Prophetic?

Came across the 1867 poem “Dover Beach” by Matthew Arnold a week or so ago and still can not get the third stanza out of my mind:

The Sea of Faith

Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore

Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.

But now I only hear

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,

Retreating, to the breath

Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear

And naked shingles of the world.

To me this encapsulates perfectly – oh too perfectly – that dim and obscure feeling that descends upon me when I read of what’s happening to the Catholic faith post-Vatican II, the changes currently test-driven by Francis and his cohorts, and the steroidal tsunami of transformation that’s molding our world like a brutal calloused sculptor that serves no master but itself.

Or am I being too histrionic?

… now I only hear

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,

Retreating …