In her book, Memories of War, Promises of Peace, Sister Mary Jo Leddy writes about her parents' World War II experiences. Her father, Jack, was a surgeon in the Allied army. Jack, stationed in a French town, often went to a nearby church for rest, refuge, sanctuary and prayer. For him it was a special and holy place. Forty years later, he returned to the village with his wife and daughters, insisting that they all visit the precious chapel.

When they reached the church, Leddy was delighted and wanted to go inside right away. But the family was horrified by the homeliness of the building. Ugly was the word. The walls were beige stones, stained and covered with fungus. On the roof was something that looked more like a chimney than a bell tower. In any case, there was no bell to ring. Not a single flower or blade of grass grew in the grim clay ground around. Mother and daughters criticized the church's appearance. They remarked that it was like a scene from a Gothic horror movie.

Leddy's Dad looked at them rather blankly. In 1944, he had never really noticed what the church looked like. "It looked pretty good at the time," he said. "It was a place to go and pray." Leddy eventually came around to her father's viewpoint. Speaking of the church she writes: "This was where he was at home in the world, where he knew who he was with God."

It is amazing how much better a church looks when you are there for the right reasons. Some people use putdowns, and criticism to keep from confronting their own spiritual poverty.