Chaos and outrage have again engulfed the Church. We must talk about this incredibly ugly and painful boil on the Body of Christ.
To lance a boil, you must insert the needle horizontal to the body, piercing through both sides of the mound. Then the needle must be yanked upward, ripping the entire head off. It’s the only way to expose and extricate the core. My dad, a farm boy, did it to me. It was the only way to deal with it. The pain was excruciating. But the relief was immediate.
If the Church wants relief, we have to correctly identify the ailment. Diagnosis is the key to the cure. There are two possibilities: either moral rot or political nonsense. And the Pope seems to be going for the second one. He’s asking us the basic question of all flim-flam men since the beginning of time: who are you gonna believe, me or your lying eyes? In this case, Archbishop Carlos Viganos is supposedly our lying eyes. Read what he says.
The Church has been trying to treat the boil with any approach other than the needle. Avoidance of pain has been the foremost consideration. Consequently, things are getting different, but certainly not better.
I’d like to pass along a some wisdom I came upon after a recent trip to my favorite store, The Mountain Man, in Manitou Springs, Colorado. There I picked up a book I judged by its cover, Colorado Outdoor Living, by Ernest Wilkinson. (Take a look at the cover and see why.)
Wilkinson was 83 (I think) when he wrote this (in 2008), and he was still guiding camping groups, on foot for a week or more at a time, in the Rockies. His story is as American as it gets. At one time in his life, back in the ’50’s, he was a bear and wolf trapper for the Forestry department in Colorado. His job was to ride a circuit amongst the two dozen or so sheep allotments that held 1,000 head of sheep each. He would visit the two lone shepherds encamped in each allotment and take care of any predators that were making life difficult for these shepherds and their sheep. Most of these simple men he visited were Mexicans.
Wilkinson relates (page 45):
I am reminded of a story concerning language barriers told to me by one of the sheepmen. A teacher was having problems attempting to get a young Spanish youth to understand English usage of words and numbers. The teacher knew the youth was often in sheep camp with his Dad, so she decided to use the names of animals the boy was familiar with. She began an explanation. ‘Okay, you have a hundred head of sheep and one leaves. How many do you have left?’ The boy promptly replied ‘None’.
‘No, no, you don’t understand that only one sheep left.’ The youth looked at the teacher and exclaimed ‘You may understand English words and numbers, but you do not understand sheep. When one leaves, they all leave and you have none left’. The boy knew that if one sheep jumped off in a direction, all the rest would follow.
That simple wisdom, spoken by an immigrant youth to the ‘educated’ Anglo, I believe, is emblematic of where we are at today. The shepherds have fled. Or joined with the wolves in many instances. Where will the sheep go when they are scattered?
I once knew a man named Gary North. You may have heard of him, or at least the many books he has written. He made the remark, in one of those many books, that, (paraphrasing here) our Protestant/Christian/Western society was governed by Three Robes. The first robe was the Professor, who taught us up from down. The second was the Pastor, who taught us right from wrong. The third was the Judge, who ruled on our actions in light of the teaching we had received. I think it is needless to say that in America, the first two of these three have abandoned their robes, and the third is naked under his.
Now Gary’s as rabidly anti-Catholic as a civilized Protestant can get. On many other questions (except money, specifically usury) he and I share a lot of common ground. But those two issues of money and authority there is a Grand Canyon of separation between us. Gary doesn’t see the connection (and reflection) usury has to homosexuality. He’s against the sterility of homosexuality, but not the artificial fecundity of usury.
Gary and I had it out once over the question of who bestows the robes. The three bedrock institutions of the Protestant American Experiment that gave us the men who wore those Three Robes have devolved into utter filth: Harvard, Yale and Princeton. The three seminaries that became the three universities that became our three judges: our legislature, our executive and of course, our Supreme judiciary. And we have meekly followed them like the sheep we are. We can blame it all on them, right?
No. We didn’t get to where we are today by means of one act, or one person. We’ve all played a part. It’s instructive I think to see how we are all woven together in this tapestry. The problem isn’t in the warp and the woof of the fabric. Rather, it’s in the image the tapestry has produced. And the image is Machu Picchu, writ large. (It’s art is often vividly pornographic.)
The Protestant Enlightenment has burned its candle at both ends. In their last flickering light, we have to decide if the Incas and Aztecs (the first American Experiment) were artists or demons. It’s too late to decide if we are better than they were. Because we have now surpassed them in all their bloodthirsty sex-crazed ways. The last institution standing against this spiritual and carnal leprosy is now under a full-scale assault. From within.
The Revolution is not yet complete, Komrade. But only because the one institution, the Catholic Church, that played no part in setting up either the first or second American Experiment is now the last bulwark against the debauched god who goes by the name of Reason. There is hope. There is always hope, if we believe. After all, this same institution destroyed the first American Experiment. Let’s hope it can do it again, before it destroys all of us.
It’s true. It was the Confessional State of Spain, through her imperfect Conquistadors, that stopped the slavery-for-sacrifice of the Aztecs, and the slavery-for-perversion of the Incas. But more importantly, it was the Mother of the Church that freed the people at Guadalupe from their fear of the return of their former Satanic Overlords.
Fear has now returned. A fear that these demons have returned, to claim in North America what they lost in the South. The white man doesn’t know how to handle this fear. Why? Because he doesn’t know the name of the demon. As any good exorcist knows, unless you know the demon’s name, you have no power over him.
What is the name of the demon that grips the Catholic Church? The same one that grips all of America, now that The Three Robes of The Second American Experiment have abandoned us? Simple, Pilgrim. Its name is Sexual Impurity. The same demon that possessed the Incas and the Aztecs in The First American Experiment. And let’s get one thing clear: we’re all part of the problem, even if it is only because of our silence. Read the written testimony of Archbishop Carlo Vigano in his indictment of his fellow Bishops and Cardinals at the highest levels of the Vatican, including the Pope today and tell me he has not lanced the boil by naming this demon. But notice also his sorrow for not having spoken sooner. Mea culpa.
What was the door the demon entered in by? By the Faustian bargain we in the West made: let us physically kill our children, and we will let you spiritually kill the ones who survived their conception and birth. Contraception and abortion amongst the sheep, in exchange for Homosexuality amongst the shepherds.
What then will be the sign of the demon’s departure? That I cannot say, only because we do not know the particular fortuna each of us has consumed in our acceptance of this cursed bargain. Thus, there cannot be a single answer to this question. We each have willingly ingested something, in some fashion, knowingly or not. While we won’t know what physical object to look for upon the demon’s departure, there will be a clear sign that he has departed. We will start having babies again. And we will start to protect them from spiritual evil again. The world will get friendlier to babies. And more hostile to abortionists and homosexuals.
Or is the real problem is Clericalism? That’s exactly what the pushers of The French Revolution accused the Church of when she refused to follow the world in its lust. The revolutionaries said that the people (and thus, the State) gave too much deference to the clerics in their insistence that the sheep not eat of the poisoned plants that grew outside their pastures. Now, in a desperate attempt to again deflect attention from the true root of the problem, these Clerics at the top of this dung heap of homosexuality accuse the people of deferring too much to their poor clerics, who are then tempted beyond their spiritual strength to abuse their power of authority over their seductive sheep. Amazing, eh? We truly are part of the problem. Just not that part.
Let’s call all of this LGBT-ABC-XYZ crap by its real name of Sexual Impurity. And all of the actions taken in that name can be boiled down to one letter, instead of the Qwerty Keyboard that never ends. What is that letter? The letter is A. As in Auto-Sexual. Let’s be honest. The key word is Auto. Self. It’s all about ME! And whatever I do is meant to satisfy only me! That’s reality.
What are we to do? Do we wander off, like the sheep mentioned by the shepherd’s son? Or do we hold our position, awaiting a good shepherd, all the while surrounded by the pack of ravening wolves? If we flee, where are we to go? Who is to lead us on this retreat? What is our destination? Where is the safe sheepfold?
Here is the biggest danger, Komrade. For while we know that we are currently being devoured by a particular pack of pretty-boy wolves, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t other wolves. Wolves who will gladly help you escape the clutches of another wolf.
Yes, there are plenty of people who are willing to offer temporary refugee status to those fleeing from the current Pope and his henchmen. But this refuge will come at a cost. The cost of your faith. You will have to renounce your citizenship in your old country (Rome) but you will never gain rights in your new land. Because it’s not your land. Take a lesson from the Palestinians. You will never find peace. You can only become a wolf. It’s that, or wait to be eaten at a later date as you sit in the larder until your number is called. Be polite, and go without murmur. Remember, political politeness is the watchword of today’s society. If you don’t want to be devoured now by the Press Wolves, never verbalize the thought that Homosexuality is a perversion. Never mention the name of this demon.
So then, Pilgrim, what is going to happen, now that this indictment has been released upon the Homosexual Priesthood? I don’t see how this current Pope can stay. But maybe he can. At least for a while. An excruciating while. It looks like he’s going to try. Hoping his friends in the media will cover for him once again. But they are hungry for blood too, and his blood is as tasty as any. Will they resist?
The boil has been lanced, side through side. But it has not had the lance yanked upward to expose the core. The core, which must be dug out. Or the infection will worsen to gangrene.
And if this Pope and all of his Lavender Wolves are not turned out soon, then the real danger to the flock is this: that the faithful will be only too willing to follow another shepherd who will give them a sense of security, a sense of the traditions, sacraments and doctrine that they remember from their past, before all the sordidness of the current scandal became too much to bear. Too much, even for those who had a hand in the acquiescence to the terminal political politeness. That would be all of us.
The answer then is what it has always been. Stay put. Do as they say, but not as they do. Stay where you are. Stay and beware of other wolves, in Shepherds clothing. Wolves offering sanctuary for those distressed by filth. But wolves, nonetheless. Beware, my friends. Especially of Greeks, bearing gifts.
Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!