Life Itself Has No End

I admit that Augustine has been a difficult swallow for me. Not sure why–maybe the bad-mouthing he’s gotten post-council. He did have issues. But he sure had a lovely way of writing. I was lured in reading his Confessions.

Right, an image of a painting of the saint by the 19th century artist Ary Scheffer. Another saint joins him in the frame.

Some weeks ago, I was struck by this passage from his letter to Proba:

Why in our fear of not praying as we should, do we turn to so many things, to find what we should pray for? Why do we not say instead, in the words of the psalm:

I have asked one thing from the Lord,
this is what I will seek:
to dwell in the Lord’s house
all the days of my life,
to see the graciousness of the Lord,
and to visit his temple.

There, the days do not come and go in succession, and the beginning of one day does not mean the end of another; all days are one, simultaneously and without end, and the life lived out in these days has itself no end.

What a marvelous image of eternity. It makes me want to meet the man and have a discussion. I’d have to brush up on my Latin, seriously.

About catholicsensibility

Todd lives in Minnesota, serving a Catholic parish as a lay minister.
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