Daily Archives: August 3, 2015
You have read part one, and if you are still here you are, hopefully, getting the point that the attack is serious and unprecedented, and the answer must be unprecedented, too.
It is my opinion – not only in matters of religion, but in everything that is to do with public opinion at large – that half measures won’t do. The tepid criticism does not even cause a tepid reaction; it does not cause any reaction at all.
Individually as well as collectively, it is only the strong message that has a chance to get through. One strong homily about hell is remembered when one thousand homilies about “peace in the world” are forgotten. Your grandma’s slap at some religious misstep will stay with you forever, after endless mercy blabla has been forgotten. Even if you become oblivious of the slap, you will never really forget it. One day, it might well pop up again. It might do you a lot of good.
Padre Pio had no problems with slapping. He threw around sandals, too. He screamed in the church, when the situation (which was extreme) required it. He got very angry whenever Homosexuality and Communism got touched. I can’t even start to imagine the scandal of the Pious Anglosaxon Catholic Bloggers! Stop obsessing, Padre! You are being so uncharitable!
If the message is to have any chance of getting through, it must be presented brutally. As brutally as the reality of eternal damnation is brutal. As brutally as the reality of a Pope raping the Church is brutal. Jesus’ words were absolutely brutal, and it needs someone who does not know the Gospel to not recognise this brutally clear fact. St John the Baptist was His equal in unsugared talk. Very many saints were exactly the same. Our Lady’s words, and the images showed to the children of Fatima, must have been utterly terrifying to the children, and remained with them for life.
Half measures won’t do.
The enemy knows that. The enemy calls you “homophobic”, and you react with a raised little finger, telling him how the Church loves the sinner. So-called “gay marriage” ensues, and you still don’t get it; your little finger firmly up in the air as persecution gets one polite step nearer.
Francis insults you in all possible ways, day in and day out, and with you he insults all generations of Christians before you and all the Church stands for. You know that perfectly well. Still, you sit there like a kindergarten child, expressing your “surprise”. Of course, then, Francis asks you to reject the Sacraments and the Commandments! It’s your spineless reaction that encouraged him! You are not part of the solution! You are part of the problem!
The strong message gets through. The polite disagreement goes nowhere. If ten thousand good Catholic people were to boo Francis in St Peter’s square once, all this mess would end. They prefer to have a Synod in which heresy and blasphemy are put to discussion instead. You don’t want to be more Catholic than the pope, do you now?
Collective dynamics need strong messages to develop. This blog is but one drop in the ocean that is needed. But a drop it is. Everyone of us is but a drop. Be a drop for Truth, not a raised-little-finger catholic.
The same goes in the individual sphere. Remember the grandmother’s slap?
I am that slap. I am your surrogate grandmother in a world of sissified do-good ism and in desperate need of slapping grandmothers, now sadly extinct. I am the trumpet you will reject – and despise, and insult – today, but might well remember in ten or thirty years time. I had such trumpets, may God bless them. I got to understand their value only decades later. I want to be one of that sort. Hate me now. I don’t care. It’s all in a day of being the Catholic blogger I chose to be.
And truly, it is beyond belief that in these times of open, unprecedented attack to all that is sacred there should be people worried about the adjectives used on the Internet, on Facebook, on Twitter about the Pope. It makes one seriously wonder.
Decide to Whom your allegiance belong, and act accordingly.
There you have it. The brutal proto-Fascist, Torquemada-cum-Francisco-Franco, Slapping Grandmother Enchilada.
You may read me, or not. You may agree with me, or not.
But you are an utter fool if your question my motives, my sincerity, or my love for the Church.
I have written about this often, but it is in the nature of things that such concepts be repeated, so there you have it. If you have no qualms with the image above you can happily skip this post and go walk in the park, or read one of the more than four thousand posts this little effort contains.
I will never buy Francis’ heresies and blasphemies. Not in a life of one thousand years, if the Lord gives me the grace of keeping my senses. If the aim of all the Evil Clown blog posts were to persuade me, there would be no need for any of it.
No. The Evil Clown is there for you. Therefore, for you, and – as far as I can help you, and discern what is right from what is wrong – for my desire to do what I can for the Holy Church, the Evil Clown will firmly remain. If it shocks you, perhaps you are in need of some shocking.
