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Johann Baptist Metz:

Toward the end of the Second World War, when I was sixteen years old, I was taken out of school and forced into the army. […] One evening the company commander sent me with a message to battalion headquarters. I wandered all night long through destroyed, burning villages and farms, and when in the morning I returned to my company I found only the dead, nothing but the dead, overrun by a combined bomber and tank assault. I could see only dead and empty faces […] I remember nothing but a wordless cry.[…] A fissure had opened in my powerful Bavarian-Catholic socialization, with its impregnable confidence. What would happen if one took this sort of remembrance not to the psychologist but into the Church?