I Didn’t Think I Could Get Any More Disgusted

…and then last night I read about the death of Archbishop Rembert Weakland.

*Stop reading if you are easily offended (not by my words but by the life of the sodo-freak I’m about to discuss.

I remember my parents having a particular disdain for this vile man when I was growing up in the 80’s and 90’s. They both read The Wanderer. Side note: for a weekly periodical catering to a relatively small band of tradition-minded Catholics, one would think this paper would not attract much attention. And yet, throughout my life, working in the institutional Church as a diocesan high school teacher and later school administrator, I encountered much bilge directed toward The Wanderer. Why would anyone care if it really wasn’t that big of a deal?… Back to the story.

I remember hearing about the horrible things Weakland did – from wrecking his cathedral to requiring faithful Catholics to present a letter from him before they could be admitted to a TLM in his diocese. Hunthausen was another name I remember hearing a lot back then. And Hubbard, and Clark, et al. Boy, talk about a trip down a grotesque memory lane.

Weakland, though, I remember in particular because my dad just knew it. He called it early and he was dead to rights. This man was a complete and utter fag and an absolute evil bastard at that. I think it was the fact that my father had been educated by Benedictines when that actually meant something. Weakland was a Benedictine who spit on the memory of St. Benedict. In fact he had been Abbot Primate of the order. And he was also a complete modernist. See, dad knew that fruitcakes like the Archbishop of Milwaukee hated all things truly beautiful. They hated the Mass. They hated sacrifice in general. It was always about them and their bizarre, daddy-issue fetishes. They were trapped in a personal hell of their own making and were hell-bent on taking it out on the rest of us. I remember my dad saying once, “That man [Weakland] will never have hemorrhoids. He’s a perfect asshole.”

And now he’s dead. So eternal rest grant unto him O Lord.

But what galls me the most is that his fellow sphincter pilot, the equally vile James Martin, SJ, tweeted a glowing RIP piece last night. I will quote him here rather than share the tweet.

“Archbishop Rembert Weakland has died. An erudite scholar, gifted pastor and Benedictine abbot primate, his legacy was marred by revelations that he paid money to a man with whom he had been in a relationship. I considered him a friend and mourn his loss. May he rest in peace.”

“His legacy was marred?” This could not have been clearer, Don Julio. “A man with whom he had been in a relationship?” The corprophage (I don’t even want to know if I’m spelling that right) likely entered seminary as a sodomite and never looked back. What is crystal clear is that he carried on a sodomite “relationship” with another man WHILE SERVING AS ARCHBISHOP OF MILWAUKEE. Go back and read that again. Then the despicable fudge packer had the balls to pay off the dude with diocesan funds.

That means that he took money from Catholic parishioners and gave it to a man with whom he was engaged in the most horrendous and mortally sinful acts, likely as hush money.

St. Joseph and the Christ Child, St. Mary’s of the Assumption Catholic Church, Flatonia, TX

It gets better! In the mid-1980’s this sociopathic fairy, when confronted with local Catholic school teachers who had been reporting sexual abuse by a priest, responded with this gem: “Any libelous material found in your letter will be scrutinized carefully by our lawyers.” Boilerplate stuff? Hardly. The Wisconsin Court of Appeals slapped him for it. If only they’d had a ballgag on hand, he might have taken them seriously.

Let’s try this again, James Martin, SJQIA+. Rembert Weakland, a heinous faggot, thought he could get away with punishing faithful Catholics who wanted what is their right – the Mass of all time – and also maligning victims of sexual abuse at the hands of his own clergy by getting those same Catholics to give money to the Archdiocese and then using that money to pay off the man he played proctologist with.

And Dorothy Lamour, SJ is saddened by the death of this man?

I’m sad too but for other reasons.

Friends, I truly want every man to go to heaven. Unfortunately, I suspect that Weakland stood before Our Lord Jesus Christ yesterday with a lot of dirt on his soul, as the nuns used to say. Did he ever repent? Well, he wrote a book after he retired. Some garbage about being a pilgrim in a pilgrim Church, as though “it’s all a crazy time and we’re just doing our best.”

They love to tell us what they’ve done. They love to shove it in our faces. They love getting away with it because no one will call them out.

