The Evil Clown And You, Part Two
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.