Too Late Have I Loved You
I took St. Augustine's name at confirmation, and I walk in his footsteps as I examine my conscience and remember how I found God.
My murdered children, you never saw me but you will see me then. Though ripped from the womb and disposed of as waste, you will be there and you will recognize me, don’t ask me how. What will I say to you, my eternal victims, at that resurrection? I won’t be able to hide from you under a mountain. What shall I tell you then? “Gee kids, I’m sorry, your dad was an idiot, greedy, scared, and on drugs”? Or shall I say, “Daddy was up to his ears in a culture that gave him the right to kill you”? No, I won’t take refuge under the shadow of the law — what the lawyers call its penumbra, though laws shouldn’t be wrapped in shadows.
