I'm 26 years old, and my story is one among many. Scout always nell'Agesci, who grew up on bread and parish; all beautiful, all colorful and joyful, guitars and beat-beat-the-hands.
Then comes high school. Then the universities, even abroad. It is the end. Philosophy, humanities, sciences, "masters" who pontificate on the "real" reality that shakes and burns outside of the Platonic cave of our minds even tell where we are forced into a state of minority Vinculis guilty, we rely on some weird and silly supernatural-mythical figure, good choice for study and enjoyment of anthropologists and companions. Sapere Aude! is a point far stronger than some other drives of adolescence. My faith has never been a "passive" .. and started reading my opponents with a certain complicity.
The peaks of the thought of so many of Locke, Petronio, Kant, Voltaire, Hegel, Leopardi, Spinoza, Lucretius, Sartre, Montale, were gradually Squaderno, revealing as many sources of fresh water in many secret gardens, there are ready to quench the thrill of the forbidden el'arsura of my youthful ignorance .. My convictions were slowly crumbling and watered down, rock that had, became wet sand. And no, at that age I did not have the tools to avoid sinking in the quicksand that were gradually being formed. I watched the "back" in the family and parish .. not needed: there were those figures from the mind darting and daring that brought me among the stalls of the Lyceum or in academia. Only old women
part nenioso and vibrato, young people love one another and build a new world of peace, justice and joy "(utopia of a meanness that would be so vulgar hernia in Moro and colic in Huxley .. ) or adult wheeler, mixed religion from the churchyard as well as interest from the shop. This then saw the eyes of my eighteen year old ... Baron Munchausen was pulling out of the quicksand, pulling on the hair. As in real life we \u200b\u200bhave tried, I failed. My Path "cultural" I had been led to embrace positions diametrically opposed to those offered by that institution with great excitement that now I come to recognize as the Holy Mother Church .. When you start to scream the first vigorous "no!" to ".. what have often masked by faith, all that is false, the rings made of habit and fear .." (Guccini..) was immediately surrounded by a chorus of cheers, explanations, arguments compelling, evidence of which struck dumb .. You will also find priests who "understand you", and "proves your point ...
slowly, the flickering torch of Truth suffocates under the" bucket "of logic. Not being true, this ghost and anti-liberal child was destroyed. First, inside me. "I had to" get rid of the "Platonic cave religious obscurantism." I had to do it. I could not bear the thought that my mind did not do. If the bad news of the "God does not exist" was from my arrival, I was now to find out the news "good" or "I do not need." Meanwhile, the university takes me to Hamburg, "my desert, my whole Egypt and Damascus. Some invisible trace of a Protestant Christian past, in the absolute indifference of the whirling frenzy of everyday life .. "Yet, everything works well, even better! Red-light districts have become a bulwark symbol of the city (St. Pauli - Reeperbahn), boys who leave home at 16-17 years, alcohol in rivers and the culture of fun .. Fun and freedom. All low-cost: low cost, low happyness, low life. Talking about ethics is "anti-historical." Sex is almost a sport.
And the German Church? It was refreshing to hear a church that "finally" talked like Eugenio Scalfari (type "Hamburg Jaschke" on google, the positions of the bishop are known even to the wayside). "Ah, but then it just us that we are so backward" for me was the absolute confirmation. It was a nun, Schwester Wimala (I hope you write it), a Missionary of Charity of the Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, waiting for the bus, to overturn it. It had been yes and no eight months after my arrival. He did it with a smile. I'm standing there in the late afternoon, gray, the usual rain .. I used to smoke a cigarette, i-pod in my ears .. When two nuns, dressed in long, white-veiled azure, are placed a few meters from me, sandals barefoot in the cold of October. I'm beginning to think .. evil. I still think, even worse. Then one of the two sisters, turning, smiling at me. As I was with a sense of contempt. And there, my rationality, I "cheated". I was amazed myself, that instinctive reaction to a simple smile .. "Okay that is Catholic .. but poor thing .. "And as if to exorcise what I had felt until some minutes ago, I went to talk with her sisters.
Just three minutes .. I did not understand their eyes and their smiles only if they were dazed by the "Christian myths" they believed in, or what .. The fact is that I know and chat made an unexpected pleasure. I searched on the internet and found where they lived. I started going to the Haus Bethlehem: always start because "I had to" demonstrate that even lay people, the non-believers are given to volunteers, and that was a good opportunity. But things did not go .. so many things started not to come back .. I do not quite right as the sisters could devote their entire life, so radical and "hard" if it was all just a party with friends a bit 'Pirlo, who fled expectations in absurd otherworldly ... In those canteens .. all Germans, including young people, young .. there to beg for a bowl of soup. All Germans. Except for the Sisters, Indian, Polish .. Women transfigured by a great light, so strident in the face of sometimes dark and off for many in there, who came from afar to heal the wounds of a sick society, who first seduced and deluded .. and then discarded, threw on the sidelines.
