The Enduring City of God
Why did St. Augustine write “The City of God”? Why should it continue to compel our attention today?
Why did St. Augustine write “The City of God”? Why should it continue to compel our attention today?
Pope Francis was invited by the University of Louvain to celebrate its 600th anniversary, and a gaggle of feminist idealogues swarm all over him to demand an immediate “paradigm change” on all issues relating to women.
If crisis bespeaks judgment, then we are no less under the judgment of God than our forerunners the Jews, who first breached the covenant with God.
The sheer impact of St. Augustine upon the life of the Church, of the emerging medieval world he had a hand in shaping, has never been equaled.
Kamala Harris, for all the word salads she throws together on issues like the border, crime, and inflation, is perfectly clear on the issue of abortion.
St. Augustine, for all that he’s immersed in a disintegrating world, has at the same time quite succeeded in transcending it—thanks to the grace of a conversion that will literally lift him above circumstance.
For St. Augustine, there are but two characters that matter above all in the human story: God and the Self.
It’s important to address Tim Walz’s stolen valor, which has greatly incensed veterans who, having been to war, actually know the difference between soldiers who put themselves at risk and others who merely lie about it.
St. Augustine had to face the threat that never goes away: the menace of heresy.
Who among us is erudite enough to set about measuring the immensity of the achievement wrought by Augustine, whose depths clearly defy one’s best efforts to plumb?
For many modern followers of Pelagius, getting into Heaven is nothing more than a self-help enterprise, the result of simply willing the good, bypassing the need for grace along the way.
For all the turmoil of the times in which we live, our lives nevertheless remain secure because they are filled with the expectation that God has already gone to prepare a place for us.
Not even time itself will remain undisturbed by God having entered fully into its rhythm and flow, imbuing it with a meaning it had not known before.
For those with eyes to see and ears to hear, the example of D-Day should remind us of another and very different battle, one which was fought a long time ago and on a far greater scale.
If you can only love what you know, then not knowing who you are prevents your either knowing or loving anyone else.
At Mass we are swept utterly away from the workaday world we know, summoned across the threshold of time and space, in order that we may be ushered into the very presence of God Himself.
Not since the great Metaphysical Poets of the Elizabethan Age has there been such a flowering of creative genius as seen in the verse of just one 20th century poet, T.S. Eliot.
The Catholics I know cling not to the past but to Christ, the truth of whose life and message may most reliably be found in those very “dogmatic boxes” we’re now expected to climb out of.