A Confraternity of the Fatherless
When I think about religion at all, I feel as if I would like to found an order for those who cannot believe: the Confraternity of the Fatherless one might call it, where on an altar, on which no taper burned, a priest, in whose heart peace had no dwelling, might celebrate with unblessed bread and a chalice empty of wine.
And as I look around, I feel like we are a realization of poor Oscar Wilde’s wistful fantasy—this order of those who ...
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