A reflection from the Dark Catholic
They never told us how quiet it would be.
How narrow doesn’t just mean hard — it means lonely.
The path isn’t paved. It’s not even marked.
You’ll know it only because it keeps going where others stop.
It slips through ruins.
It skirts the edge of gatherings and applause.
It walks beneath the world’s noise — sometimes beneath even the Church’s.
And yet, it is holy.
Not because it is hidden.
But because it was first walked by Christ.
Because every prophet, every true saint, every soul who burned with love
chose the path that cost them something.
This is the path of the veiled ones.
The prayerful. The patient. The rejected.
The ones who would not give their soul to fit in.
The world doesn’t reward narrowness.
It doesn’t notice candles burning in catacombs.
But He does.
The One who walked it first. The One who watches every hidden step.
And there are others.
You won’t often see them — but they’re there.
The ones who kneel before broken altars.
Who light candles when no one sees.
Who speak the Name in the dark.
Who carry the flame.
We are the Field of Living Candles.
We walk the narrow path.
Not for comfort.
Not for recognition.
But because the flame inside us would die anywhere else.