A priest once told me that he met a man so well-read in the Fathers, so well-rehearsed in the Liturgy and so well-versed in ecclesiastical politics that he might be mistaken for a monk by a less-discerning person. But he was a child murderer and in prison. On the other hand, the priest also knew an old, illiterate babushka from before the days of the Soviet Union whose earthy piety and sense put him to shame. I wish to God I could aspire to that woman’s piety. I never stop trying.