Sin in the Church? Of Course — That’s the Point of the Cross

Sin in the Church? Of course. That’s why it was established by Jesus Himself.

Yes, the Church has sinners in her midst. Grave sinners.
Wounds that haven’t just scarred individuals — but history itself.
Look at the Crucifix.

Yes, Catholic-run schools once participated in tearing Indigenous children from their families in misguided attempts at “civilization.”
Yes, priests have betrayed their sacred trust in the most evil ways imaginable.
Yes, nuns, bishops, and lay people — we’ve all failed at times to live the love we preach.
Look at the Crucifix.

Do you think we don’t know this?

The world points to these sins as if they disprove the Church.
But it’s the opposite: they prove why we need her.
It proves Christianity is real.

Because sin is real. Evil is real. And it’s not just “out there.”
It’s in here — in the human heart, in every human story.
We kneel in the Sacrament of Reconciliation — the Sacrament of Confession — because of it.

And for many, the worst of the worst comes with the loudest cry.
God’s name is Mercy.
Look at the Crucifix.

You think the Catholic Church is full of hypocrites?

You’re right.
Look at the Crucifix.

Every Mass begins with confession:
“I have sinned… through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.”
We ask the angels and saints — and you, my brothers and sisters — to pray for us to the Lord our God.
We strike our hearts not because we’re pretending, but because we’re finally being honest.

We don’t hide the Cross with Jesus on it.
No — not an empty cross. Not yet.
We lift it high.
Lift high the Cross.

At every Mass, we process in with it and walk out with it.
Not as some empty symbol — but because it’s the only thing that makes sense of our lives.
Every failure, every betrayal, every abuse — even the ones within our walls — find their only hope in that Cross.

The Crucifix isn’t a decoration.
It’s a mirror.
It’s a rescue line.

Look at the Apostles — the first bishops.
They weren’t the best men. They were just like us.
They argued about who was the greatest. One denied Him. One betrayed Him.
All but one ran away.

But they came back.

One repented and became a saint.
Another repented and gave his life.
And millions after them did the same.
From Augustine to Francis.
From murderers to mystics.
From slave-traders to reformers.
From broken… to beautiful.

Christianity has never claimed its people are perfect.
It only claims that Christ is.

That’s why we have saints — because we start with sinners.

And that’s why the devil never stops pointing fingers at the Church.
Because if he can keep your eyes on her wounds,
maybe you’ll never lift your gaze… and see the Wounded One hanging for you.

You want to talk about evil in the Church?

Good. So do we.

But don’t stop there.

Because the same Church that holds the fallen
also holds the Confessional — in every corner of the world.
A place where prodigal sons and daughters can come home.
Again and again.

Let’s also talk about darkness becoming light.
Winter turning into spring.
Death into life.
Crucifixion giving way to Resurrection.

Let’s talk about the martyrs —
like Saint Maximilian Kolbe, who stepped forward to die in place of another man in Auschwitz, singing hymns as he starved in a bunker.
Or Saint José Luis Sánchez del Río, a teenage boy who refused to renounce Christ, even as he was tortured and executed by soldiers — shouting “Viva Cristo Rey!” with his dying breath.

Let’s talk about the missionaries —
like Saint Francis Xavier, who crossed oceans to bring the Gospel to India and Japan, baptizing tens of thousands.
Or Venerable Fulton Sheen, whose media evangelization reached millions with clarity and conviction in a world growing hostile to faith.

Let’s talk about the forgotten sisters —
like the Missionaries of Charity, bathing the wounds of the dying in the streets of Calcutta.
Or Sister Anne Marie Javouhey, who freed slaves in French Guiana and educated entire villages.
And yes, the unnamed sisters still today in Haiti, in Sudan, in the Philippines — washing feet, changing bandages, and whispering dignity into suffering souls.

Let’s talk about the monks in hidden monasteries —
like the Carthusians, who live in near silence and constant prayer for a world that doesn’t even know they exist.
Or the Benedictines, who copied Scripture by hand when the world was collapsing — preserving the faith and the light of reason in the darkness of the ages.

Let’s talk about the millions of Catholics —
feeding the poor not for show, but for love.
Raising children with quiet heroism.
Keeping their wedding vows when the world says “leave.”
Building hospitals, like the one St. Basil founded in the 4th century — the first ever for the poor.
Founding schools, like the thousands run by Jesuits, Franciscans, and Catholic sisters around the world.
Caring for the dying in nursing homes founded not by governments, but by the Church.

These aren’t footnotes in history.
This is our Church.
And it’s still happening — every hour, every Mass, every quiet act of mercy.

Let’s talk about Jesus.
Look at the Crucifix.
Long for Easter.

The Church is not a museum for saints.
It’s a hospital for sinners.
And the cure — Jesus Christ — is at the very center.