Stop the insanity!

My dad called it right years ago. I’m following in his footsteps.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us all.

“And From that Hour…”

Today we celebrated the feast of the Immaculate Heart of Mary and a blessed feast to all of you!

I was struck by the Gospel at Holy Mass today. It was taken from John 19 – the Passion of Our Lord.

We know who stood by the cross of Jesus. Sheen tells us that Mary, Mary Magdalene, and John represent to us the “three figures ever to be found beneath the cross of Our Lord: Innocence, Penitence, and Priesthood.”

Leaving aside Magdalene for the moment… I have so many sins I could spend the rest of eternity offering penance. And I should.

High altar, Our Lady of Sorrows Catholic Church, Jersey City, NJ. Photo credit: Jon Stulich Photography (submitted by a reader and parishioner)

But let us focus just on the Mother and the Disciple whom Jesus loved. John here also represents all of us – the Church. Our Lord was giving His Mother to us to be our Mother too.

“And from that hour, the disciple took her into his home.”

Is it that simple? I believe it is. He gave her to us. She is our Mother now. And we must, especially in these times when the Church is in terrible eclipse, abandoned by all the Apostles while Our Lord’s Body writhes in agony and dies an ignominious death for us, we MUST immediately take her into our homes.

If your family’s abode is not a Marian shrine, if she is not welcomed and loved and honored; well then, I cannot help you. And for the times when that image of her Immaculate Heart on my wall was so often neglected by me as I walked past in haste, not stopping to acknowledge my loving Mother, I must learn from Magdalene, casting myself at His feet and weeping.

Mother of Fair Love, pray for us, your children!

TLM’s of the West Coast

Regular readers will note that I typically drop in a picture of some species of sacred art or architecture into every post. I think it’s important to share our patrimony for the sake of studying the art itself.

All of the pictures to date, unless otherwise noted, are taken directly from my camera roll – meaning I took them myself because I have visited those places.

Today two of my friends sent in some photos. I would like to share them with you. If nothing else, you can see that there are options when you travel.

First up, the parish of St. Stephen the First Martyr in Sacramento, CA. This parish is run by the FSSP and has been described to me as the “original flagship of the Fraternity” before that spot was taken by Mater Dei in the Dallas area.

Next up is another west coast property – the parish of the Holy Innocents in North Long Beach, CA.

Pray that one day soon, all of our Catholic churches will once again look like Catholic churches.

A Musical Respite

I’m waiting at the airport for my sister who has come into town for a week. The fruit of the second joyful mystery is fraternal charity. We’ll have lots of fun.

Meanwhile, I’m listening to this.


My favorite Marian chant and the oldest Marian prayer in existence.

Also, help me decided… I’m considering theme music for the podcast. It was suggested to me that I use a recording by a US military band as they are not copyrighted if the song they’re playing is in the public domain. I had narrowed it down to The Liberty Bell March by Sousa but then thought we’d sound too much like Monty Python (not necessarily a bad thing).

Seven Sorrows of the Blessed Mother, stained glass, Shrine of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, Emmitsburg, MD

Look, it can’t be all anti-antipope and faggotry rants all the time. Sometimes you just need to listen to some chant and help me pick a theme.

Our Lady of LaSalette, pray for us!

Adoration, and Podcasts, and Gin

A quick post tonight… It’s Friday night. I just found out that my parish abruptly cancelled all-night Adoration. That’s sad. Since I started making frequent Adoration part of my life, I have really come to look forward to the hour or so that my son and I get to spend in the presence of Our Lord. I think he likes that I take him to Jack in the Box at midnight right after we leave the church. But I also think he has taken to looking forward to seeing Our Lord. We pray five decades on our way to the church together. Then we pray the other ten during Adoration. We’ve been blessed to be able to bring others with us – friends of ours who might not otherwise go have made a habit of the first and third Friday nights. But not tonight. Alas!

North American Martyrs Chapel (SSPX), Glens Falls, NY

In other news, this community is truly wonderful. By that I mean tha Trad community. I spoke today with a prominent tech adviser who gave me some excellent pointers on starting up my podcast. It’s coming, folks. And thanks to the advice I got today, it might even sound technically great! I have also received lots of great advice from readers through email. Thank you, thank you to all of you for your kind assistance.

