Francis, the Pope of Sad Fate! By Eck*
Francis' pontificate is in its final throes, and it is to be hoped that sooner or later the curtain will fall and this tragedy will come to an end.
In the meantime, we must wait for this plot, which is crushing Francis, his collaborators and the life of the entire universal Church under the weight of madness, malice and stupidity, to find a resolution. To paraphrase Avon's Swan: This fable is a tale told by an idiot full of noise and rage that makes no sense at all.
"Macbeth, thou shalt be king"
The worst punishment imaginable for a person like Bergoglio is the fulfilment of all his ambitions.
Step by step, betrayal by betrayal, rung by rung, he climbed the ladder of ecclesiastical power, using all his abilities and his person to do so. As soon as he had reached one position, his irrepressible ambition was already planning to advance to the next, crushing everything under its enormous weight, trampling on law and justice, and sacrificing all that earth and heaven offered him in order to fill his soul and body with true happiness.
His spirit was invigorated by the fateful voices of the wind whispering "power" in his ear and pointing at him with their bony fingers: "Hail, Jorge, Provincial of the Jesuits; hail, Jorge, Archbishop of Buenos Aires; hail, Francis, Pope of Rome!"
He was a distinctly practical man, possessing no trace of contemplation or imagination, no hobbies or preferences. But his intelligence moved light-footedly in the field of politics and the manipulation of people.
In this field, to his misfortune and ours, he was unrivalled, and his genius was able to spread its wings to conquer ever higher positions: from provincial to bishop, from bishop to primate, from archbishop of Buenos Aires to pope in Rome after his hated rival had fallen.
Those who disparage Jorge Mario Bergoglio should consider the magnitude of his undertaking, begun by many but completed by very few. Nor should we forget that he has risen so high because he is the living example of a whole generation of priests who have suckled at the dried-up breasts of the post-conciliar Church.
An archetype of the majority figure of the present clergy: how could they not have elevated him? For it was through him that each and every one of them was raised to the throne.
On this long path, which his desires laid out for him, he disfigured his soul and amputated essential aspects of the person: only pure action, only mere power remained.
We do not know what drove him inside to behave in such a terrible way. First fell - and he hardly regretted it - the contemplation of truth and beauty, which he considered superfluous and worthless. Then it was the turn of justice and the other virtues, which were only obstacles to his career. Then charity was extinguished, faith obscured and hope corrupted.
Finally, only the true idol of his soul remained: pure power. When he reached the chair of St Peter and was crowned - the summum of his endeavour - the transformation was complete. Almost all his humanity, generosity and curiosity had been consumed by his thought processes, approach and self-serving decisions.
He is king. But he does not rule himself, for he has no inner light to guide him through the labyrinth of life, nor is he accompanied by generous truth, goodness and beauty. He is utterly soulless, heartless, hollow, so that the eternal coldness of unkindness rages within him. His barren, icy soul dwells in darkness like a night sky without stars or moon.
The night before Bosworth
The long, lightless night of your pontificate lies before you, and in the twilight appear the ever-lengthening shadows of your victims. I mean the victims of your soul, psyche and intelligence. Now you have the power and you can go no higher and no further. You discovered too late, Bergoglio, that power is a transitive verb [Spanish "poder" (power) also means "to be able"]!
You have the power, but you don't know how to use it and you don't even know what it is good for. Hannibal, you have won, but you do not know how to put your victory to use.
You King Midas of power, you used to turn everything you touched into a means for your ambition. Now your ambition has no end, only an endless end.
You have destroyed the truth in your intelligence. Now your words are carried away by the wind. You have murdered the beauty of your soul and your deeds are so gross and sordid that they do not even have the hellish magnitude of evil. You have murdered goodness. This makes it impossible for you to reach the stars to illuminate yourself and all others with their light.
Your lack of generosity, of selfless love for people and things takes its toll on you, everything takes its toll on you. You have done nothing in vain and nothing is given to you in vain, you reap what you sow. Without preferences, hobbies or friends, your soul is not ignited by art, music, beautiful verses or well-told stories.
You are forbidden that which is the happiness of men and the happiness of saints: the contemplation of God. Hungry, exhausted, useless, barren, you move like a top, revolving around yourself, harming yourself and harming others - the sad fate of one who has no purpose nor desire in his life.
