Père Jacques, Martyr of Rouvray
God called him from his tender youth, filled with deep emotion,
The heavenly voice he always heard, sounding his vocation.
To answer this insistent voice he would kneel before the Lord,
Whom in silent church he asked to send him a guiding word.
In those distant days of youth, he followed Christ without reserve,
Thinking of the harvest ripe in fields where he would serve.
That ceaseless voice from heaven that summoned him to labor,
Jacques followed it with thought of devotion to his Savior.
When young he was and full of force to think of life ahead,
He planned a future given to God even till his blood was shed.
The road was long, the studies hard, with prayer and meditation,
Gospels, Psalms, and labor long, while faced with youth’s temptation.
For us who Christians are two major laws impose,
To love God and our neighbors, even killers whom we oppose.
In the fair land of Normandy Jacques gave himself to all,
The poor, the sick, the helpless, answering their call.
United with Christ in his Church, he worked for everyone’s good,
Sharing with Christ his suffering, and redeeming wherever he could.
One book was always with him, the Gospel of Love and Good News;
His preached to his faithful and warned against hatred and violence
Against the seeking of vengeance and even of taking offense,
Against giving back evil for evil and nursing vendettas of hate,
Against macho behavior and libels and lies to relate.
Search you must in pages elsewhere
To find tales of war and vengeance writ there.
But in the pure soul of Jacques only love could abide,
Only kindness and goodness in his heart could reside.
Sublime this vocation to leave things of earth,
To cleave only to Christ and gain heavenly worth.
What serve the world’s riches when one loses one’s soul?
Better by far seek a heavenly goal.
Père Jacques possessed nothing to take to the grave
Except a pure soul like that of a babe.
Masses and sermons, and confessions, Communion and prayer,
Visits, retreats, pastoral evenings, gatherings everywhere,
Baptisms, weddings, funerals, care for the sick and never at rest,
Inspired by Our Lord he gave of his best.
This pastor was father of one family wide,
His children all loved him and helped him with pride.
For them Mass was offered in the church every day,
Then all gave him welcome to teach and to pray.
He honored Saint James, his patron renowned,
Who receives him in heaven where the martyrs are found.
Jacques gave his life for the Christ who for us died;
Two cut-throats without pity were waiting and spied
Jacques coming to say Mass and to preach the Word,
The Gospel full of love, so that it be heard.
With their knife blades keen sharpened they made swift assault
On the man whom they hated, a man without fault.
Without qualm of conscience they killed a man who was kind.
This act caused them joy, so twisted their mind.
They struck in cold blood, one slit the priest’s throat,
And one struck a nun who with terror-struck note
Was saved by God’s Providence and rushed in the street
Their calling for help from some police on their beat.
Blood flowed on the altar from the priest’s sacrifice
While the maniacal murderers thought they’d won Paradise.
Père Jacques once found land for constructing a mosque,
Offered use of his own church by the imam and his flock.
But strangers saw this gesture as a threat to belief
And committed murder, to all causing grief.
But this crime touched mankind and caused greatest shock,
Assemblies condemned and the Christian Church spoke.
“Show our love and pardon and invite Muslims true
To share prayer and meet us, not fearing the few.
“Let him quench thirst and drink,” Victor Hugo once said;
So let us be Christians wherever the Gospel has spread.
In flowering Normandy, where the rains beauty bring,
From April till September, from October till Spring,
In Normandy fair how can horror find it place?
Province home of poets, Eden full of charm,
‘Tis the land of the great thinkers and should never know harm.
Pure sand on its beaches and Michael on the Mount,
These face the Atlantic and the glories know no count.
The Province of the Normans is the pride of all France,
The Church’s Eldest daughter with glorious past.
The State may be “laïc” so that all may feel free
But France is also Christian, so may it always be.
Nostradamus may be wrong, for terror I foresee,
Going to ruin Europe and end our liberty.
We cherish brotherhood and love, and have this one desire,
Order, justice and law, we to these things aspire.
But reasoning with terrorists is something that is vain,
An iron fist is the answer, strict law against their reign.
Père Jacques, you are in heaven, in the peace of the Lord,
We beg you intercede for us who must use the sword.
Holy water cannot damp the fires that feed on hate,
The force of law we must impose, if not to meet our fate,
On those who now are raving and are a great threat,
They’d take us back millennia until our sun had set.
French by Joseph Matar – Translation from the French: Kenneth Mortimer
