Sainted for his unwavering dedication to the preservation of the Church in a time of heresy and fear from abroad, what i read too, is that this verysame Church in the 1100's tortured and killed accused fellow humans willy nilly. A qualifying note reminds us too, that this was normal at the time. Of the saint, we are reminded to be strong and dedicated, to persevere not for this life of flesh and blood, but for the glory of eternal Life.
Then i am reminded of my journey to mass. A thousand years later and the streets are alive with fellow humans. Cultures vary, but here they are remarkably all enveloped in their own private worlds. Me, Me, Me. A generation or two of liberals. The Self supreme, I am doing it my way! After all these years living among them, this explicitly robust individualism still balks me. Free spirits? Egoists, me thinks! The indifferent sea splashes up against me, eroding, corrupting, threatening. People just doing whatever, whenever, however, "Watch out, 'cause here i am" seems to be the national cry. They run lights. Pedestrians cross without a sideward glance. Buses expect all to stop, as do the taxis, and everyone else for that matter.
Notice the bad, contemplate one's own motives, do the right thing.
I can fall into old habits of noticing only that which annoys me. Lost in anger, i poison my own mind and become blind and deaf to the glory which is life, this very moment, each breath and every opportunity to give thanks.
Persevere. Anger does not help me. I notice everyone on my way home, but don't judge and get caught up in my own emotional blackmail for that would be just as ego-centric, me thinks.
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