Like Golum, and following his example, you cling to the fisherman's ring and in your desperation cry out like a man possessed in Santa Marta and in the Vatican chambers: My treasure, my treasure! You are afraid that it will be taken away from you, but at the same time it destroys you inside.
Not for a moment do you think of sacrificing this treasure for something great, generous, sublime, whether it would be wrong or right, bring praise or scorn. Selfish and solipsistic, you will die with the treasure on the mountain of history and disappear from history without leaving a trace, without anyone remembering you for anything great or good. Dust, noise and nothingness will be your legacy.
Despair and die!
You are the most pathetic of men and despair that power is slipping away from you. Like a madman you make meaningless gestures, talk in contradictions and spread nonsense. You desperately fall back on the instruments that have served you as a ladder: the theology of the people, Peronism, progressivism, but all decaffeinated because you never believed that they were more than instrumenta regni. You prostrate yourself before the idola fori of our days to give content to your pontificate, to your life.
Denied the opportunity to build, you had to resort to destruction. Papal Richard III, what served thee to rise now plunges thee into the abyss.
In this long night before the end, memories appear to scream at you for your crimes and show you your true image and shape in the mirror of your deeds:
- Becciu shows your injustice,
- Benedict your lack of wisdom,
- Pell your hypocrisy for allowing the Mafia to stain the Chair of Peter with their black business,
- Viganó your apostasy and your willing submission to the servants of the prince of this world,
- the four Dubia cardinals your carelessness with the treasure of the faith,
- the sacrifices of Cor Orans and the Franciscans of the Immaculate your hatred of man's final end, which is to see God,
- the tradition your hatred of all that is great and beautiful,
- the thousands of martyrs, saints, doctors and popes whom you insult and desecrate by your glorification of heresy and idolatry,
- and finally, the memory will rise of the slandered, persecuted, punished, who was driven from his home with his old mother and died of grief for the injustice committed by you and your executioners, Monsignor Rogelio Liviéres, with whom - evil omens! - your nefarious tenure began, and who shows your true face.
Even the ancient pagans will accuse you, because with them a sentence was only passed after hearing the parties and after the accused had had the opportunity to defend himself (Acts 25:16). You did not act in this way, although you are the successor of one who was innocently condemned and the representative of the innocent who was unjustly crucified.
Nothing escapes God. The supreme justice of Him who rules the nations with a rod of iron now sends you with the whips of despair to the Erinias (goddesses of vengeance) and He sends His punishments upon the Church which has followed you in your misdeeds without rising up in defence of justice and law, of faith and charity, of truth and wisdom.
No one laughs at the Eternal, no matter how highly he thinks of himself. But he will not forget your ardent defence of the Blessed Virgin on one occasion and your filial visits to the Immaculate Conception and the Salus Populi Romani.
Pray for the living and the dead
So there is still hope for Francis, not that he will straighten the paths of his pontificate, but that he will attain that mercy which found a home in the heart of the thief St. Dismas and the sinner St. Andrew Wouters.
Let us put aside the resentment, the disgust and the hatred we may harbour for his wickedness and begin to have mercy, pity and compassion for him. For at heart he is a wretch who has achieved what he most craved for his own misfortune and for the punishment of the enormous sins of the sinful members of the Church.
Let us, through contemplation, prayer and charity, repair all the damage and destruction that this unfortunate Pope has wrought on his destructive path. This path is a bitter medicine, but one that shows us all, high and lowly, the true evil that is eating away at the Church and rotting its core.
Countless cancers that did not show their faces while silently killing supernatural life were revealed in all their festering nature by Bergoglio and Co.
Let us thank God that what is hidden has been revealed and we can face it if we have the holiness, courage and bravery to do so.
Soon the hour will come when office, praise and vituperation will be of no avail, the sceptre will flee from the hands and the heavy crown will fall from the temples, power will vanish like smoke in the air and fear will melt like snow.
He who presumed to be able to predetermine the future will not even be able to influence the present. Forgotten by those who served him during his lifetime, who will lose the warmth of his esteem and that of his body, and seek that warmth in the newly rising sun. His ring will be shattered and that of his successor will be made with it.
In the end, his life and his end speak about us and about the danger of focusing on oneself: Acta est fabula et de te narratur! Then we can say, after praying for his eternal salvation and repenting so that he may receive the forgiveness we all need:
Farewell, Francis of Rome, Pope of sad fate!
*The article originally appeared in Spanish on Caminante-Wanderer.Blogspot.com (December 27).
caminante-wanderer.blogspot.com/2021/12/francisco-el-papa-de-los-tristes.html
In the meantime, we must wait for this plot, which is crushing Francis, his collaborators and the life of the entire universal Church under the weight of madness, malice and stupidity, to find a resolution. To paraphrase Avon's Swan: This fable is a tale told by an idiot full of noise and rage that makes no sense at all.
"Macbeth, thou shalt be king"
The worst punishment imaginable for a person like Bergoglio is the fulfilment of all his ambitions.
Step by step, betrayal by betrayal, rung by rung, he climbed the ladder of ecclesiastical power, using all his abilities and his person to do so. As soon as he had reached one position, his irrepressible ambition was already planning to advance to the next, crushing everything under its enormous weight, trampling on law and justice, and sacrificing all that earth and heaven offered him in order to fill his soul and body with true happiness.
His spirit was invigorated by the fateful voices of the wind whispering "power" in his ear and pointing at him with their bony fingers: "Hail, Jorge, Provincial of the Jesuits; hail, Jorge, Archbishop of Buenos Aires; hail, Francis, Pope of Rome!"
He was a distinctly practical man, possessing no trace of contemplation or imagination, no hobbies or preferences. But his intelligence moved light-footedly in the field of politics and the manipulation of people.
In this field, to his misfortune and ours, he was unrivalled, and his genius was able to spread its wings to conquer ever higher positions: from provincial to bishop, from bishop to primate, from archbishop of Buenos Aires to pope in Rome after his hated rival had fallen.
Those who disparage Jorge Mario Bergoglio should consider the magnitude of his undertaking, begun by many but completed by very few. Nor should we forget that he has risen so high because he is the living example of a whole generation of priests who have suckled at the dried-up breasts of the post-conciliar Church.
An archetype of the majority figure of the present clergy: how could they not have elevated him? For it was through him that each and every one of them was raised to the throne.
On this long path, which his desires laid out for him, he disfigured his soul and amputated essential aspects of the person: only pure action, only mere power remained.
We do not know what drove him inside to behave in such a terrible way. First fell - and he hardly regretted it - the contemplation of truth and beauty, which he considered superfluous and worthless. Then it was the turn of justice and the other virtues, which were only obstacles to his career. Then charity was extinguished, faith obscured and hope corrupted.
Finally, only the true idol of his soul remained: pure power. When he reached the chair of St Peter and was crowned - the summum of his endeavour - the transformation was complete. Almost all his humanity, generosity and curiosity had been consumed by his thought processes, approach and self-serving decisions.
He is king. But he does not rule himself, for he has no inner light to guide him through the labyrinth of life, nor is he accompanied by generous truth, goodness and beauty. He is utterly soulless, heartless, hollow, so that the eternal coldness of unkindness rages within him. His barren, icy soul dwells in darkness like a night sky without stars or moon.
The night before Bosworth
The long, lightless night of your pontificate lies before you, and in the twilight appear the ever-lengthening shadows of your victims. I mean the victims of your soul, psyche and intelligence. Now you have the power and you can go no higher and no further. You discovered too late, Bergoglio, that power is a transitive verb [Spanish "poder" (power) also means "to be able"]!
You have the power, but you don't know how to use it and you don't even know what it is good for. Hannibal, you have won, but you do not know how to put your victory to use.
You King Midas of power, you used to turn everything you touched into a means for your ambition. Now your ambition has no end, only an endless end.
You have destroyed the truth in your intelligence. Now your words are carried away by the wind. You have murdered the beauty of your soul and your deeds are so gross and sordid that they do not even have the hellish magnitude of evil. You have murdered goodness. This makes it impossible for you to reach the stars to illuminate yourself and all others with their light.
Your lack of generosity, of selfless love for people and things takes its toll on you, everything takes its toll on you. You have done nothing in vain and nothing is given to you in vain, you reap what you sow. Without preferences, hobbies or friends, your soul is not ignited by art, music, beautiful verses or well-told stories.
You are forbidden that which is the happiness of men and the happiness of saints: the contemplation of God. Hungry, exhausted, useless, barren, you move like a top, revolving around yourself, harming yourself and harming others - the sad fate of one who has no purpose nor desire in his life.
Like Golum, and following his example, you cling to the fisherman's ring and in your desperation cry out like a man possessed in Santa Marta and in the Vatican chambers: My treasure, my treasure! You are afraid that it will be taken away from you, but at the same time it destroys you inside.
