Through Many Glasses Darkly

The Catholic Church is a ponderous bauble that hangs between the faithful and God. The great question is whether this multi-tiered pendant obscures our relation to God or strengthens it. I think on balance that it strengthens. The obscurity, however, is thick. Glittering, golden, to be sure, but thick.

The light, shining through panels of amber and stained glass, waxes and wanes, often simultaneously. What light one does see much depends on where one kneels. For some time now, I have been kneeling here and there, moving about.

The pages I've written over the years, almost since I began writing in fact, are covered with little more than reworked heresies, I know it. Is this because I've let myself be convinced that strong writing, by definition, is always a matter of heresy (Gk. hairesis: heresy; choosing)? Whether it is or isn't, my uncertain movement, kneeling then changing place and writing, writing while kneeling or changing place--for me it's become a crucial part of what it means to lead a life of faith.

But now I wonder: Am I, in this way, accomplishing anything for the Church? Am I accomplishing anything for Christ?