During these last decades the problem of Christian disunity has imposed itself on the conscience of Christians as an immediate challenge and there have been many attempts to find a solution. All Christians, whatever their ecclesiastical allegiance, affirm belief in ‘one, holy, cathohc and apostolic Church', and although no mark of the Church could exist independently of the others, it is natural to seek the answer to the problem raised by Christian disunity first in terms of the note of uniqueness.

We could divide Christians into two groups: those who believe that the note of one-ness is already fully exemplified in their own Church, as is the case with Catholics and with Orthodox Christians; and those who represent various Protestafant traditions and who, while affirming belief in ‘one Church', also believe that the unity of the Church has to be re-asserted and made manifest because the visible unity has been destroyed by divisions among Christians which have come about since the first centuries A.D.

There are four ways in which a preacher or guild speaker can treat any Christian doctrine: (a) proclaim it; (b) explain it; (c) defend it; (d) prove it. This last way is clearly ruled out where the doctrine of the Trinity or indeed any mystery of faith is concerned, though the temptation to try and prove anything and everything is one to which I suspect the C.E.G. mind, so commonly pre-occupied with apologetics, is peculiarly prone. I think it is very important for the C.E.G. speaker to remind himself constantly that there is a world of difference between an apologetic argument in defence or support of the faith and a proof. An apologetic argument, when addressed at least to the unbeliever, can never be more than persuasive, attractive, suggestive. There can never be any mathematical certainty about it, or an overwhelming weight of evidence, and that is what the word proof normally means to most of us.

Both prayer and family life are very much private affairs, and in particular no two Catholic families face the same set of circumstances when trying to lead the Catholic life of prayer. This therefore is my justification for launching into a description of our family background, since without this it is hard for others to know what is, or is not, applicable in their case. (This whole question of applicability seems to me a fundamental one in the spiritual life, since so much discouragement, or even real harm, can be caused by trying to force a devotion or a way of life on those who are not naturally called or fitted for that way.) In the first place both my wife and I have a certain bond in that the religious backgrounds of our families are somewhat similar.

Prayer in all its fullness is nothing else than making oneself open to God. This sounds very simple, but it is hardly an answer to the question ‘What is prayer?’ It is merely the start of the answer. What then is being open to God, and how does one make oneself open to God? Perhaps the best way for us to begin is by our considering the two most fundamental acts that man performs. Because he is man, and not animal, his most fundamental, most characteristic acts spring from his rational nature. Using a form of expression which is not fundamental, but which is nevertheless deep rooted, we say that these two most characteristic activities of man are those of his mind and his heart. With his mind he understands, and with his heart he loves. Being open to God, then, is having one's mind open to God and having one's heart open to God.

Next we have a description of St Saturus’ vision, written by himself.

We had suffered (he wrote) & we left the body & started being carried towards the East by 4 Angels whose hands weren't touching us. We weren't going up lying face-upwards but rather like going up a gentle slope. And once we were clear of the world below we saw an immense light & I said, ‘Perpetua (as she was just beside me), this is what the Lord promised us, we've really got the Promise.’ And while we were being carried by those 4 Angels a huge Place opened out in front of us which was like a kind of Park with rose-trees in it & flowers of all sorts. The trees were big as cypresses & their leaves were burning away non-stop. Now there in the Park were 4 other Angels brighter than the first lot who when they saw us paid us homage & called to the other Angels in astonishment ‘Look, they're here, they're here.'

A talk given to the clergy of Venice at a Diocesan Synod, November, 1957. by the patriarch, Cardinal Roncalli, our present Pope.

My dear brothers in the priesthood, of Christ:

For a long time now I have wanted to have a heart-to-heart talk with you. Up to now I have been following all that you do and I am very pleased and bless the Lord for all the good that is in you. In public, as you know, I am happy to bear witness to your excellent spirit and to the work which you accomplish. It is with joy that I give even more abundant testimony of this in the presence of the Holy Father, Vicar of Christ on earth and head of the whole Catholic family. I did so last year. on the occasion of my first ad limina visit. I received in return words of encouragement and comfort for us all. That audience of June 8th, 1956, has left a deep impression of good-will on the part of the Holy Father and, on our side, of filial devotion to his august person.