Not for a moment do you think of sacrificing this treasure for something great, generous, sublime, whether it would be wrong or right, bring praise or scorn. Selfish and solipsistic, you will die with the treasure on the mountain of history and disappear from history without leaving a trace, without anyone remembering you for anything great or good. Dust, noise and nothingness will be your legacy.
Despair and die!
You are the most pathetic of men and despair that power is slipping away from you. Like a madman you make meaningless gestures, talk in contradictions and spread nonsense. You desperately fall back on the instruments that have served you as a ladder: the theology of the people, Peronism, progressivism, but all decaffeinated because you never believed that they were more than instrumenta regni. You prostrate yourself before the idola fori of our days to give content to your pontificate, to your life.
Denied the opportunity to build, you had to resort to destruction. Papal Richard III, what served thee to rise now plunges thee into the abyss.
In this long night before the end, memories appear to scream at you for your crimes and show you your true image and shape in the mirror of your deeds:
- Becciu shows your injustice,
- Benedict your lack of wisdom,
- Pell your hypocrisy for allowing the Mafia to stain the Chair of Peter with their black business,
- Viganó your apostasy and your willing submission to the servants of the prince of this world,
- the four Dubia cardinals your carelessness with the treasure of the faith,
- the sacrifices of Cor Orans and the Franciscans of the Immaculate your hatred of man's final end, which is to see God,
- the tradition your hatred of all that is great and beautiful,
- the thousands of martyrs, saints, doctors and popes whom you insult and desecrate by your glorification of heresy and idolatry,
- and finally, the memory will rise of the slandered, persecuted, punished, who was driven from his home with his old mother and died of grief for the injustice committed by you and your executioners, Monsignor Rogelio Liviéres, with whom - evil omens! - your nefarious tenure began, and who shows your true face.
Even the ancient pagans will accuse you, because with them a sentence was only passed after hearing the parties and after the accused had had the opportunity to defend himself (Acts 25:16). You did not act in this way, although you are the successor of one who was innocently condemned and the representative of the innocent who was unjustly crucified.
Nothing escapes God. The supreme justice of Him who rules the nations with a rod of iron now sends you with the whips of despair to the Erinias (goddesses of vengeance) and He sends His punishments upon the Church which has followed you in your misdeeds without rising up in defence of justice and law, of faith and charity, of truth and wisdom.
No one laughs at the Eternal, no matter how highly he thinks of himself. But he will not forget your ardent defence of the Blessed Virgin on one occasion and your filial visits to the Immaculate Conception and the Salus Populi Romani.
Pray for the living and the dead
So there is still hope for Francis, not that he will straighten the paths of his pontificate, but that he will attain that mercy which found a home in the heart of the thief St. Dismas and the sinner St. Andrew Wouters.
Let us put aside the resentment, the disgust and the hatred we may harbour for his wickedness and begin to have mercy, pity and compassion for him. For at heart he is a wretch who has achieved what he most craved for his own misfortune and for the punishment of the enormous sins of the sinful members of the Church.
Let us, through contemplation, prayer and charity, repair all the damage and destruction that this unfortunate Pope has wrought on his destructive path. This path is a bitter medicine, but one that shows us all, high and lowly, the true evil that is eating away at the Church and rotting its core.
Countless cancers that did not show their faces while silently killing supernatural life were revealed in all their festering nature by Bergoglio and Co.
Let us thank God that what is hidden has been revealed and we can face it if we have the holiness, courage and bravery to do so.
Soon the hour will come when office, praise and vituperation will be of no avail, the sceptre will flee from the hands and the heavy crown will fall from the temples, power will vanish like smoke in the air and fear will melt like snow.
He who presumed to be able to predetermine the future will not even be able to influence the present. Forgotten by those who served him during his lifetime, who will lose the warmth of his esteem and that of his body, and seek that warmth in the newly rising sun. His ring will be shattered and that of his successor will be made with it.
In the end, his life and his end speak about us and about the danger of focusing on oneself: Acta est fabula et de te narratur! Then we can say, after praying for his eternal salvation and repenting so that he may receive the forgiveness we all need:
Farewell, Francis of Rome, Pope of sad fate!
*The article originally appeared in Spanish on Caminante-Wanderer.Blogspot.com (December 27).
caminante-wanderer.blogspot.com/2021/12/francisco-el-papa-de-los-tristes.html