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Fire. Burning. Notre Dame. Judgment at our house, right here, us. More than a sign of French resilience: a church, our Church. ‘Bearing’ becomes ‘burning’. Bones on fire, lit by McCarrick and Vigano and Martel—strange prophets all—arsonists igniting icons—a house consumed. And us, in the fire, uncertain, what will remain? Unconvinced by words. Now we burn, living icons; what will remain of us? No time for squabbles: we are burning, plucked from the flames and filthy, in His h

Between the lines of what we know and what we do not, we pray. The powerlessness of not knowing invites us into the depths of mercy. There many waters cannot quench love (SS 8:7). Deeper than the swirl of suspicion and fear, we discover a warm current that envelopes and carries us like a mother cradles her infant. St. Faustina is right: We ‘are closer to God in His mercy than an infant at its mother’s heart’ (Diary, #423). What we know: Pope Francis received Cardinal Wuerl’s