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Russia Might Ban Belgians From Adopting Russian Children.

 

 

Russian members of Parliament have asked the Russian Foreign office to examine the recent Belgian Nazi Law about Euthanasia  in order to see whether a ban on adoption of Russian children by Belgian parents might be in order.

It makes sense. It is infinitely better to be an orphan anywhere on the planet, than the child of adopting parents who might suggest to him that he terminates himself, do not prevent him from doing so, or simply “support” him in his decision to commit suicide because hey, they are good Nazi parents. “At some point – the parents might say to the terminally ill child – it’s time to go into the oven”

As pointed out already, as it stands the child would have to be terminally ill; but the tendency we have seen by divorce and abortion and, in Belgium itself, by euthanasia point out to a rapid metastasis of the cancer; this, without considering the simple fact that there can be no justification whatsoever for euthanasia even in case of terminal illness.

So, a Russian baby girl might be given in adoption to “enlightened” (ha!) Belgian parents who, in a couple of years’ time, might pave the way for her termination; because hey, she’s ill. Actually, in a couple of years’ time she might not even have to be ill; merely willing to die. 

Looks like a fiction movie.

It’s XXI Century Belgium.

The Nazis are among us.

Mundabor

The Lord Gave, And Belgium Hath Taken Away.

Saved by the Nazis from outside, Belgium now surrenders to the Nazis from inside.

 

 

 

I said in mine heart, God shall judge the righteous and the wicked: for there is a time there for every purpose and for every work.

Ecclesiastes 3: 17

In the unbelievable days we are living there is nothing impossible anymore. It is as if a fury of self-destruction had taken hold of once Christian Countries, and would now aim at the annihilation of Christian values with the same energy with which once Crusades were waged, and heresy fought.

What the Belgian Parliament has done exceeds even the boundaries of common insanity. It is evil in its purest form. Evil shouted out in a very loud manner, and sugarcoated with Satan’s favourite weapon: a fake good-ism, a parody of mercy unable to mask the atrocious reality of a boundless cynicism, and an ice cold disregard for everything sacred, even the life of a six years old child. Or four, or perhaps three. The law has no minimum age. Belgium perfectly epitomises the ruthless cruelty of men who have forgotten God.

A child of, say, six years old can do very little of his own. He will be told when to eat and when to sleep, when to speak and when to be silent, when to play and when to do his homework. He will seldom even cross the road without an adult being there. He will – very obviously – be unable to drive, or vote.

But he will now be able to decide if he wants to have his life terminated. If he lives in Belgium, that is.

Evil. Pure evil. The culture of death has become a religion.

As always in these cases, revolutionary evil clothes itself with the mantle of good sentiments. In the same way as divorce and abortion and euthanasia, this new measure allows for a child to decide – imagine that! – that he wants to die only when the “extreme cases” which always make for bad laws, are present. The poor child must be terminally ill and suffering. I think they do it with horses, too.

Make no mistake:as with divorce, abortion, and euthanasia, the exceptional cases will become less and less exceptional; the “suffering” more and more widely interpreted, and extended to mental/moral/immoral suffering; the criteria for “moral suffering” will be reduced to the will to die, as already seen by the will to divorce and the will to abort, and as it is happening in this disgraceful Country (Belgium) for euthanasia already. I have read in Belgium one death in twenty is now more or less officially the product of euthanasia. The existing euthanasia law is around a decade old. Satan’s harvest is very rich already.

Henceforward, when the “good” Nazi parents of the poor lamb – unbaptised, very easily, by such people – decide that it is time to push the “reset” button sooner rather than later and go on with their life after the discovery the goods are defective – stopping the hassle and expenses in the process – they will tell the child it is an excellent idea to go to some fantasy land, where the supply of toys is unlimited and he will never be told it’s time to go to bed.

If the child is bigger – say, nine or ten – he will probably be asked to be realistic about the very sad situation. If he is bigger still – say, thirteen or fourteen – he will probably be told about the expenses he is causing, and all the suffering his poor Nazi parents would like to spare him. All of these, mind, still unable to vote, or even to drive. But able to decide it’s time to be got rid of.

Then a Nazi doctor will appear on the scene, who will decide whether junior is sensible enough – for a five years old, that is; or a boy – and will be presented with the interesting question: is this child or boy able to decide that he wants to die? Every sane person would laugh at such an idea, but Belgium is very obviously insane.

So there you are: when Nazi doctor has decided the kitten can be smashed to the tree – oh, sorry, I was distracted: that the child can be terminated, is what I wanted to say – a lethal injection or some other utterly effective method – Zyklon B not unthinkable, of course – will get rid of the problem. Cue the inconsolable parents, whose grief will be beautiful to see, and will be graced by the solidarity and support of their friends and family, “on their side” concerning their “difficult decision”. More harvest, of course.

The Belgian church has, I am told, meowed a bit at the last. But the Belgian church consists, from what we could observe in the last fifty years, almost exclusively of perverts and idiots. They have managed to accompany with the tambourine the transformation of a once very Catholic country in a cesspool of dirt and evil with possibly no rival on earth. If you have not opened your eyes about the fruits of V II, I strongly suggest you start now.

