miniZibaldone

From Lapham's Quarterly

The Seven Corporal Works of Mercy 1. To feed the hungry.   2. To give drink to the thirsty. 3. To clothe the naked. 4. To visit the imprisoned. 5. To shelter the homeless. 6. To visit the sick. 7. To bury the dead. [Read more]

The Seven Spiritual Works of Mercy 1.  To admonish the sinner. 2. To instruct the ignorant. 3. To counsel the doubtful. 4. To comfort the sorrowful. 5. To bear wrongs patiently. 6.  To forgive all injuries. 7.  To pray for the living and the dead. [Read more]

July 2016 Issue Contents Editorial “Here, Where We Are” Letters Edited by Paola Bergamini Close up Rimini Meeting “Another Good” by Paola Bergamini Giorgio Buccellati “The Surprise of a ‘You’” by Luca Fiore Orlando  Carter Snead “A Joy that Takes on Flesh” by L. Fiore Europe Europe  “Brexit, Lack of Self-Confidence” by Luca Fiore The flyer “And Now?” CL Life China  “I Feel at Home” by Paola Bergamini Review Book of the month “The Language of the Church” by L. Doninelli

The forces that change history are the same forces that change the heart of man. — Luigi Giussani

I’ve noticed (and I have more than one example in mind) that young people who aren’t poor, or haven’t been crushed or disheartened by poverty, people with healthy and hardy physiques, courageous and busy, capable of looking after themselves and with little or no need, or rather little or no desire, for help from others, or for the physical or moral support of others, at least not as a rule; young people still untouched by misfortune, or rather (since just being   born   means suffering), touched only in such a way that thanks to the energy of their youth and constitution and the freshness of their mental energies, they have been able to shrug it off on their own, and pay little attention to it; young people like this, as I was saying, although on the one hand they won’t tolerate the slightest insult, have a tendency to lose their tempers and are more inclined than most to make fun of others, present or absent, and to be overbearing more often than not, both in the way they s...

In the House of Creativity I had got to know the kind, sweet smile of Katya, the thin little cook; I knew how she blushed if someone praised the soup she had made. Katya told me that she had come to Armenia from Zaporozhye and that her husband was a Molokan. Embarrassed, she told me how strange she found it that Molokans drink tea at weddings and don’t touch wine and how very strange the Leapers and Jumpers are. She informed me in a dignified tone that “Our own Tsakhkadzor Molokans don’t leap and jump.” Katya is gentle and kind. Her voice, her movements, her gait are all timid and indecisive. Everything embarrasses her. Her little son, Alyosha, who is in his first year at school, comes in—and Katya blushes and looks down at the floor. And Alyosha blushes too, murmuring something barely audible in reply to my simple “What year are you in at school?” He even looks like his mother. He is pale and has light-blue eyes; he is covered in freckles and his eyebrows and eyelashes are the colo...