Who does a better job standing for the truth on marriage, Bergoglio or Putin?
From a meditation for the morning of Christmas Eve, by St. Alphonsus Liguouri:
JESUS COMES TO CAST FIRE UPON THE EARTH.
I am come to cast fire on the earth, and what will I but that it be kindled? (Luke xii. 49).
Before the coming of the Messias, who loved God upon the earth? He was known, indeed, in one corner of the world; that is, in Judea; and even there how very few loved Him when He came! Even today few there are who think of preparing their hearts for Jesus to be born in them! What sayest thou? Dost thou wish to be ranked amongst the ungrateful ones?
The Jews solemnised a day called by them Dies ignis — the day of fire, in memory of the fire with which Nehemias consumed the sacrifice upon his return from the Captivity of Babylon. Even so, and indeed with more reason, should Christmas Day be called the Day of Fire on which a God comes as a little Child to cast the fire of love into the hearts of men.
I am come to cast fire upon the earth; so spoke Jesus Christ. Before the coming of the Messias, who loved God upon the earth? Some worshipped the sun, some the brutes, some the very stones, and others again even viler creatures still. A few years after the Redeemer was born God was more loved by men than He had been before from the creation of man. Ah, truly every man at the sight of a God clothed in flesh, and choosing to lead a life of such hardship, and to suffer a death of such ignominy, ought to be enkindled with love towards a God so loving! Oh, that thou wouldst rend the heaven and wouldst come down; the mountains would melt away at thy presence … the waters would burn with fire (Is. lxiv. 1). Oh, surely Thou wouldst enkindle such a furnace in the human heart that even the most frozen souls would catch the flame of Thy blessed love! And, in fact, after the Incarnation of the Son of God, how brilliantly has the fire of divine love burnt in loving souls! How many youths, how many of those nobly born, and how many monarchs even, have left wealth, honours, and even kingdoms, to seek the desert or the cloister, that there, in poverty and obscure seclusion, they might the more unreservedly give themselves up to the love of their Saviour! How many Martyrs have gone rejoicing, making merry on their way to torments and death! How many tender young virgins have refused the proferred hands of the great ones of the world in order to go and die for Jesus Christ and so repay in some measure the affection of a God Who stooped down to take human flesh and to die for the love of them!
O Jesus, Thou hast spared nothing to induce men to love Thee! O Word Incarnate, Thou wert even made Man to enkindle divine love in our hearts. I love Thee, O Incarnate Word! I love Thee, O sovereign Good! Suffer me not to be separated from Thee! Suffer me not to be separated from Thee!
It may, indeed, be asserted without fear of contradiction that God was more loved in one century after the coming of Jesus Christ than in the entire forty centuries preceding His appearance on earth. Yes; all this is most true; but now comes a tale for tears. Has this been the case with all men? Have all men sought to correspond with the immense love of Jesus Christ? Alas! my God, the greater number have combined to repay Him with nothing but ingratitude! And you also, my brother, tell me what sort of return have you made up to this time for the love your God has borne you? Have you always shown yourself thankful? Have you ever seriously reflected what these words mean — a God to be made Man, a God to die for Thee?
A certain man while hearing Mass one day without devotion, as too many do, at these concluding words of the last Gospel: And the Word was made flesh (Jo. i. 14), made no external act of reverence. At the same moment a devil struck him a blow, saying: “Thankless wretch, thou hearest that a God was made Man for thee, and dost thou not even deign to bend the knee? Oh, if God had done the like for me I should be eternally engaged in thanking Him!”
Tell me, O Christian, what more could Jesus Christ have done to win thy love? If the Son of God had engaged to rescue His own Father from death, to what lower depth of humiliation could He have stooped than to assume human flesh and lay down His life in sacrifice for His salvation? Men appreciate the good graces of a prince, of a prelate, of a nobleman, of a man of letters, and even of a vile animal; and yet these same people set no store by the grace of God, but renounce it for mere smoke, for a brutal gratification, for a handful of earth, for a nothing!
What sayest thou, dear brother? Dost thou wish to be ranked among such ungrateful ones? Go, find thyself a prince more courteous, a master, a brother, a friend more amiable, and one who has shown thee a deeper love.
Ah, how comes it that we are so ungrateful towards God, the same God Who has bestowed His whole self upon us, Who has descended from Heaven to earth, has become an Infant to save us and to be loved by us? Come, let us love the Babe of Bethlehem! Let us love Jesus Christ Who, in the midst of such sufferings, has sought to attach our hearts to Him.
O my sweet, amiable and holy Child, Thou art at a loss what more to do in order to make Thyself loved by men! And how is it that Thou shouldst have encountered such ingratitude from the majority of men! I see that few, indeed, know Thee, and fewer still love Thee! Ah, my Jesus, I too desire to be reckoned among this small number. But Thou knowest my weakness. Thou knowest my past treasons. For pity’s sake do not abandon me, or I shall fall away even worse than before. O Mary, my Mother, thou art the Mother of fair love (Ecclus. xxiv. 24), do thou obtain for me the grace to love my God. I hope it of thee
This piece at Rorate Caeli states the problem accurately:
Here we are before a situation that is so horrendous that it makes us tremble.
