whirlpooled topics unbackspaced. streams of consciousness. blurts. scribbled notes. outlined ideas. velocity waves. snatches from icloud. because self-editing is a writer’s cowardly way of preventing a reader from fucking the writer's confidence. dates don't matter. memories and moments aren't chronologically marked on the soul.
I don't know when men of faith were reduced to the punchline or to the special bus stop.
Theology is similar to math. I cannot prove mathematical theorems to someone who doesn’t understand an equation. (Note the root of the word theology and of the word theorem.) There are humans who have a greater understanding of God and His wonders. I don’t understand dismissing some of the greatest minds in history (Saint Augustine, Saint Thomas Aquinas, Kierkegaard, Saint Teresa of Ávila) simply because one can’t grasp all the aspects of their thoughts.
The notion that men and women of faith are limited, naive, daft, or foolhardy is as venomous as racism, sexism, xenophobia, and homophobia. Only a fool dismisses and hates and persecutes those he cannot understand.
Mrs. Cunningham died. I read her obituary in today’s newspaper. She taught political science at my high school. We ran into each other quite frequently over the years. We lived near each other. We saw each other at Catholic functions. She frequented the same bar I did. A fine lady. May she rest in peace. The rumor in high school was that she’d been a nun and quit. I asked her. No. She had not. Her words: just a broad from Brooklyn. All her life she retained her accent.