Divisions within Catholicism have been a frequent subject here.  In contemporary American Catholicism, ideology often trumps Christ, something Pope Benedict himself noted on his visit last spring:

I ask you, in the Lord Jesus, to set aside all division and to work with joy to prepare a way for him, in fidelity to his word and in constant conversion to his will. Above all, I urge you to continue to be a leaven of evangelical hope in American society, striving to bring the light and truth of the Gospel to the task of building an ever more just and free world for generations yet to come.
Those who have hope must live different lives! (cf. Spe Salvi, 2). By your prayers, by the witness of your faith, by the fruitfulness of your charity, may you point the way towards that vast horizon of hope which God is even now opening up to his Church, and indeed to all humanity: the vision of a world reconciled and renewed in Christ Jesus, our Savior. To him be all honor and glory, now and forever. Amen.

That is not a call to paper over differences, to pretend that is all is well as we join hands around the campfire. It is not a call to abandon mutual fraternal correction. It is simply, as a first step, to look to Christ and open ourselves to him, together. And to go from there, dependent on the Spirit to bind us together, to reveal the truth to us, and to empower us to bring the Gospel to a world that thirsts and hungers.
What is true is that this unity is indeed not uniformity, as St. Paul notes and as only one who is blind to history can deny.  The diversity within the Body of Christ runs deep, and is complex – as complex as life itself.
One sometimes reads, not only in Catholic sources, but non-Catholic sources as well, as sort of wistfulness for the right sort of Catholic. “If only all Catholics were like….I might be more open to it. Too bad the other ones have to be around to ruin it.” Fill in the blank: Mother Angelica. Thomas Merton. King Louis IX. Dorothy Day. Take your pick.
It’s too bad, the implication lurks, that there are those other sort of Catholics who mess up the pretty picture, the perfect embodiment of the Gospel.

It is, indeed, a difficult reality to grasp and live with: the fact that the Body of Christ lives and breathes in the world as it is, not in a world expressive of our own desires and ideals.  It is the obstacle that every one of us encounters and must deal with.  It is a mystery, but one that when humbly confronted, leads us ultimately to Christ, for we find it is He in whom our faith must rest, not in his poor servants.
As much as we hope to be salt and light ourselves, as much as we would hope to share God’s love with others, would we really want another person’s faith in Christ to depend on our witness?
Then it is not fair to make the lives and works of others, no matter how holy, idols in that way either.
Rome is a good place to run up against this complexity. Of course, if one is aware of history or even aware of what happens in one’s own parish, it is not news. But even if you have avoided the reality before, in Rome, you can’t. For in Rome you walk amid all kinds of Catholics, the right and wrong sort, and you are forced to take a stand.
Most vividly. In Rome, you might stand or kneel within a church built on the home of an ancient martyr. Perhaps the church contains that martyr’s remains and truly bears the martyr’s memory, which has strengthened the faithful in carrying their own crosses for centuries.
But there is a good chance that this same church was built by, expanded by or decorated by a wealthy Cardinal with a mistress or two and some sins for which to atone.  The gorgeous art, resonant and powerful in its portrayal of Calvary, might have come from the hands of an artist with little or no faith to speak of, doing what he had to do for the commission. You are walking on paths that were stained by the blood of bishop martyrs and then paved by the edict of bishop rulers.  St. Francis walked here in bare feet. Catholic aristocracy were carried above the muck, flattered by clergy as they handed out bread to the poor and paid the dowries of impoverished girls.
What, in that mess, do we reject? What do we accept? What is pure enough for us?
Layer upon layer. Nothing is simple. In this Body of Christ, paradox reigns, inherent at its root – the Body of the Christ, the Anointed of God, descended from eternity, yet broken, yet risen, yet still embodied here.
Ultimately, to sneer at the wrong sort of Catholic leads us to one place.
The mirror.
But mirrors can break. And in the mess of glass shimmering on the floor, perhaps we can find some authentic light at last, and let ourselves be guided by Him alone, accepting the mess, sweeping up what is possible, but recognizing that the mess belongs to all of us, not just the other.
All the wrong sort, waiting to be righted.

The very Son of God, older than the ages, the invisible, the incomprehensible, the incorporeal, the beginning of beginning, the light of light, the fountain of life and immortality, the image of the archetype, the immovable seal, the perfect likeness, the definition and word of the Father: he it is who comes to his own image and takes our nature for the good of our nature, and unites himself to an intelligent soul for the good of my soul, to purify like by like. He takes to himself all that is human, except for sin.
He was conceived by the Virgin Mary, who had been first prepared in soul and body by the Spirit; his coming to birth had to be treated with honour, virginity had to receive new honour. He comes forth as God, in the human nature he has taken, one being, made of two contrary elements, flesh and spirit. Spirit gave divinity, flesh received it.
He who makes rich is made poor; he takes on the poverty of my flesh, that I may gain the riches of his divinity. He who is full is made empty; he is emptied for a brief space of his glory, that I may share in his fullness. What is this wealth of goodness? What is this mystery that surrounds me? I received the likeness of God, but failed to keep it. He takes on my flesh, to bring salvation to the image, immortality to the flesh. He enters into a second union with us, a union far more wonderful than the first.

Office of Readings. Gregory Nazianzen.