Stupid clergy produces evil people. Evil clergy produces modern Belgium. If the Church in Belgium had been vaguely Catholic in the past decades, we would not be at this point now. But even those who weren’t preying on children and were not homosexual were too cowardly to swim against the tide of secularism.

The result is in front of our eyes. The Church in Belgium has done exactly the same as its inhabitant: she has forgotten God; or rather, she has sold it for the thirty pieces of silver of easy popularity and acquiescence to the world; when it wasn’t much worse than that, of course. My experience in Bruges might be worth the reading. Yes, it is as bad as that. Again, is it a surprise such a clergy produces such a country, which in turn produces such laws? Lex Orandi, Lex Credendi, Lex Vivendi. A once very Catholic country has now become Satan’s poster boy. Don’t kid yourself into believing the Belgian Church can call herself innocent of this.

The Lord gave, and Belgium hath taken away. There will be a terrible price to pay for that.

I do not think the Belgians, as a whole, care. The majority in the Belgian Parliament was overwhelming.

In 2014’s Belgium, it is safe for a politician to be a Nazi.

Such are the ways of the “who am I to judge” generation.

Mundabor

 

In Bruges

It was the same as the movie: sad and shocking. Unfortunately, nothing of the movie´s strange beauty, though.

Saturday afternoon mass. I run to a church with the usual unpronounceable name, in the city centre. Mass is about to start; not on the main altar, but in a space at the back.

It turns out they celebrate mass in the old choir. A wonderful altar is just ignored. There is a long table, the priest with two altar boys celebrates on the short side. A very small crucifix on the table/altar, and that´s all.

Due to the beauty of Vatican II, I don´t understand a goddamn word. The priest is young, very trendy. At a certain point he starts with the homily, and explaining a point takes a coin. There is a young boy among the 41 people present (including myself, the priest, two altar boys, the chap at the portable organ and an old lady who fancies herself the director of a non-existent orchestra, but is so satisfied with herself it seems in bad taste to tell her she makes an ass of herself). The boy is around 15, blond locks, tall and slender, looks like a cherubim from a Hans Memling painting.

The priest goes to him, and poses him a question. He answers, correctly as it seems. Creepy, thinks yours truly. After a couple of minutes, the “scene” happens again, the priests walks the entire space to pose a question to him. Goddamn creepy, thinks yours truly; but we are in Belgium, and no one notices.

The homily ends, and after a while the organists plays an Elvis Presley song, “Can´t stop loving you”, whilst the priest pronounces the consecration prayers. I am not joking, and this is not a movie.

The vessels are of a ceramic wanting to look like clay, which in my eyes is a liturgical abuse (but hey, this is Belgium, right?). At this point all the present gather around the table, and it becomes clear why the priest was on the short side: they all keep hands like many schoolchildren, but the meaning is that they participate in the consecration. I stay at my place, alone, and everyone of the present notices that the foreigner doesn´t do trendy masses.

In an heroic effort of inclusiveness, some of the consecration words are pronounced in English. The host is a huge flat thing, which he then proceeds to break (with great attention, I must say) in many pieces, each one of them fitting to damage the roof of the mouth but hey, it´s so trendy.

I have some short moments of reflection, at the end of which I reflect that the consecration is probably valid nothwithstanding the vessels (I might be wrong), and decide to receive. I am the only one who receives on the tongue.

Everyone comes back to his place, and the mass is soon at an end.

I doubt that I have fittingly described the atmosphere of sugary music, sugary attitude, sugary everything. It was a diabetes-inducing circus dominated by the desire of letting everyone feel “included”.

Particularly the blond boy.

It seems to me that this was an entirely self-serving exercise, that always the same people attend (who seemed to be in family groups; I doubt more than ten families were represented) and that these people are very satisfied with the look of things and don´t care that everyone else is just so disgusted that they prefer to attend elsewhere, if they still attend.

That was a portrait of the Church in Belgium, and no mistake. Including the boy attracting the attention of the priest.

Mundabor

FSSP: Two Sung Tridentine Masses Every Sunday in Brussels and Namur.

This press release from the FSSP informs about the start of the FSSP activities in Brussels. This event is important not only for his symbolic meaning (Brussels is one of the hotspots of the liberal disease that has been ailing the Church for so long and is only now gradually being eradicated), but because it clearly shows what a difference a good bishop makes.

The FSSP will celebrate the Tridentine Mass both in Brussels (beautiful church, judging from the photo) and where they are already based, Namur. In both places, sung Mass every Sunday (9am in Brussels, 11:15 in Namur). Further low masses in both places, Monday-Thursday in Namur, Friday-Saturday in Brussels (unless I am mistaken, but I think I take the gist).

Together, Brussels and Namur (around 44 miles distant) will offer to a vast urban population – and to all those who can drive and afford the fuel – not one but two beautifully made weekly Tridentine celebrations.

This is what happens when the (new) Bishop is sincerely concerned about the spiritual welfare of those wishing to attend in the Extraordinary Form. The contrast with his more than questionable predecessor, Daneels, could not be more striking.

Better days ahead.

Mundabor

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