was when I began to take seriously the commitment to charity that came Grace .. And in the middle "really nice" secularized in Hamburg that I described above, that all my reasons are collapsed .. are collapsed in front of the animal called "logic" disconnected from the human sense primo dell'Uomo. Proprio nel quartiere dei divertimenti di Amburgo, tra prostitute, luci e giovani nei discopub, c'é quella piccola oasi di cinque suorine. E lì vedi, nel silenzio di quel refettorio, donne che vengono da lontano, chiamate da una Voce reale(!) e forte, in forza della quale dedicano la loro vita e i loro sforzi alla cura delle piaghe di questa società.. E allora ti commuovi. Capisci che c'é qualcosa che non va. "Dai una chance" a quella voce. Capisci che tutto quel che propone questo mondo, finisce quando questo mondo ti volta le spalle, spegne le luci.. A riaccenderle, ci son quelle cinque piccole suore.. gli esseri più magnifici d'Amburgo. Ti "arrendi"di fronte al Sepolcro spalancato del mondo e di chi l'ha won.
and decide to go into the mystery .. All the while in between local bishops and parishes, he continued to blaterale of social, condoms, and laity, priestly celibacy, etc. .. leaving aside the raw nerves of the evil that corrupts the spiritual consciousness. More selfishly, not talking about the spiritual evil that tainted (and infect) my conscience. Why did not end here. Fides quaerit intellectum, and there were many nodes that remained to "dissolve", almost a capitulation grinning wait .. Today I laugh when I think that I wanted to be a deal with God .. One day, after college and work .. I went to Mass. Or at least I thought .. Tourists inside the Cathedral .. all driven to move da un cicerone che tutto fa tranne che curarsi dei quattro gatti in preghiera di fronte di fronte al cubo con sopra una piramide posta su un parallelepipedo ultra-futurista che serve da Tabernacolo. I turisti e il cicerone si mettono proprio là davanti, dando le spalle al Santissimo, parlando e ridendo.. Come se non bastasse, quella sera invece della Messa c'era una funzione ecumenica, rigorosamente senza sacerdote, per pregare per le donne in Papua Nuova Guinea!! Salutiamoci in papuano! fu il saluto della “ministressa”... ..et Lux in tenebris lucet..Così ho aperto gli occhi sull'abisso di certa anarchia progressista post-conciliare: non mi stavano offrendo Cristo, non mi stavano aiutando verso la Sua Croce.
Stavano “giocando” to a third-world religious diversity "blood volume 'bbene. And gradually, month after month .. I found the Tradition, a safe haven in which to live and holy faith to the full, without discount or dilutions, purely and simply as they experienced the great saints and the millions and millions of brothers and sisters who have preceded us in time .. Because "the Church is" the Ecclesia saving presence in the world. The world is saved for the mission, for the testimony of those who believed in love. A Church that prays, that never ceases to pray and offer sacrifice to God, too, for "me". Praying for my conversion, praying that the Lord calls me to himself, that "I shows His mercy and give me your salvation. " Not that that would be like Vasco Rossi and bless our world from the stage of "reckless life." With all due respect
of Summorum Pontificum, the only place where you can watch the S. Mass of all was the Priory of St. Pius X. They are not gone from one extreme to another: I just wanted clarity .. inter Multiplices, I wanted to hear ONE VOX. Just one. That priest, so full of God, clear in front of my turmoil, patient in front of my insinuating malignancy, severe and sometimes surly enough to my retching (how they feel than the "Voltaire of nipotastri "!).. always close to an Butt intellectual left me convinced I will not say, but I took away the taste of "avergliene sapute say four." Then
Mass .. the first time, was one morning, at 10 emezza .. The priest, a lady, and me. Silence. Silent throughout the mass. I was expecting a song, a reading .. nothing. I was confused .. what's that? .. Silence. Until Sacrifice. That Mass, I was wrong. Yes, EVIL. Not platitudes, not by stupid GGGioia fading just come out of Mass, not the "build a kindergarten in Botswana" .. SILENCE. That priest was leaving room for God, over there, he, hidden in and behind his vestments, almost like a surgeon operating table. Christ, with him, above he, who "obeys" the words of the priest, and wrenching, offers himself .. The Sacred, it hurts. And 'as if we were moving in the depths of the ocean, hermetically sealed in our beautiful rooms and pressurized oxygen. To get out, we would need hours and hours in the decompression chambers.
Here, the sacred and chamber depressurization. And the ocean is God "baptism in the Jordan Tridentine inevitably brings with it some anguished question on the watershed of the Vatican .. Let's be clear: I do not have it with the Second Vatican Council itself .. I have neither the means nor the cultural or faith of Bishop Gherardini Amerio to read the "phenomenon of Vatican II", nor with the drama lived by S. Archbishop Lefebvre to be able to "acknowledge". But certainly I have it to death with the result of years and years in which "everything" has been squandered in a sea of \u200b\u200bbanality circus, where the maximum, say, the best we can say generally hear at Mass are the I guess in the role of Friar advice of a trade unionist. But possible, I CAN say that in two thousand years of church history, spiritual elevation of the Fathers, Saints, Monks, Doctors, monks, hermits, monks and nuns .. all that comes in a sermon to be four paninari platitudes? .. Sometimes there are even more homilies: they are public service announcements.
