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[Oct. 28th, 2007|02:34 am] |
un visbeidzot, ko šajā sakarā saka Lūiss:
There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations -- these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit -- immortal horrors or everlasting splendours. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously -- no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be a real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner--no mere tolerance, or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment. Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses.
C.S. Lewis, "The Weight of Glory". |
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| Comments: |
There are ordinary people. You have never talked to an immortal one. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations -- these are relatively immortal, and our life is to theirs as the life of a gnat. But it is mortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit -- mortal horrors or transient splendours..
tu esi savā gadsimtā un ticībā sev sakņots, tev nav Sv. Augustīna imperatīvu, tu nevari runāt citādi.
ja tu zinātu, kā es esmu noguris no cīņas ar šādiem teikumiem sev visapkārt. | |
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