The work of our salvation is a unity. As the creed of the mass proclaims, it was for us men and for our salvation that Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God, came down from heaven; was made flesh by the Holy Spirit of the Virgin Mary; and was made man. Within that same context of ‘for us men and for our salvation', the creed goes on to place the other mysteries of Christ: his passion, death, burial, resurrection, ascension, and exaltation. The trend of recent study1 of the mystery of Christ's resurrection is to see this mystery within the unity of the work of salvation. This does not mean that the apologetical value of the resurrection is minimized, nor that the necessary distinctions that are made in soteriology between the various mysteries of Christ, especially between his passion and resurrection, are to be discarded. But it does mean that we do not get the full understanding of the resurrection until we see it as a saving mystery; indeed, as the saving mystery.

Modern reflection on the sacrament of penance stresses three points: the special dimension of sin committed after baptism, i.e., its relation to the Church; the cultic nature of the sacramental remission of this sin; and the pastoral value of the sacrament of penance. The angle of approach is theological rather than juridical or moral, seeking an understanding of the sacrament of penance in the light of the mystery of the Church.

The Church is the continuation in time of the incarnation of Christ and the realization through the centuries of the salvation of mankind worked by him. One aspect of the incarnation and of the work of salvation was to manifest the definitive, eschatological judgment of God on sin; this aspect is seen above all in the death of Christ: ‘God sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and of sin, hath condemned sin in the flesh’ (Rom. viii, 3).

Missions are the Church in a state of growth. They are not merely an outside activity by which external additions are made to the Church, nor are they just the geographical expansion of the Church as it is. They involve a real growth and development of the whole Church, of doctrines, practices and life, and of every individual who shares in that life. For missions are the development of the catholicity of the Church.

Catholicity is of the very nature of the Church. It is the property by which it is able to adapt itself to every human group and incorporates all genuine human values, while remaining one and transcendent. Being of the nature of the Church, it tends to realize itself as fully as possible, until the whole of humanity has been gathered up.

Until the Church has in fact incorporated every human group, and established itself in every nation, its catholicity is undeveloped, though complete as a power.

HISTORY has a sphere and the world a place where Athens and Rome seem for ever linked together: civilization and Jerusalem! The civilization of the ancient world owed its spirit to Athens, and its law and order to Rome: both played a part, under the providence of God, in forming that world in which, in the fulness of time, the Word was made flesh. But it was from Jerusalem that both Rome and Athens received the faith of Christ—the faith which is now their life, and in which both were reborn. Since the time of the apostles, these two cities have looked to Jerusalem as the eartlily shadow of their heavenly capital and the cradle of their common hope.

But if that common hope of theirs, in the person of our Saviour, were to return today to the holy city where he prayed and preached and suffered and died for love of us, in order to establish his kingdom in our midst, he would fmd there, alas, no greater unity than he found before.

Occasionally in books of art reproductions you will come across a large picture of a nose, or waving hand, or something similar; and perhaps you will be taken aback by the peculiar choice of subject until you glance at the caption: ‘Detail from somebody or other's Adoration of the Magi'. And then if you turn back a few pages you will find the full picture of the Adoration of the Magi and be able to spend several exciting minutes identifying which particular nose has been magnified on the later page. For the first time you will understand why the nose is pointed in the direction it is, why it is painted such a peculiar colour: for you will see it in its context.

A theological article on hope is like that nose. Since it is to be theological it cannot be about hope, it must be about God.

Some have claimed St John Chrysostom as the greatest Christian preacher of all time. Whether this is true or not is hard to say; and in any case it is doubtful if the discussion of such a claim would be of much value. What is certainly true however is that he had all the qualities needed to make a great preacher. He was a man of strong convictions, with the power to express them in vivid, forceful language; concrete and practical in his illustrations; able to evoke the whole range of human feelings, but always with complete sincerity. In himself he was affectionate, generous and open; lacking the tact that might have enabled him to steer more safely through his enemies’ intrigue, but quite without fear; ready with sympathy for all he met, so that he made and held many friends, and when preaching, could catch and hold the attention of his hearers. He did not have the speculative mind which enabled Athanasius, Basil and Cyril of Alexandria to contribute so much to theological development.

To the people St John addresses, the question ‘What is truth?’ (xviii, 38) was not simply a matter of intellectual curiosity or scepticism. The gospel offers an answer to the deepest needs of a sophisticated society, in search of ‘life', ‘light’ and ‘truth'. Although we are pressed by questions of a similar kind, yet John's answers are not immediately understandable to us. The problem what the meaning is of the concept ‘truth’ in the fourth gospel is best approached along three separate ways: in what contexts does it appear in the gospel, what were the connotations attached to it in the contemporary world, and how far is all this relevant to us?

As for the first point, it is most helpful to return to the context of Pilate's question; because the account of our Lord's trial before the Roman procurator has a far greater importance in the evangelist's mind than just that of a chronicle of certain juridical facts.