this wild and barren region was the view presented by the west and south, where for many miles stretched a smiling champaign, exuberantly wooded, and varied with a thousand hues, till it was terminated at length by the successive tiers of the Atlas, and the dim and fantastic forms of the Numidian mountains.


The immediate neighbourhood of the city was occupied by gardens, vineyards, corn-fields, and meadows, crossed or encircled here by noble avenues of trees or the re-mains of primeval forests, there by the clustering groves which wealth and luxury had created. This spacious plain, though level when compared with the northern heights by which the city was backed, and the peaks and crags which skirted the southern and western horizon, was discovered, as light and shadow travelled with the sun, to be diversified with hill and dale, upland and hollow; while orange gardens, orchards, olive and palm plantations held their appropriate sites on the slopes or the bottoms.


Through the mass of green, which extended still more thickly from the west round to the north, might be seen at intervals two solid causeways tracking their persevering course to the Mediterranean coast, the one to the ancient rival of Rome, the other to Hippo Regius in Numidia. Tourists might have complained of the absence of water from the scene; but the native peasant would have explained to them that the eye alone had reason to be discontented, and that the thick foliage and the uneven surface did but conceal what mother earth with no niggard bounty supplied.


The Bagradas, issuing from the spurs of the Atlas, made up in depth what it wanted in breadth of bed, and ploughed the rich and yielding mould with its rapid stream, till, after passing Sicca in its way, it fell into the sea near Carthage. It was but the largest of a multitude of others, most of them tributaries to it, deepening as much as they increased it. While channels had been cut from the larger rills for the irrigation of the open land, brooks, which sprang up in the gravel which lay against the hills, had been artificially banked with cut stones or paved with pebbles; and where neither springs nor rivulets were to be found, wells had been dug, sometimes to the vast depth of as much as 200 fathoms, with such effect that the spurting column of water had in some instances drowned the zealous workmen who had been the first to reach it. And, while such were the resources of less favoured localities or seasons, profuse rains descended over the whole region for one half of the year, and the thick summer dews compensated by night for the daily tribute extorted by an African sun.

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