What, then, is my defense? If it is false, refute it. If it is true, bear witness to it—you on whose behalf and among whom I am speaking. You are my defense, my witnesses, and the crown in which I boast, if I too may dare a little of the Apostle’s boldness.
This flock, when it was small and still incomplete, at least to outward appearances, was hardly a flock at all, only a faint trace or remnant of one. It had no order, no bishop, and no fixed boundaries. It had no open pasture and was not enclosed within a fold. It wandered over mountains, through caves and holes in the ground, scattered and cast about, one here and another there. Each one found whatever shelter or pasture he could and was content if he could simply secure his own safety. It was like a flock driven away by lions, broken up by a storm, or scattered by darkness. This is the flock the prophets lament, comparing it to the sufferings of Israel when Israel had been handed over to the nations. We lamented too, as long as our condition gave us reason to lament.
We too were truly driven out and cast aside, scattered over every mountain and hill for lack of a shepherd. A terrible storm seized the Church, and terrible beasts fell upon her. Even now, after the skies have cleared for us, they do not spare us; shameless as they are, they wield more power than the present circumstances should allow. A grim darkness overtook everything and covered it, far heavier than Egypt’s ninth plague—the darkness that could be felt—under which we could scarcely see one another.