We prepare the ground for our prayer when we shed something which is not Christ's, which is unworthy of him, and only the prayer of one who can, like St. Paul say, 'I live, yet not I, but Christ lives in me,' is real Christian prayer.

It seems to me, and I am personally convinced, that the Church must never speak from a position of strength. [These are shocking words.] It ought not to be one of the forces influencing this or that state. The Church ought to be, if you will, just as powerless as God himself, which does not coerce but which calls and unveils the beauty and the truth of things without imposing them. As soon as the Church begins to exercise power, it loses its most profound characteristic which is divine love [i.e.] the understanding of those it is called to save and not to smash.

Unless we look at a person and see the beauty there is in this person, we can contribute nothing to him. One does not help a person by discerning what is wrong, what is ugly, what is distorted. Christ looked at everyone he met, at the prostitute, at the thief, and saw the beauty hidden there. Perhaps it was distorted, perhaps damaged, but it was beauty none the less, and what he did was to call out this beauty.

We prepare the ground for our prayer when we shed something which is not Christ's, which is unworthy of him, and only the prayer of one who can, like St. Paul say, 'I live, yet not I, but Christ lives in me,' is real Christian prayer.

A prayer makes sense only if it is lived.

It is not the constant thought of their sins, but the vision of the holiness of God that makes the saints aware of their own sinfulness.

You remember how you were taught to write. Your mother put a pencil in your hand, took your hand in hers, and began to move it. Since you did not know at all what she meant to do, you left your hand completely free in hers. This is like the power of God in our lives.