https://x.com/i/status/2058511183519351052

And also a very interesting reading, as always when it's pious/virtuous : Sacrosanctum concilium, constitution of the sacred liturgy, promulgated on the 4th of December, 1963.

They're worshipping a loser, tortured to death, whose martyred body welcomes you at the entrance of any small village, instead of a muscular guy in all his glory, because we chose long ago that our height should be measured in regard to the lowest of us. This is the religion of the powerless, so extreme, whose priests sacrificed/'are still sacrificing' their lives at the service of the weakest among us, whose pope could kiss the feet of the lowest of the low.

Why is it that every christian book i read is so good(, and liturgical songs produce the best feelings) ? If i could only ever read one genre throughout my life, then i wouldn't choose poetry or philosophy, but christian books, they're so deeply concerned with doing/being good, i will never care about being accepted or rejected by them, but only about seeking the good life(, which is the purpose of all religions, and at the heart of other civilizations), nothing else matters.
(and being/doing good never meant being defenseless against non-virtuous people, on the contrary defending them from us could/would mean defending us from them, as long as we still can)

You’ll say the Kingdom is not of this world. Right. But it wouldn’t hurt to give the hands of the dock a little shove all the same. My grouse against you people isn’t that poverty still exists — oh, no ! And I’ll even grant you this much. I’ll agree that it’s the job of old fools like me to feed and clothe and look after them and keep them clean. But since they’re really your responsibility I cannot forgive you for sending them to us so dirty. See what I mean ?
Why, damn it all, after twenty centuries of Christianity, to be poor ought not still to be a disgrace. Or else you have gone and betrayed that Christ of yours ! There’s no getting away from that, good God Almighty !
You have every means of humbling the rich at your disposal, for setting their pace. The rich man wants to be well thought of, and the richer he is the more he wants it. If you would only have the pluck to make them take the back seats in church round the holy water stoup, or even out on the steps — why not ? It would have made them think. They’d all have had one eye on the poor men’s seats, I know ’em ! The first everywhere else, but here in the House of God, the last !
Can you see that happening ? Oh, of course I know the thing wouldn’t be easy. If the poor man really is the living image of Jesus — Jesus Himself — it’s awkward to have him sitting there in the front row, displaying his obscene misery, his face from which in two thousand years you haven’t yet been able to wipe the spittle.
Because first and foremost the social problem is a matter of honour ; it is the unjust humiliation of poor men which makes your pauper. Nobody’s asking you to fatten up people who from father to son have in any case lost the habit of getting fat, who’d probably always be thin as laths ; and at a pinch, to make the thing look a bit more decent, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t eliminate freaks, unemployables, drunkards — anything too uncomfortable to look at.
The fact remains that a poor man, a real poor man, an honest man, goes of his own accord to what he considers his proper place, the lowest in the House of the Lord. And you’ve never seen and never will see a beadle dressed up like a hearse come down to look for him, at the very back of the church, to lead him to the altar rails with all the ceremony due to a prince — a prince in the order of Christianity.
That notion usually makes your colleagues smirk. Vanity, rubbish… But why the devil must they always show such respect to the powerful of this earth, who revel in it ? And if such respect is vain and empty, why is it always so expensive ?
“We should have people laughing at us,” they say—“a tramp sitting in the choir would soon become comic.” All right. But when the tramp has definitely changed his rags for a plain deal box, when you’re sure — absolutely certain — there’s no more danger of his wiping off the snot with his fingers or spitting on your lovely carpets, what do you do with the fellow then ?
Get along with you ! You can think me a fool, but I’ve got hold of the right end of the stick ; the Pope himself wouldn’t change my mind, and I’m only saying what your own saints practised, my dear fellow, so it can’t be so foolish as all that. On their knees to paupers and cripples and lepers—that’s the idea we get of your saints.
Queer sort of army yours must be where a mere passing corporal need only give the royal Host a patronizing tap on the shoulder, while field-marshals are grovelling at his feet.
He paused, a little uneasy at my silence.
I know I have very little experience, yet I seemed instantly to recognize a certain inflection betraying some profound spiritual hurt. Others perhaps might then be able to find the right words to appease and persuade. I don’t know such words.

It's far from the best quote of that book, and even further from being the best book, but the proposal made me smile, and there's a christian feeling in it, i think.

What i mean is to thank the Church for making us worthy enough for God to grace some of our ancestors, bringing us to where we were. And i'm sorry for our betrayal, it's a meager consolation to know that we 'will get'/'are getting' what we deserve for giving up on our christian ideals.