Daily Archives: February 13, 2015

Empty Rhetoric, Empty Squares

Francis’ pontificate reminds one of a producer of luxury goods which suddenly starts abusing the brand for the mass selling of a cheap product. There will be big business for a while; but in the end, the brand itself will be severely damaged.

Francis’ easy populism for the ignorant masses,media circus and propaganda overdose is having, as abundantly predicted on this blog and elsewhere, the same effect. At the beginning, the mob found it exciting that a Pope would want to be like the world. But when the Pope is like the world, there is no reason why the world should be interested in him. By her very nature, the Church prospers when she is the enemy of the world. When she wants to become like it, it has lost the very reason why she should exist.

Read on Rorate the translation in English of a piece from Antonio Socci, pointing out to an empty square during the General Audience and saying that this is becoming increasingly more frequent. I remember reading similar observations when TMAHICH visited Strasbourg amidst the total lack of interest of the local population. The books apparently also don’t sell, which frankly isn’t a surprise at all.

Francis devalued and ridiculed the institution of the Papacy, and thought he would become popular by criticising Catholics, and showing all the others that he sides with them.

The “Francis effect” is increasingly more clear: “all the others” are losing interest, and he has lost face with the Catholics, the serious ones at least.

I am sure he thinks if he can impose the communion for adulterers in October all will be well. What a fool. The Anglicans and assorted Proddies have played this game to almost self-extinction.

If he thinks it works, he lives on Planet Jorge. But then again he does live on Planet Jorge, because nothing else than his own promotion of himself seems to interest him.

The Rabbi, The Pope And The Fag

“A Rabbi, a Pope and a Fag live in the same Vatican hotel…”

No, my dear readers, this is not a joke. If Jack Tollers is right in his interview to the blog “From Rome” it’s not only the Pope and the Fag who live at the Casa Sanctae Marthae, but dearest Rabbi too.
One wonders. Does the Rabbi pay the room, so that more showers for the homeless can be installed? Is the CSM not reserved for religious? At least Ricca has an official “job” there (that of madam; ehm, I mean: manager), but with what title exactly is the Rabbi there?

Kosher Food Consultant? Altar Rabbi? Yom Kippur Coordinator? Only One On The Planet Willing To Call Francis His Friend?

Think of all the food that could be given to the poor with the money of the Rabbi, if he does not foot the bill himself! One could feed a lot of sheep! It wouldn’t even have to be kosher food!

Then there is the other question that, I am sure, alarms all of us. If a Rabbi can live with the Pope, what’s next? Stephen Fry? (Boy, Stephen Fry must eat a lot!) Elton John, with all the “family” (his kept fag and two “adopted” unfortunate children, if you must know)? Spanish Trannies and their “boyfriends”? The Dalai Lama? ISIS commanders? Queen Kong, aka Michelle Obama?

No, if the Rabbi truly lives under the same roof with Francis we really are in trouble. Our only hope was the vicinity of some sound Catholic.

A Fag and a Rabbi as those pretty much nearest to him explain a lot of things.

M

 

El Señor B

What follows are some words about a fully fictitious character, Señor B. Every reference to any real existing person may be not entirely casual. Still, fiction it is. Or call it half of it reality, and half of it the attempt to make sense of the missing pieces in the puzzle of this fictional man.

Let us, then, introduce el Señor B without further ado.

———–

Señor B is born of humble parents, in Argentina, in the Thirties. His family seems to lean left, and papa (an accountant) says he left Italy because of his Antifascism, not poverty. Señor B goes to University and gets a degree as chemist. He starts working as a lab assistant. A badly paid, not at all gratifying job. The money must not have been abundant, but Mr B isn’t the fine type. Bouncer in a night club is good enough for him, and he does that too for a while. He also loves Tango. The man has clearly not come out of a Jane Austen novel.

As he grows to a man past his Mid Twenties, he reflects on his situation. Argentina is a fairly prosperous Country, and there is no problem of survival for him. But a man with a lower middle class background and clearly no connections will have great difficulties in paving himself a way in a Country like Argentina. He wants more than a life in the shadow, looking at the middle and upper class he has now learnt to resent – from “Antifascist” papa, perhaps? – and sees advancing in life as he shifts a humble existence. Yes, some of his class do make it; but, how many? The class barrier is strong, and the all-important connections are just not there. Perhaps there are other ways?

Señor B is – it should be said at this point – an atheist. Mama has a simple faith, but he himself just does not give a fig. His problem is what to do with this life, not next. Unencumbered with fears of damnation, he can dedicate his energies to his own advancement without religious scruples. Perhaps he might help the poor, who are his own class after all…

Is it too late to, perhaps, even enter the seminary? A radical choice, for sure! But let us be realistic: he does not want to be another very-low-middle-class boy, breeding like a rabbit, struggling all his life.

It is what it is. Mr B was not born in a privileged environment, and that’s that. It is better for him to look at reality in the face, renounce to a family he knows would make his life miserable, and seek protection under the roof of the Church. If possible, of course.

The Church. The only organisation that always allowed sons of butchers, fishmongers, labourers to ascend to honour and power, even the highest power. The only organisation that does not ask who were your parents. A rich, strong, powerful club, the admission to which promises financial security, respect, a degree of authority over the hated bourgeoisie, and prospects of advancement he would not find anywhere else. Not. Anywhere. Else.

The Jesuits, for example. They are big in his Country. They are, actually, big in many Countries. It’s a time of upheaval by them now. Not many are asking to get in. Perhaps there is a chance for him, a late comer? The money is still plentiful, for sure.

Señor B lies to his mother (he will brag about this in later years; cutting corners is something both he and his Country seem to find fascinating, and very cool) and tells her he is studying medicine away from home with the money she sends to him, but he is studying theology instead. He doesn’t learn much, of course, nor does he care to do it. But it’s enough to get in. He receives Holy Orders in 1969, in a time of huge upheaval. His entire career in the Church has been after the start of the V II “Springtime”. He is, in fact, one of the first of a new era.

Finally, his life is at a crossroads. A religious, and certainly a Jesuit, is still “someone”. Meet Mr B, the upwardly mobile Jesuit.

Things proceed fast now. The entire Catholic world is in a turmoil. The Jesuits even more so. Many religious leave, few ask to get in. Suddenly, brilliant career prospects beckon….

——

We must leave Señor B at this point. We do not know what will become of his life. There will be ups and downs, as in every life. If we know him well, we think he will patiently wait when the chips are down, and exploit it to his best when the chips are up. Because the man is cunning, and has a hunch for corridor politics. With no faith to encumber him, he can weight every step as carefully as he pleases.

We seem to think, or to know, how he will do it: populism, but not always. Short bouts of orthodoxy in the midst of confusion. As much a friend of the worst Jesuit leftists as he can, but never at the price of enmity with Rome. No slogan will be too stupid. And the appearance of humbleness, that is very important! The masses will love that. The son of an unconnected accountant is very happy where he is, even if it may be, at times, a dark corner.

He can wait. He plays for the long term.

Fake modesty, populism, trite nonsense. When he sees it work, he will flog that horse almost to death. He will be patient, cunning, shameless. What you want to hear, he’ll try to tell you. If you’re the losing horse, he’ll make you understand he is so sorry you aren’t the winning one. He’ll try not to have enemies. One wonders what kind of friends he’ll have.

Señor B is now on his way. He may go far. With luck, he may go very far.

Who knows what he might become one day?

M

 

 
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