A Chestertonian Adrift in an Ideological World
CONFESSIONS OF AN APOSTATE
I have a story to tell you, and I’m afraid it’s rather a personal story; within it, the pronoun “I” will recur with sickening frequency. But you’ll soon see why.
G.K. Chesterton died in 1936. I was a schoolboy at the time, at Douai Abbey in Berkshire, and my headmaster — Dom Ignatius Rice, O.S.B., a great man — had known G.K.C. closely and was bowled over by his death.
A few days later, he summoned me into his presence. “Christopher, I understand that you’re thinking of a scientific career?”
I was: the love of my life was then chemistry.
“Well, I’m asking you to change your plans: I want to lay a charge upon you, a duty, a vocation. The world has quite enough chemists, but it hasn’t got nearly enough good Catholic writers. You write well for your age: I want you to continue Chesterton’s work to the best of your ability. Will you please make that into your career?”
You May Also Enjoy
She wanted to fly in and meet. At the airport, he was disappointed by how she looked in person. But by that stage in his life, he didn’t think he could do better.
The authors say abortion is "like pruning one's rose bush." Pruning a rosebush makes it bloom more abundantly. But when one aborts a child, does her capacity to grow improve?
Every life is valuable in and of itself. Every life is capable of giving glory to God, and therefore every life is worthy of our protection.