“Just as the wake of a
beautiful ship grows wider and wider until it
disappears and loses itself,
But begins with a point, which is the point of the ship itself....
So the huge wake of sinners grows wider and wider until it disappears
and loses itself....
It begins with a point, which is the point of the ship itself.
And the ship is my own son, laden with all the sins of the world.
And the point of the ship is the two joined hands of my son.
And before the look of my anger and the look of my justice
They have all hidden behind him.
And all of that huge cortege of prayers, all of that huge wake grows
wider and wider until it disappears and loses itself.
But it begins with a point and it is that point which is turned towards
me.
Which advances towards me.
And that point is those three or four words: Our Father who art in
Heaven; verily my son
knew what he was doing.”— French poet, essayist, and editor Charles Peguy
(1873-1914), “I Am Their Father, Says God,” in Mysteries, translated by Julian
Green
disappears and loses itself,
But begins with a point, which is the point of the ship itself....
So the huge wake of sinners grows wider and wider until it disappears
and loses itself....
It begins with a point, which is the point of the ship itself.
And the ship is my own son, laden with all the sins of the world.
And the point of the ship is the two joined hands of my son.
And before the look of my anger and the look of my justice
They have all hidden behind him.
And all of that huge cortege of prayers, all of that huge wake grows
wider and wider until it disappears and loses itself.
But it begins with a point and it is that point which is turned towards
me.
Which advances towards me.
And that point is those three or four words: Our Father who art in
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