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The Silence of the Wolves

This weekend I assisted (isn’t that what we used to say?) at a Saturday vigil Mass – I wasn’t anywhere near the altar – but seated in a back pew in a newer church building at Sacred Heart Parish about a twenty-minute drive my home. Not frequenting this parish for Sunday Mass (I drive an additional twenty miles to a Traditional Latin Mass), I do visit the Blessed Sacrament there during the week, as the pastor is kind enough to leave the much older, historic, stone, church building (which physically and aesthetically eclipses the newer building used for Sundays) opened daily and has available twelve hours for Adoration each Wednesday. Thanks be to God!

Desiring to practice the ‘First Saturdays’ devotion in honor of the Blessed Mother and since there are no Saturday morning Masses within a less than two-hour drive from me, as a last resort, I went to the vigil, which also availed me the benefit of confession beforehand (Most Catholic Churches have confession, at the very least, on Saturday afternoons.). For those of you unfamiliar with Our Lady’s request (through Sr. Lucia of the Fatima apparitions) it is to assist at Mass, go to confession, receive Holy Communion, pray the rosary and reflect on her life for fifteen minutes on each of the first Saturdays of five consecutive months in reparation for outrages against her. To learn more about that go here.

Another challenge around here is locating weekly confession. I must live in a part of the world where almost nobody sins. Confessions at Sacred Heart, which only began this past August, are heard Saturdays from 5:00 – 5:20pm. One wonders how any priest can sit still for so long. I was ‘Number 2’ in line, if you can call it that. The other penitent was already in the confessional when I arrived. Then, when I entered, the priest said to me, “Another one?” I guess he was expecting only one sinner that day. About a minute after I exited, he turned off the light and left the small, glass-enclosed room to go laugh and chat with the greeters in the vestibule. I looked at my watch; it was 5:07pm. By now I should have figured out that in the Novus Ordo (Post Vatican II) Churches, this is just business as usual, but it still shocks me.

I managed to get in my confession, penance and a rosary before Mass began. Cringing at the thought of what is accepted as ‘Church Music’ today, I wasn’t disappointed in the Opening Hymn – I always wonder how the men in the pews can stand it – but used the opportunity to begin praying another rosary. When we got to the homily, my expectations were low, but I at least hoped the deacon (The presiding priest, Father T., apparently exhausted from all those confessions, deferred to the deacon.) would mention the Tyrannosaurus Rex in the room, namely the Amazonian Synod taking place in Rome this very week.

Anyone who truly loves the One, True Faith is keenly aware of the shenanigans going on under ‘Pope’ Francis (Is he the Pope? We seem to have two men in the Vatican with that title. Is he the Anti-pope, forerunner of the Anti-Christ? The jury is out on this). Jorge Bergoglio and friends are doing their best to destroy, at least visibly, the remaining vestiges of the true Church, outside of which there is NO salvation. (If you want to go to Heaven which is to be with Our Blessed Lord Jesus, even in these confusing days, become Catholic, and do it right away. The sand is running out of the hourglass.)

The silence on this was deafening. Not ONE WORD on this historic synod was uttered. How can these clerics possibly expect to keep up the charade – keep the faithful coming to Mass and putting money in the basket when they refuse to even mention the events occurring under our very noses in Rome?

Father T. is in his nineties. At a Chesterton series I ran a few months prior at Sacred Heart he bragged  that he had formed our (former) bishop, who, in the opinion of faithful Catholics, reigned very badly for nearly forty years. Let’s pray for Father T.

A nonagenarian cleric isn’t worried about the future in The Church because he knows he won’t be there to endure it. But, what about the pastors of this and every other parish? I travel a lot and am in more Catholic Churches in the U.S. than most people, and it’s the same everywhere: horrible architecture, sixties throwback music, butch women on the altar, girl altar boys and weak homilies. And no mention ever of the decades-old, colossal assault against The Church itself! For that one needs to attend a Traditional Latin Mass, and even then, only occasionally, is the priest able to mention anything on the topic for fear of reprisal from his superior.

At this past weekend’s Mass there was exactly one infant present… Nearly everyone else in the pews was older than I, and I’m in my late fifties. Born during Vatican II – I’ve endured my share of confusion, beginning with the Catholic school my siblings and I happily attended for nine years. We witnessed a favorite nun run off and marry our pastor. We participated in ‘gymnasium Masses’ thirty-short-feet away from our perfectly good, parish Church building. We were fed pap instead of good, solid Church teachings. We made goofy banners out of felt and burlap. (You know the drill.) Our diocese was graced with one weak, lousy bishop after another, but the one who did the most damage was the post Vatican II, forty-year guy. Two generations of watered-down Catholicism had its intended effect on most of my Italian-Catholic relatives.

The faithful in our diocese were prohibited during those initial post Vatican II years from attending the Traditional Latin Mass, but we frequented one that my parents found in a local Ramada Inn. Our priest was a former prisoner-of-war in then Communist-controlled Hungary. He was a friend of the holy, faithful Cardinal Mindszenty, and he had a lot to tell us about the Communists and how they were taking over the Church. I wish I had been more attentive, but then as a young teen, I was just learning about world affairs and didn’t quite understand. In 1976 my parents drove my brother, sister and me to New York City to be confirmed in The Faith by the good, faithful and holy Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre. I owe my zeal for The Faith to this event. May God rest his soul and that of the Cardinal and the Hungarian, Father Vita!

I could go on, but most faithful Catholics already know about everything I’ve written and much more that I don’t know. Rome is burning, and these churchmen, our leaders today, fiddle! What has to happen before they’ll wake up? Their own souls are in jeopardy. The souls of their flocks are in jeopardy. Do they not care even for their own souls? Do they not believe in hell? Or is it God Himself in Whom they disbelieve? Father Malachi Martin said in an interview something I’ll NEVER FORGET, “When you’ve lost your faith, you won’t even know that you’ve lost it.”

Their silence is deadly for them and for their flocks. Let’s pray for them and for us all, lest we ourselves, in this GREAT SILENCE, lose our way.