The ancient cardinals, since the 16th century, had always refused to elect a Jesuit to the throne of Peter. The 2013 conclave broke this taboo: the Pachamama-worshippers must be aware that in non-Christian traditional religions breaking a taboo always leads to calamities.
The organizers of this Pachamama-Synod had forewarned us: nothing will be like before after this event. Indeed, after the destruction of the biblical ethics by the Sodom-defenders, a profession of semi-Arianism, and the worship of idols, all in a context filled with financial scandals of all sorts and the promotion of the sexual predation of minors and adults, there is nothing left to demolish.
When compared to the current Second Pornocracy, 1968 looks like a Thomist conference…
Let us redouble our prayers to the fiery Archangel Saint Michael so that the justice of God may speak through him. Let us beg the mercy of God for the millions of souls drowing in the mud of this “Amazon”.
But never forget: Christ is King! He is victorious! He will slay His enemies with the breath of His mouth. We need to stay with Him, and on His side.
¡Viva Cristo Rey!
Yes, this is my third post in 23 days. No, it’s not like the old days. Heavy workload and the mind-melting stupefaction of the suicide of civilization have rendered orderly posting difficult. But I read this article in May and have wanted to repost it for awhile now. It holds up Bob Dylan as an example (of course!) of the need we have to read and internalize the great literary works.
This generation is indoctrinated, ignorant, and dangerous.
Several years ago, Bob Dylan was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. While many, including Dylan himself, found it a bit odd to honor a folk singer with the premier prize for literature, there it was. After a curious gap between the committee’s breathless announcement and Dylan’s reluctant acceptance, the seventy-five-year-old artist reflected on just how much his writing was born out of his studied immersion in folk music and the budding progenitors of rock and roll including Buddy Holly, Sonny Terry, Brownie McGhee, and the New Lost City Ramblers. Dylan would elaborate,
I had all the vernacular down. I knew the rhetoric. None of it went over my head—the devices, the techniques, the secrets, the mysteries—and I knew all the deserted roads that it traveled on, too. I could make it all connect and move with the current of the day. When I started writing my own songs, the folk lingo was the only vocabulary that I knew, and I used it.
In a few words, folk music became a part of his marrow. But then he went on,
But I had something else as well. I had principles and sensibilities and an informed view of the world. And I had had that for a while. Learned it all in grammar school. Don Quixote, Ivanhoe, Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver’s Travels, Tale of Two Cities, all the rest—typical grammar school reading that gave you a way of looking at life, an understanding of human nature, and a standard to measure things by. I took all that with me when I started composing lyrics. And the themes from those books worked their way into many of my songs, either knowingly or unintentionally. I wanted to write songs unlike anything anybody ever heard, and these themes were fundamental.
Dylan’s speech would continue with a whirling exegesis on three of the most influential books—all classics—in his life: Moby Dick, All Quiet On the Western Front, The Odyssey. Now, I don’t know anyone who is reading these novels in grammar school (which is generally considered Kindergarten through eighth grade) anymore. And, sadly, there is hardly anyone anywhere who is reading them at any age, unless so compelled by some witchy, fun-hating college professor.
Read the rest here.
“Do you have a favorite Bob Dylan album?”
He answered, “Highway 61 Revisited.”
The headline, following significant victories by national sovereignty parties in EU elections, is this:
I suppose this could be a permanently pinned post.
The European order was saved by the Catholic faith in the wake of the destruction of the Roman Empire. The Church saved its history and preserved its future, culminating in the glory of Christendom. The remnants of order today, now that the last five centuries have decimated Christendom, are found in the existence of nation states with a meaningfully Catholic population. Of course this is on the way out, too, but the embers of that glorious flame of Christendom sometimes flare up, to the embarrassment of communists and globalists–like those in charge of the Vatican.
And so they call names. Racist. Hate. And they smear good people with the labels they themselves act out.
In France, Britain and Italy, those who love their countries made significant gains. And in Italy especially, where a simple politician did rebuke the putative pope by doing what Bergoglio would never do– holding up a Holy Rosary, kissing it with love of the Virgin, and consecrating his efforts, his life, his people, to Mary– the party of national sovereignty gained a majority.
The elitists are stunned, so Bergoglio calls the opponents of the elites “elitists” The would-be destroyers of the native races of each European nation call their targets of destruction “racists”. The man who lives behind walls, in a country with no immigration, decries walls.
He and his masters don’t want to save Europe. It is inconvenient to them, and they want to replace it.
Salvini, as did Pope Benedict XVI, cites the patrons of Europe, like St. Benedict. Bergoglio, like the UN, cites humanitarianism and centralized control.
I have no illusions that this, or any, political effort, will solve our problems. But I am firmly convinced that Mary, the Immaculate Mother of God, will solve them, and will triumph over her, and our, enemies. Thats why this little effort, invoking her heart, catches my attention.
Can we not see how much good would follow the pope consecrating Russia to Mary’s Immaculate Heart, as she has asked him to do?
Dom Gueranger in The Liturgical Year wrote this wonderfully applicable insight on the Gospel from this past Sunday, Good Shepherd Sunday. I don’t need to comment on it; just read it. Gospel first, then Gueranger:
St. John 10: 11-16
 I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd giveth his life for his sheep.  But the hireling, and he that is not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep, and flieth: and the wolf catcheth, and scattereth the sheep:  And the hireling flieth, because he is a hireling: and he hath no care for the sheep.  I am the good shepherd; and I know mine, and mine know me.  As the Father knoweth me, and I know the Father: and I lay down my life for my sheep.
 And other sheep I have, that are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice, and there shall be one fold and one shepherd.
Divine Shepherd of our souls! how great is thy love for thy sheep! Thou givest even thy life to save them. The fury of wolves does not make thee flee from us: thou becomest their prey, that we may escape. Thou didst die in our stead, because thou wast our Shepherd. We are not surprised at thy requiring from Peter a greater love than thou didst require from his brother Apostles: thou didst will to make him their and our shepherd. Peter answered thee without hesitation, that he loved thee; and thou didst confer upon him thine own name, together with the reality of thine office, in order that he might supply thy place after thy departure from this world. Be thou blessed, O divine Shepherd! for thy having thus provided for the necessities of thy fold, which could not be one, were it to have many shepherds without one supreme shepherd.
In obedience to thy command, we bow down before Peter, with love and submission; we respectfully kiss his sacred feet; for it is by him that we are united to thee; it is by him that we are thy sheep. Preserve us, O Jesus, in the fold of Peter, which is thine. Keep far from us the hireling who usurps the place and rights of the shepherd. He has intruded himself, or been intruded by violence, into the fold, and would have us take him as the master; but he knows not the sheep, and the sheep do not know him. Led, not by zeal, but by avarice and ambition he flieth at the approach of danger. He that governs through worldly motives is not a man to lay down his life for others. The schismatic pastor loves himself; he does not love thy sheep; how could he give his life for them? Protect us, O Jesus, from this hireling! He would separate us from thee, by separating us from Peter, whom thou hast appointed thy Vicar; and we are determined to recognize no other. Anathema to him who would command as in thy name, and yet not be sent by Peter! Such a pastor could be but an impostor; he would not rest on the foundation; he would not have the keys of the kingdom of heaven; to follow him would be our ruin.
Grant, then, Good Shepherd, Jesus! that we may ever keep close to thee and to Peter; that as he rests upon thee, we may rest upon him; and thus we may defy every tempest, for thou, dear Lord, hast said: A wise man built his house upon a rock; and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and they beat upon that house, and it fell not; for it was founded on a ROCK.
I call your attention to this article at The American Conservative. It describes the perfectly natural horror that a Catholic– in this case, Evelyn Waugh, author of Brideshead Revisited— experienced upon having the Mass stolen from him, and replaced with the Novus Ordo Missae.
The author describes it thusly:
Waugh’s words in response to this revolution are arresting: “Church-going is now a bitter trial,” he wrote. Elsewhere he said, “the Vatican Council has knocked the guts out of me.” To a friend, he wrote, “I have not yet soaked myself in petrol and gone up in flames, but I now cling to the Faith doggedly without joy.” In another letter to a cleric, he sought to know the least he was “obliged to do without grave sin.” This is remarkable, coming from one of the most famous Catholic writers of the 20th century, one who had previously adored the Mass.
Pardon me, but this is a dodge. The New Mass has killed faith.
If I had been cognizant then of the satanic robbery of my patrimony at the time, I would have lost my.
It follows Bonus Lent, natch.
I’m here in Kansas City this Quasimodo Sunday, fresh off Mass at Old St. Patrick’s Oratory. It was great to see old friends, and to see the Oratory full. The Institute’s apostolate, in the heart of SSPX/FSSP territory, is growing, and rightfully so. The church has always been beautiful, ever since the Restoration more than 10 years ago. If you want to see what the Institute can do with a restoration when given the resources, this place, and Wausau, are the crown jewels. I wish someone would drop $5-10 million on St. Francis de Sales in St. Louis. You think it’s gorgeous now? You would weep for joy on that day. May it come.
Only Canon Altiere, the Rector of Old St. Patrick’s, could deliver such a great sermon on this day. For how could Quasimodo Sunday pass without thinking of Notre Dame? And that universally felt but unspoken connection with the Mohammedan attacks on Catholics in Sri Lanka? He delivered a sermon that tied together the joy of Easter, the witness of Martyrdom, the example and beauty of the liturgy, and the motherhood and magisterium of the Church.
The time for fear may come for me. Heck, almost certainly. But I don’t fear now. I am determined to let the joy of the Conqueror of death fill me and inform my life. As long as the sacraments are available to me, I will seek them. As long as any live whom I love, I will love them. And I pray for the grace to live my life that something of it will endure in the life to come.
Christ has risen! He is Victorious! Rejoice!
No matter what occurs in these horrid times, our Divine Master has triumphed, and will vindicate His cause and His flock.
Christus surrexit! Marana tha!