I love God because it is so painful to love human beings. I love a God that never leaves or that always leaves me. God, the absence of God... Always reassuring and definitive. I am a priest, I have renounced my fellow man, my fellow women, because I don't want to suffer, because I'm incapable of withstanding the heartbreak of love, because I'm unhappy, like all priests. It would be wonderful to love you the way you want to be loved, but it's not possible. Because I am not a man. I am a coward. I am a coward. Like all priests.

What is more beautiful ? love lost or love found
Don’t laugh at me, my love. I know it.
When it comes to love I am awkward and naive,
And I ask question straight out of a pop song.
This doubt overwhelms me and undermines me.
To find or to lose.
All around me people don’t stop yearning.
Did They lose or did they find ? I can't say
An orphan has no way of knowing
An orphan lacks his first love, for his Mama and Papa
That’s the source of his awkwardness and naivete.
You said to me on that deserted beach in California that you can touch my leg.
But I didn’t do it. There my love, is love lost
That’s why I never stopped wondering, since that day, where have you been ?
And where are you now?
And you, shining gleam of my misspent youth
Did you lose or did you find? I don’t know, and I will never know.
I can’t even remember your name, my love.
And I don’t have the answer.
This is how I’d love to imagine it, the answer.
In the end, we have no choice. We have to find.

When they ask her, “Who is god?”
“God is a line that opens,” replied the Blessed Juana.
She was just fourteen years old, and no one understood what it was she was trying to say.
And then, all the children asked the dying Blessed Juana dozens of questions.
Are we dead or are we alive?
Are we tired or are we vigorous?
Are we healthy or are we sick?
Are we good or are we bad?
Do we still have time or has it run out?
Are we young or are we old?
Are we clean or are we dirty?
Are we fools or are we smart?
Are we true or are we false?
Are we rich or are we poor?
Are we kings or are we servants?
Are we good or are we beautiful?
Are we warm or are we cold?
Are we happy or are we blind?
Are we disappointed or are we joyful?
Are we lost or are we found?
Are we men or are we women?
“It doesn’t matter,” replied the Blessed Juana, as she lay dying at the age of just eighteen.
And she added, on the verge of death, with tears in her eyes,
“God does not allow himself to be seen.
God does not shout.
God does not whisper.
God does not write.
God does not hear.
God does not chat.
God does not comfort us.”
And all the children asked her, “Who is God?”
And Juana replied, “God smiles.”
And only then did everyone understand.
And now, I beg all of you, smile.
One day I will die, and I will finally be able to embrace you all, one by one.
Yes. I will.
I have faith that I will.