Mrs Bishop Robinson (Achtung! Female Leg!).

Many thanks to reader Quiltwallah for this link.

It appears that our very own Mrs Robinson, already the object of the attentions of this blog, is now going to change is Facebook status from “pretend married fag” to “single fag”, or more probably “fish look fish” (don’t worry, pretend Bishop; these are a rather perverted bunch; you’ll find one that suits you).

The article might surpass in sugary content what I thought was not possible to “improve” upon: the divorce of Al and Tipper Gore, an orgy of mutual support that left the polar bear cubs wondering what needs there was of divorce in the first place (if memory serves, it was Larry David’s wife, a rabid environmentalist; but memory might not serve, and life’s too short for checking).

Mrs Robinson (assuming here he had, within the “couple”, the role of “Mrs”; we might, if God is merciful, never know the truth) plays the entire keyboard of the sugary common places, leaving only “in some way, we will always love each other” aside. I think. Life’s too short, again…

He plays the role of the old wise fag, who thought his “union” was sooo made in heaven but can’t really say, for obvious PR reasons, what we all know: that it was made in hell. But you understand how grand he is, and how graciously – with just an idea of mascara – he hints at the fact he has been dumped. Yeah, he seems to say: there are always faults on both sides. But haven’t you noticed how good I am nevertheless?

And so, just after Easter – which we understand has kept him very busy: what colour might Jesus’ tunic have been? Did the crown match with the red of His blood? And was Disma, perhaps, just a tad “gay”? – Mrs Robinson told us the two are now going to go their separate way, or “gay” sauna.

I understand Monsignor Ricca is still to be had, so perhaps Mrs Robinson might, well, try to seduce him.

Hell holds a place for stupid gays.

Hey, hey, hey.

Hey, hey, hey.

Mundabor

 

 

The Field Hospital According To Sound Teaching

5 May 1956: Inauguration of the “Casa Sollievo della Sofferenza”, the hospital created by Padre Pio.

 

 

I never understood – it must be my lack of experience of the real thing – why the comparison of the Church as a “field hospital” should be something leading to heresy, or perversion of doctrine through other and more Jesuitical ways.

What is a field hospital there for? To heal the sick and wounded, I would say.

I imagine that in a field hospital no one looks to which army the wounded belongs: friend or enemy, the field hospital accepts everyone. Very fine. Beautiful. Utterly Christian.

But then, the absolute priority of the doctors in the field hospital is, I think, saving the patients’ life. If, to do this, very unpleasant things are necessary – things that would be unthinkable in less serious circumstances, like amputations – then the doctors go on and do what they have to do, because the greater good – the human life – has precedence over the lesser good – the limb -.

The field hospital, in other words, is not there to tell the wounded they are healthy and all fine, but to make them healthy again, with whatever means necessary.

Not differently, if you ask me, for the field hospital that we call the Church.

No one is left out. Prostitutes, concubines, perverts, sinners of all sorts, Catholic and not, Christian and not, are all welcomed in. But they are welcomed in in order that they may be healed. This healing is, and can only be, the only priority, and the goal to which, if necessary, everything else must be sacrificed. If in order to save a human life a limb can be sacrificed, it is evident that in order to save the infinitely more important soul no sacrifice is too big.

When I read people writing “the concubine should not stop living in mortal sin, because otherwise the children would (insert here your excuse: hate the church, change schools, have to do without a garden, see their father a bit less, which does not even have to be, etc), I truly wonder whether these people once in their life stopped and examined hell as a real possibility, or – as it is far more probable – whether they think that hell never concerns them, so the good of the children is the first priority.

It is, for these people, as if Christ were something you should try to accommodate, if no detriment to a host of other priorities results from it. Hey, there is a problem of cost!  (how about downsizing). Hey, there is a problem of schools! (how about spending more time helping your children). Hey, the children would, (oohhh, ahhh: can’t you see me crying?) **lose their father!** (no, they wouldn’t). Hey, there is one more of the infinite series of excuses everyone can put in the middle (are they more important than your salvation? Yes or no).

The “field hospital” meme, Francis style, is an excuse. It is as inane and senseless as this pontificate. The Church is there to lead souls to heaven. She is not there to let them feel good. This is not healing, but accompanying these souls all the way to death. It is telling the patient some happy story whilst the gangrene advances, because it would upset him too much to say that if he wants to save his life, the leg must go.

The Kasperites are not concerned about salvation. Their focus is exclusively on the worldly. When the wounded adulterous woman comes in their field hospital, to them “healing” is not helping her to save her soul, but helping her to damn her soul, eating and drinking God’s judgment upon herself.

“We must find ways to help her receive communion”, they think. They do not think “we must find ways to make her worthy of communion”. They aren’t afraid of hell and they have no fear of the Lord, so they can’t see the sacrilege. To them, it is as if there were only legalistic, procedural obstacles that must be cleared, so that “mercy” may advance.

This is the very crux of Kasperite thinking: “let us find a way that suits you”, instead of “let us follow Christ’s way”. 

It pains me very, very much to say that as the weeks and months to this disgraceful Synod pass, a climate of expectation is being created, the aim of which is to arrive to October in readiness for the mother of all excuses: “now it’s too late to not do anything”. Schisms will be painted on the wall. Mass defections. The need to “heal” after the pedophile priests scandal (the pedophile priest scandal is always handy; but the canonisation of a Pope who failed egregiously in the matter is wonderful, too). An orgy of “pastoral” thinking. A gradualism after which it is better for now to pave ways for sacrilege, and then try to teach the faithful better; something which has never been done in the first place. Infinite excuses will be found. They will be as numerous as human sins.

When it’s done, all hell will – literally- break loose. The popolo bue, the tepid and unthinking majority, will follow without any trouble. They don’t understand what scandal is, because the priest only talks about the “joy of being a Christian”. And how can Mrs Smith, who partakes of such “joy”, be so, oohhh sooo cruelly left out?

An army of blind will follow their blind pastors. They will be told “this is how we do things now”. They will never stop and think whether “how we do things now” is sacrilegious or not, and whether priests did differently then, and why. They won’t, because they never think in terms of sacrilege, but only of niceness. They never see the danger of hell, only the present discomfort at being counter-cultural, “uncharitable”, or not “inclusive”.

They will say “oh, of course it’s fine. Mrs Smith isn’t doing any harm to anyone!”.

She is doing harm to Jesus first, is the answer, and to the real wife of Mr Smith second. Nowadays, most people do not even realise that a sin is something that offends God, not something that hurts the cat.

Alas, in the religion of niceness Jesus has no place, sin is only when someone we know and like is hurt – never the former wife; who knows her, after all? – and being a nice “community” is next to holiness.

This is not a field hospital.

This is a front line brothel.

Mundabor