There was a time where I wasn’t a practising Catholic. I was aware of the sacraments – as in: their existence and their importance at large – but their deep meaning, and their deep sacredness, someway escaped me. It is almost a mystery to me today to think that I could, in the past, not attend Mass and be fine with it. It wasn’t out of evil intent, I can assure you in perfect good faith. It was out of brutal ignorance of the deep meaning, and therefore utter sacredness, of the Mass, and of the cardinal importance of the Sacraments – not as something that “is out there somewhere”, but as something that has a deep impact in my life – in my salvation.
I was a bit like Theoden – without the Kingdom – when Gandalf first visited. Not evil, but slumbering. I needed to be awoken. By God’s grace, and the brutal words of charitable people – both dead and alive – I awoke.
This blog is here to awaken those who are slumbering, and to encourage those who are awake. This blog is the blog I wish I had read when I was slumbering, and vaguely looking for I did not know what. This blog is the trumpet I want to blow in your ear, loud and clear; so loud, in fact, that you will never completely forget the moment you heard its noise. A noise you might remember again in ten or thirty years, as it happened to me.
Does this scandalise you? Good! If you can wake up in the morning and not be horrified at what the pope himself wants to do to the Church you are slumbering, and in serious need of waking up. And if you in fact are horrified, but think that politeness and a veiled, utterly harmless criticism is the maximum you can do you must truly wonder whether for you Christ comes first, or an evil clown, or your own little, polite world.
The more you get to love the Church, the more you will feel it in your heart, in your skin, in your stomach, when She is attacked. When the attack is led by the Pope (wake up, smell the coffee, and realise that the attack is led by the pope) then the stomach pain is serious. If I get a cancer, I start to think I’ll know where it comes from. So shut up with your talk of politeness, because it won’t wash with me. This is serious, it’s not a matter for light conversation.
I feel pain. I want you to feel the same pain. I want you to realise how the Bride is being raped. I want you to feel the pain in your bones, as I do. When you understand the scale of the threat, and the importance of the Church, you understand the sheer scale of the satanical evil that is now ravaging Her. If you don’t, then of course you’ll have plenty of time to talk about politeness.
It is futile to hide behind your finger. You can’t say “I can do no else than pray”. Christ allowed Himself to be spitted in the face when the appointed time came, but do you think that the Apostles would have stood there with a sad face and praying their rosaries if any had tried to spit Him in the face? And what else do you think Francis is doing? How do you call attacking Him in the Sacraments, in the institution of marriage, in the Trinity, in the Commandments, and in the thousand other ways you well know by now?
I believe in God, not Niceness. If I see Christ spitted upon, I draw the … keyboard. I do not stand there muttering something about the “unlucky choice of words” whilst the man is planning a Great Offensive against everything the Church stands for.
You can have your afternoon tea with your little finger raised as much as you want, as you reflect – between a scone and a sandwich – whether “we can criticise the pope”. I see the Bride spitted upon, and I will have nothing of this rubbish.
Nor can you say “relax, Mundabor! The Church has already won!” Of course She has! But not because people relax, but because people act! You can’t just stand there and do nothing! Christ did not call us to… relax and watch!
What many do not understand is that we have a new situation. Never – not even with Liberius, or John XXII – had we such a formidable fifth column of Satan inside the Church, planning an attack at her very heart. Never had we a pope so obviously committed to the subversion of Church teaching (and if you still can’t see this, I slowly wonder about your chances of salvation) as we have now.
This is absolutely new. It requires new answers. The scale of the attack is so vast that no one can say “I can’t be wrong by remaining in the ranks of the Pope” when it is clear the ranks of the pope are shooting at the Bride. You are just not allowed to be as blind as that, because Bergoglio’s treason is so extreme, so shameless, so shouted, that no one can pretend not to see it.
It’s Francis here, and Christ there. Tertium non datur. We must have the guts to look at the facts in the face, and act accordingly.
It is important to get this. When one gets the point, the discussion about “what to do” can begin in earnest.
This wretched sinner has decided what to do. But this is for another post.