Following up on yesterday’s expose of all things queer in Tobin’s Newark, I’d like to take a moment to share another picture. The above photo is the interior of Our Lady of Good Counsel Catholic Church in Newark. never mind the Cranmer table out front (“consecrated by the hands of Teddy McCarrick no less, I was there).
High above that baldacchino is a beautiful fresco depicting a dignified, humble Virgin holding her infant Son. The Son clings to the Mother’s face for His life. He needs her because He has made Himself to need her.
On the altar below is the tabernacle wherein that Son resides. On Calvary, He bequeathed the Mother to us. We also need her.
Remember that Our Lord is present in that beautiful tabernacle just yards from where Satan incites demonic prancing and undulating. Think of how it grieves Him – the ingratitude in men’s hearts – for His sacrifice. Think of how He waits lovingly, patiently for those of us who love Him to fall on our knees before Him – Him actually present in all the tabernacles of the world – to tell Him we’re sorry and we love Him.
Then think of His Blessed Mother.
Blessed Emerich tells us that after Our Lord’s Sacred Body was taken down from the cross, His Blessed Mother lovingly removed the crown of thorns, picking each fragment out of His skull with her own fingers.
Now think of that moment – that intimate, gut-wrenching moment. Ponder how she, whom He loves so much that He allowed her to suffer with Him for us, feels.
The battle lines were drawn. Satan thinks he can win. He thinks he can dance right up to the walls of the church and then step inside to spit on Our Lord.
What a fool.
Place your trust in the Blessed Mother.
Do it now.
Pray your rosary, commit to all fifteen decades every day. Honor her. Love her. Men, beg her to cloak you and your wives and children in her mantle of purity. Women, beg her to reflect her modesty and humility on you. Children, love your mother.
And then stand back because she won’t let Her Boy be abused much longer.
Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad 