How much I criticize you, O Church, and yet how much I love you!
You have made me suffer, O Church, and yet how much I owe you more than anyone else.
I should like to see you destroyed, and yet I need your presence.
You have given me so much scandal, and yet you have helped me understand sanctity.
I have seen nothing in the world more devoted to obscurity, more compromised, more false--and I have touched nothing more pure, more generous, more beautiful. How often I have wanted to shut the doors of my soul in your face, and how often I have prayed to die in the safety of your arms.
No, I cannot free myself from you because I am you, although not completely.
And where would I go? To start another Church? I could not, without the same defects, because they happen to be my defects. It would then be my church, not yours. And I'm old enough to know better.
Monday, October 18, 2010
A little culture
When I'm working at my desk, my iTunes shuffles my library, and sure enough today it played a talk by Archbishop Dolan which he gave at Mount St. Mary's Seminary a few years ago (he was Abp. of Milwaukee at the time). In it, he quoted the Italian poet Carlo Coretto: