Even if a unity of faith is not possible, a unity of love is.
Hans Urs Von BalthasarRead
The inner reality of love can be recognized only by love.
Interpretation
True understanding of love can only be attained through experiencing love itself.
This quote emphasizes that the essence and depth of love can only be truly understood through loving and being loved. It suggests that love is a profound experience that transcends intellectual comprehension, and that a genuine recognition of its reality comes from personal engagement in loving relationships.
In practice
A speaker at a wedding could use this quote to highlight the depth of the couple's love.
Even if a unity of faith is not possible, a unity of love is.
It is to the Cross that the Christian is challenged to follow his Master: no path of redemption can make a detour around it.
A truth that is merely handed on, without being thought anew from its very foundations, has lost its vital power.
The Holy Spirit knows what a particular age's most pressing need is far better than men with their programs.
The first attempt at a response: there must have been a fall, a decline, and the road to salvation can only be the return of the sensible finite into the intelligible infinite.
But the saints are never the kind of killjoy spinster aunts who go in for faultfinding and lack all sense of humor. (Nor should the Karl Barth who so loved and understood Mozart be regarded as such.)For humor is a mysterious but unmistakable charism inseparable from Catholic faith, and neither the "progressives" nor the "integralists" seem to possess it - the latter even less than the former.
Cities, in many ways, are the best repositories for a love affair. You are in a forest or a cornfield, you are walking by the seashore, footprint after footprint of trodden sand, and somehow the kiss or the spoken covenant gets lost in the vastness and indifference of nature. In a city there are places to remind us of what has been.
The people who give you their food give you their heart.
Stronger than lover's love is lover's hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.
Did you ever, in that wonderland wilderness of adolesence [sic] ever, quite unexpectedly, see something, a dusk sky, a wild bird, a landscape, so exquisite terror touched you at the bone? And you are afraid, terribly afraid the smallest movement, a leaf, say, turning in the wind, will shatter all? That is, I think, the way love is, or should be: one lives in beautiful terror.
Love is responsibility of an I for a You: in this consists what cannot consist in any feeling - the equality of all lovers.
Who'll love Aladdin Sane? Battle cries and champagne just in time for sunrise.
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