In a moment of weakness, when a few personal calamities collided unexpectedly and the tendons of an inner tranquility seemed suddenly severed from Earth's beautiful firmament, my good friend Currado Malaspina returned to the Church.
It had been years and many, many sins ago but he was welcomed warmly like the forgiven prodigal that he was. The institution had changed since his last bout of devotion. When he was a child he was frail of both body and mind and the consolations of faith proved invaluable.
He was attracted to the sanctity of the rituals wrapped as they were at the time within the veil of Veronica and the obscure sonorities of Latin. The less he understood of its mysteries the greater was his faith for what is faith if not the confidence in the incredible?
Art replaced that suspension of logic but after years of dissipated excess he was left like a wrinkled fondling groping again after meaning.
The Church had changed with time. Not only had the Latin liturgy receded into hermetic obsolescence, now, a new language delivered by young, 'life-style" savvy priests urged parishioners to "presence possibilities" (présencer des possibilities) and begin "experiencing the experience of the experiential state" (expérience l'expérience de l'état expérientiel). Mass, now more social than solemn, was conducted in the decidedly unholy argot of personal affirmation.
This new departure stretched all limits of credulity. Currado could conceivably see his way toward the resurrection and even entertain the possibility of a virgin birth but this "living true to your transformation" (vivre fidèle à votre transformation) business was a bit too much to bear.
God was good and full of grace but on top of all that must he also be "awesome?" (Jésus c'est ouf!!)
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