In one of his plays, Camus explains that Saint Demetrius had an appointment with God himself in the steppe one day. On his way, he found a peasant whose cart had got stuck up to the axle in thick mud. He didn't think twice. He rolled up his sleeves and helped him. He had to work hard, but in the end, they managed to free the cart and Saint Demetrius ran to his appointment. But God was no longer there.I have thought a lot about this "he was no longer there". My theologian friends tell me that God was the farmer, but they don't convince me. My experience tells me that I am always late for appointments with God, even if for much less philanthropic reasons than those of Saint Demetrius. But I am not so late that I cannot see some trace of his evanescent presence. Thinking about it, when the mayor of Masnou invited me to give an intervention in public space, I responded by writing on a pedestrian crossing in the town that "The soul is the cage where the dandelion of the bird that has just escaped floats".The place where I most clearly feel the echo of the expanding wave of his presence is in the face of good Christians, of whom there are some, even if they don't care much for marketing. I can assure you: interacting closely with them is one of life's great experiences. It is possible to doubt God's existence. It is within anyone's reach. The Bible is full of doubters and the wary. But in the face of a good Christian, it is difficult not to believe that the light that illuminates their face is vicarious of another, greater light. It has been good Christians who have made me, a very mediocre Christian, understand the meaning of Nietzsche's words in Beyond Good and Evil: “To the homines religiosi one could include among artists as their supreme category.”I met Viqui Molins many years ago, at a bookstore stand on Sant Jordi's Day. I was struck by the number of neglected people, with evident existential wounds, who came to greet her. She knew their names and surnames, the history of their despair. She was interested in their problems with a welcoming and sincere normality. I asked her what exactly she did. "I am a Teresian nun," she told me. I already knew that, but there was something deeper in her than a mere charisma of label. She explained to me that she took care of the bad thief. "It's easy – she clarified – to take care of the good thief. He has stumbled, you help him up and from that moment on he walks straight and grateful; the bad thief, however, takes advantage of you helping him to vomit to steal your wallet." And at that moment I saw the light of her face.

"The church is at its limit, but we are where Viqui wanted us to be." When Peio Sánchez, the parish priest of the Santa Ana del Raval parish, said this first sentence, there were still dozens of people in the Barcelona basilica trying to find a small space to stay in. "Today we had to be there," stressed an elderly woman sitting on a folding chair. We had to be there to say goodbye, as she wanted, to Viqui Molins, the street nun that transferred on February 20 after dedicating her life to helping hundreds of people in vulnerable situations.

"I would like to visit a prisoner who never receives any visitors," Viqui Molins asked, and they brought into the visiting room a boy who did not know who his father was, who did not know his mother because she died during childbirth and who crossed the Strait of Gibraltar hiding under a truck when he was 11 years old"I don't care if I get out of prison, because nobody is waiting for me outside," she told him, "and I don't care if I die because nobody will mourn me." Viqui replied that she would miss him. They saw each other every week for four years. The boy ended up calling her "Mom."

Goodbye, mother of the world, of your students when you were a half-rebellious teacher in the great schools of the Teresian nuns, mother of the AIDS patients behind Sister Genoveva, mother of the whores and the junkies of the Raval when you followed the endless brother and the one from the Sant Pau house, and of the hundreds or thousands of abandoned and endless people from the Field Hospital, of the people who needed support.

Today marks one month since he was sworn in as President of the United States, and Donald Trump has turned the world upside down. In yesterday's episode, and with his usual repertoire of lies, Trump said that the war in Ukraine was started by Ukraine, as if Putin had not invaded his neighbor, and He called Zelensky a dictatorTrump's embrace of Putin, America's embrace of Russia, has never been so blatant and so shameful. That's why I say that Trump has turned the world upside down.

The Teresian nun and writer Maria Victoria Molins, Viqui Molins, died tonight at the age of 88, according to Catalunya Cristiana portal reports. Known as the street nun, Molins died at home after a heart attack. "Her heart failed her. It was expected because she was the one who gave the most, her heart. For everyone it was an immense gift," said the parish priest of the church of Santa Ana in Barcelona, ​​​​Peio Sánchez, in statements collected on the same website.