If a dog approaches the mysteries of divine life more than years of study

Martin Luther traveled and retraced the Scriptures, especially the Apocalypse, in the anxious search for a foothold for that hope he could not give up: the final salvation of his Pomeranian, Tati

The aphorism never coincides with the truth: it’s either a half-truth or a half-truth. Following the infallible compass of Karl Kraus, it is easy to orient oneself in front of peremptory mottos such as this one by Sergio Quinzio, found in one of his darkest books – From the lion’s throat – and which seems to me a case of half-truth school: ” Look into the eyes of a dying dog, and be ashamed of your presumptuous theology.” So be it, but I claim the other half of the truth, and if possible the other half as well. In fact, I don’t see why we shouldn’t be equally ashamed of it, and perhaps more, in front of the eyes of a happy dog ​​wagging its tail. Anyone visiting the cathedral of Strasbourg would find crouched at the foot of the pulpit, with its muzzle sticking out between its paws, a small carved dog. He was the inseparable little dog of Johann Geiler, the great German preacher of the fifteenth century, as well as the most witty and jovial (he was one of the supporters of an almost forgotten custom, the risus paschalis, a liturgical passage of comic and carnival improvisation lowered into Easter celebrations). Thus Geiler wanted to immortalize the dozing squire of his exuberant sermons.