His Eminence Cardinal Biffi (God preserve him), in an exquisite and illuminating little book, "The Fifth Gospel," envisions a "Good Shepherd" in key post-Vatican II, who, having lost the 99 sheep, driven out ' fold even the last one, to rebuke the poor initiative .. and then goes out drinking with friends at the tavern, talking about farming. From wrong! ".. In the liturgical celebration is important not to ever override what the Church has passed down through the centuries. Participate in this way the liturgy teaches us the love of beauty. We can not live the liturgy forgetting his cosmic infinity, which arrives to the ends of creation and shall include angels of heaven and the saints of all time. The liturgy is the eternal enters time and space. And 'the world as God has thought .. "(Bishop Camisasca," Father, "p. 84).
Well, who sees all this in the vast majority of the celebrations of" novus ordo "? .. I certainly do not. Not to mention when we are one scout, "Catholics," I now receive Communion after some "harvest" where the Gospel is a mimed skits or are past for the pyx with the Sacred Species and everyone takes and eats, I can not even most of it .. At this point I do not take me more with the "young" because they lose faith. But with adults who can not transmit it in its vortex, abysmal depths e bellezza. Non sanno trasmetter loro quel senso di vertigine che piega le ginocchia di fronte all'Assoluto. Ma come, la passione per il calcio, per la pesca, per la collezione di aeromodelli sì.. e la passione per la SS. Trinità no?! Vedo nella Messa "nuova" (che io sono tornato a frequentare, intendiamoci) una vittima e al contempo, una complice di tutto questo. Quante volte ho sentito: “dipende come viene celebrata”.
Ecco: there is no right without a remedy, dicono i giuristi britannici.. non ha senso affermare l’esistenza di un diritto, se questo non può esser fatto valere. Bene: fino a quando assisteremo alla dissacrazione e alla profanazione costante, sistematica, studiata e compiaciuta di what we hold most dear and sacred and no one can remedy the situation well: That's' the new Mass, no Mass "celebrated evil." Who can say that the "harvest scouts are performed poorly (S. Em. Cardinal Caffarra aside)? Who knows of charismatic Masses? About the liturgies of certain paths? Who made the ethno-pop with dance halls in the sport, if there is to celebrate together the cream of the national episcopate? Unfortunately there is no longer "a" making NovusOrdo, there are endless harvest NovusOrdo .. and you can not always just to blame the individual performer of the moment, but who has pretended not to know then, that text written in the books (again to cite the case law Anglo-Saxon), would come into action, ie in the life of parishes, movements, groups, associations, etc. .. would have gone hand in a thousand performers. The Sacrosantum Concilium is de facto waste paper, which describes a liturgy in the Catholic observance of Sunday, does not exist. Unless they intend to say more than what you wrote is, of course. I wonder who felt the need to water down everything, to throw everything to the winds "to make it more understandable."
What is there to understand, we understand perfectly. What is not clear, and therefore is not humanly given to understand ... What has made understandable NOT 'the mystery of God, but are found of the many autoteologi che hanno imperversato e imperversano, talvolta anche da autorevoli pulpiti, nella Vigna del Signore. Per dirla con l'allora Card. Ratzinger: non mi stupisco che vi sia gente che non creda, mi stupisco di più che ve ne sia ancora che invece creda. Il Vaticano II e il suo spettro sono diventati per molti, MOLTISSIMI un alibi para-dogmatico per non prender più sul serio NULLA (tutto è “simbolo”, fin troppo) per sentirsi sempre sulla cresta dell'onda dell'aggiornamento: dobbiamo svecchiarci, esser più moderni, altrimenti i giovani non ci seguono, la gente non capisce.
Se un prete cinquantenne entrato in seminario a quindici anni e vissuto “tra preti” per i restanti trentacinque, per feel modern, young and dynamic must resort to gimmicks varieties (harvest football, put "youth" with the train of peace (sic), made "rock" because "Jesus is the rock!" .. Praystation, Holy Beach and Surf Pray ..) bless or promiscuity (the important thing is taking care of yourself), is not "modern" is a pathetic Fool and thanks to people like him that many young people do not think twice to look at these acrobats of the useless , shrug with disdain and say "thank you, no, I quit." Sin
say "no" not only on that single pretonzolo .. but I also say to Christ, the Immaculate .. and the Church of the Desert Fathers, Martyrs, Saints, Doctors .. But how can they know? Before them, there's only one Don Chichì any .. I have modern, here and now, but my faith above me, old and wonderful as the stars. The real ones, the firmament, not those of yellow cardboard, measurable and graspable, beautiful to showcase, good for the holidays, cut from Voltaire and friends ... It depends on which star I want to show the Church. Of those to be put on display, even if made by the hands of holy men and women "of the church," he gets bored .. It is not surprising then, to quote the Archbishop of Cagliari Bishop hands, no longer finding the Church of God. but "a shack". There Praystation to be played. Andrea G.
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