Traditiones custodes has it that if the Ancient Rite of the Sacrifice of the Mass is to take place, it cannot happen on an altar in a parish church, insisting that Jesus is to be thrown out bodily, literally. Then, in the recent answer to the first “Dubia” about this hatred of Jesus, there is an insistence not only on throwing Jesus out of His own church, but that there can be no mention even in a parish bulletin that the Ancient Rite, the Last Supper united with Calvary, is taking place somewhere in the parish territory. There is a reason given: because Jesus in His Holy Sacrifice has nothing to do with the life of the parish. That’s, like, demonic, blasphemous, is it not?
Archbishop Arthur Roche the other day commented on those Dubia comments to the National Catholic Register, saying that “the challenge is to get on with it without licking one’s wounds when no one has been injured.”
The Archbishop dares to mock God Himself. Not one lamb of Jesus’ Little Flock could possibly care less about being mocked by the Archbishop. What we don’t like is that JESUS HAS BEEN WOUNDED, INJURED. We don’t want Jesus to be mocked and reviled and mistreated. But that Jesus is marginalized, discriminated against, called irrelevant to the life of the parish is what is hotly desired by the Archbishop, who doesn’t, who cannot see Jesus.
G.A. Studdert-Kennedy’s poem of long ago effectively mocks the Archbishop today, with a rejection of that effeminate softness that cannot bear to witness Jesus’ wounds and injuries:
When Jesus Came to Birmingham
When Jesus came to Golgotha, they hanged Him on a tree,
They drove great nails through hands and feet, and made a Calvary;
They crowned Him with a crown of thorns, red were His wounds and deep,
For those were crude and cruel days, and human flesh was cheap.
When Jesus came to Birmingham, they simply passed Him by.
They would not hurt a hair of Him, they only let Him die;
For men had grown more tender, and they would not give Him pain,
They only just passed down the street, and left Him in the rain.
Still Jesus cried, ‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do, ‘
And still it rained the winter rain that drenched Him through and through;
The crowds went home and left the streets without a soul to see,
And Jesus crouched against a wall, and cried for Calvary.
////////////// I stand, we stand in solidarity with Jesus. We’re happy to be crouching against a wall in the winter rains, drenched through and through, all of crying for Calvary, and the Archbishop simply shrieking: Depart you followers of Jesus, the Pachamama and New Ways Ministries liturgies are with me! And we calmly respond: “Cease! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me!”
- “When Cephas came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he stood condemned.” – Galatians 2:11
I think that citation of Saint Paul is still permitted by divine mandate, whatever the most tender entitled snowflakes otherwise think in the Roman Curia. Get out your bibles and look it up.
But I’m not done with my rant yet. It’s Christmas. And we’re passing Jesus in the manger, and we don’t hear the angels singing, we don’t even notice Him there in the manger, except to say, with some cynicism we hope is not too deeply ingrained: “How cute!” And then we go get “vaccine” jabs that were researched, developed, tested on the image of Jesus in the womb, the least of the brethren. The Pope and his minions, the faithless bishops, the vast majority, almost 100%, praise the abortion-tainted “vaccines”, even require them, even use the jab as a requirement to give or get the Sacraments. “Kill Jesus to get Jesus in the Sacraments.” And when they are done with the babies, they throw their corpses against a wall in the winter rains to be washed into a sewer.
You think this is mean to say this on Christmas morning? No, no. It is what brings us joy, Christmas joy, joy in the Holy Spirit, joy for seeing that God knew what he was getting into upon this earth and was born amongst us anyway, knowing what we would do to Him for having too much goodness, too much kindness, too much truth. Thank you, Jesus, for taking us seriously, deadly seriously. Thank you for being born during the reign of terror of Herod, for going into exile in an enemy country, for then being crucified for us, for not caring about all that violence, but with joy just setting out to get the job done, to “get on with it” (as +Roche said) with enthusiasm, gladly paying the price of our redemption, taking on the suffering we deserve for sin, standing in our place, Innocent for the guilty, having the right in His own justice to have mercy on us. And He does. And He intended this from the first moment of His conception, with joy. He intended this in the manger, with joy. He intended this on the Cross, with joy.
That Jesus would have joy in bringing us to heaven is a great joy. Thank you, Jesus, for being borne amongst us so as to have us be borne into heaven where you desire to give us as a gift to our heavenly Father. Amen.
Oh, and that picture at the top? That’s Herod in his party palace moments before having John the Baptist’s head cut off for John’s having witnessed to Jesus as the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. There’s an analogy in there somewhere methinks.