The first missionary religious congregation for women in the history of the Church and the world is the Institute of the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary founded in 1877 by BL. Mary of the Passion, now in the 139th year of its course.

Franciscan in its essence.
Missionary in its services
Mary - like in its approach.

» Dedicated to universal mission

» Seek strength from the Eucharist

» And offer ourselves in challenging services


" Who will take the Son?"


A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.

When the Vietnamese conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in the battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and he grieved deeply for his only son.

About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands. He said, “Sir, you don’t know me, but I’m the soldier for whom your son gave his life, he save many lives that day. And he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart. He died instantly. He often talked about you and your love for art.”

The young man held out his package. “I know this isn’t much. I’m not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.”

The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son. The father was so drawn the eyes that his own eyes welled  up  with  tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture.

“Oh no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It’s a gift.”

The father hung this portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other works of art he had collected.

 The man died a few months later. Because his only son was dead, there was to be a great auction to dispose of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.

On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. “We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. “ We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?’

There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, we want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.’

But the auctioneer persisted.  “Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100,$200?”

Another voice shouted angrily “W e didn’t come to see this painting. We came to see Van Gogh, Rembrandt etc. Get on with the real bids!”

But still the auctioneer continued. The son! The son! Who will take the Son?”

Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the long time gardener of the man and his son. I’ll give $10 for the painting. Being a poor man that was all he could afford.

We have $10, who will bid the next?” Won’t someone?

The crowd was becoming angry. They didn’t want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.

The auctioneer pounded the gavel.” Going for one, twice, sold for $10.”

A man sitting on the second row shouted, Now let’s get on with the collection!”

The auctioneer laid down the gavel and said, “I’m sorry, sir the auction is over.”

“What about all the other paintings?”

I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son was to be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings. The man who took the son gets everything!”

God gave His Son two thousand years ago to die on a cruel cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is,  “THE SON, the SON, who’ll take the SON?” because you see, whoever takes he SON gets everything.

Benny Hinn