He's within arm's reach, eyes utterly fixed on Mulcahy.
"You are broken, Father Mulcahy, and that does not disqualify you from anything. I can see it in your eyes. You've beheld miracles, wrought by the power of mortal spirit. Would they have been anything worth noting, if you did not come from a place of brokenness? Would it be as inspiring, if such resolve came naturally? You journey with them, broken and wretched, through a broken, wretched place, to something better, and you have not gotten there yet. That does not make you less of a priest. What you are feeling, in your agony and in your grief, is the pain of growing and wanting to grow. A tree does not begin in the heavens. It starts its journey in the mud, lower than low, sometimes covered in the filth of a bird's droppings. A priest that only ever lives on high has no roots to hold fast when his faith is shaken. And I have seen a lot of shaken faith."
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Date: 2025-02-01 04:17 pm (UTC)He's within arm's reach, eyes utterly fixed on Mulcahy.
"You are broken, Father Mulcahy, and that does not disqualify you from anything. I can see it in your eyes. You've beheld miracles, wrought by the power of mortal spirit. Would they have been anything worth noting, if you did not come from a place of brokenness? Would it be as inspiring, if such resolve came naturally? You journey with them, broken and wretched, through a broken, wretched place, to something better, and you have not gotten there yet. That does not make you less of a priest. What you are feeling, in your agony and in your grief, is the pain of growing and wanting to grow. A tree does not begin in the heavens. It starts its journey in the mud, lower than low, sometimes covered in the filth of a bird's droppings. A priest that only ever lives on high has no roots to hold fast when his faith is shaken. And I have seen a lot of shaken faith."