Quotes About Spirituality

I started off singing in church as a child. The sound of voices coming together, that was my first moment of touching something outside of myself.

If anything could prove the existence of the soul, he thought, it was the utter emptiness of a corpse.

Show God what yer made of, man. Pucker up and kiss the cross.

Maybe poetry is the only way we can get near the truth of God.… And when the metaphors fail, we think it's God who's failed us!

After all, Ignatius of Loyola, a soldier who had killed and whored and made a thorough mess of his soul, said you could judge prayer worthwhile simply if you could act more decently, think more clearly afterward. As D.W. once told him, "Son, sometimes it's enough just to act less like a shithead.

It was then that she experienced an instant of unprecedented clarity, a moment of wholly unanticipated certainty that God was real. The sensation fled almost as quickly as it came but left in its wake the conviction that Emilio was right, that they were meant to be here, doing this impossible thing.

Ah, Sofia, darlin'! On my best days, I believe in Him with all my heart. And on your worst days? she had asked that night. Even if it's only poetry, it's poetry to live by, Sofia--poetry to die for. . .

hoped for and had been given as a priest for everything he yearned for and desired as a man.

Did you think you were the only one? Is it possible that you are so arrogant?" he asked, in tones of wonderment. Sandoz was blinking rapidly now. "Did you think you were the only one ever to wonder if what we do is worth the price we pay? Did you honestly believe that you alone, of all those who have gone, were the single man to lose God? Do you think we would have a name for the sin of despair, if only you had experienced it?

Deus vult, mes amis," Marc Robichaux called cheerfully from the galley. "God likes it that way.

On my best days, I believe in Him with all my heart. And on your worst days? she had asked that night. Even if it's only poetry, it's poetry to live by, Sofia -- poetry to die for, he told her with quiet conviction.

Jesus Christ, Jimmy breathed, meeting the future by turning to the ancient past.

If you saw a burning bush, would you (a) call 911, (b) get the hot dogs, or (c) recognize God?

The image pleases me enough : to slip from the body's tight container and into some luminous womb, gliding there without effort till the distant shapes glow brighter and more familiar, till all your beloveds hover before you, their lit arms held out in welcome.

They feed us the way the bread of communion does, with a nourishment that seems to form new flesh. According

Slurping these spirits is soul preparation, a warped communion, myself serving as god, priest, and congregation.

I think about the story of Job I heard in Carol Sharp's Sunday school. How he sort of learned to lean into feeling hurt at the end, the way you might lean into a heavy wind that almost winds up supporting you after a while. People can get behind pain that way, if they think it derives from powers larger than themselves.

É por isso que, quando prego e funerais, digo que a morte é a derradeira cura, porque é na morte que nos tornamos finalmente quem somos.

When tears come, I breathe deeply and rest. I know I am swimming in a hallowed stream where many have gone before. I am not alone, crazy, or having a nervous breakdown . . . My heart is at work. My soul is awake.

maybe death isn't darkness, after all, but so much light wrapping itself around us--

So every day I was surrounded by the beautiful crying forth of the ideas of God, one of which was you.

But I also say this: that light is an invitation to happiness, and that happiness, when it's done right, is a kind of holiness, palpable and redemptive.

It must be a great disappointment to God if we are not dazzled at least ten times a day.

Maybe the desire to make something beautiful is the piece of God that is inside each of us.