Also, one of my good friends moved away suddenly this past week. It was necessary for him to do this. He got a great job offer. I don’t like that I won’t see him much anymore. We enjoyed hanging out, talking about the Church, and lifting weights (mostly in the form of weighted whiskey glasses). But, such is life. Another good friend came by this evening. In our conversation, as two grown men do on a Friday night after the a long week, we tossed back a few gin and tonics and my friend got a little “sentimental”. That’s guy code for he was sauced. Don’t worry, I drove him home. Happens to all of us once in a while. In his “sentimentality”, and I cannot recall for the life of me why this came up, he said, “You [me] have really lived through a lot of tragedy. How do you deal with it?” He was referring to the many deaths in my family from my early childhood through to the present. Hey, big families mean big deaths. I told him, “Look, it’s all part of the beauty of the life that God gives to each of us.” I didn’t want to get all philosophical on him. There’s nothing worse than trying to share one’s “wisdom” with one who is inebriated. It gets lost in several directions. But the reality is that God gives to each of us the life He gives to us. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the Lord!” Look, I don’t really know much else. But life is beautiful, that’s for sure. Treasure the people God has given you – your spouse, your children, your friends. Love them enough to correct them in their sins. Love them enough to laugh with them and cry with them. Love them enough to will their eternal happiness. I think that’s pretty good for a guy who’d just slammed the finest Dutch courage distilled in North Texas. Man, that stuff is good.*

Our Lady of Prompt Succor, pray for us!

*For those interested, I’m referring to Greenhouse Gin, distilled in Sherman, TX. Not to be confused with Greenalls which is distilled from the sewage-water of a nearby gin distillery. Cheers!

Put Not Your Trust in Doctors – Where Harvey Goes Off Jersey Style

I first wanted to mention St. Rita yet again. I have received more prayer requests and have added them into my novena. Again, please pray for my intentions as well. It is most appreciated.

Over two years ago my son and I came down with flu-like symptoms. This was February of 2020. We went to the doctor who ran a flu test and confirmed negative results. “It’s not the flu but we’ll treat it like it is,” he said. A few days later we were fine. And then the world ground to a halt.

I used to trust doctors. Anyone who spends seven years in school must know what they’re talking about. I even said this knowing about the Jesuits and the Legionaries of Christ. The minute they told us to stay at home and wear dirty cloth masks all bets were off. I haven’t seen a doctor since. I’m not just sucking up here but thanks to Ann Barnhardt, I got on the Ivy train early on and began to see a difference not only in my overall health (which was never bad) but also in my attitude toward modern medicine.

I simply do not trust a man who insists I wear a mask or pushes the death jab on me. And I won’t tolerate it.

Latin Mass parish, Nashville, TN (submitted by a reader)

Fun fact: Harvey is a pack-a-day Marlboro Man. I know it’s not good for me, except that it’s so mild and refreshing. And, it kept me out of Uncle Ted’s clutches so there’s that. I intend to quit one day soon. And believe me, you’ll all know because I’ll be a raging bitch. If you thought Bergoglio was on my radar before, that Argentine prick best be a-steppin’ is all I’m saying.

A few days ago, my older sister went to her doctor complaining of symptoms of indigestion. She’s 48. She’s also a fan of the tar. It’s just so damn smooth. But I digress. Yes, vascular disease runs in our family and whatnot. Still I think we were surprised to hear that she needed to go in right away to have a stent put into an artery.

She had the procedure this morning and is just fine, Deo Gratias!

Here’s where it gets interesting.

The doctors came in and gave her the usual “Ma’am, quit smoking for the love of God!” speech. And she was actually on their bandwagon until…

They insisted she pull her mask up for this convo.

And I realized just how dumb *most of them are. None of us are going to argue that smoking is good for you. However, I wonder if these same twits stand near a bedside and say…

“Sir, this monkey pox is going to kill you! For the love of God, stop butt blasting!”

I rest my case. Good night.

Seriously though, stock up on what you can. There are places where you can go. All things in moderation. Tobacco won’t be available soon anyway. But spare me the feigned indignation and false concern. I’d rather smoke a fag than listen to one bitch at me to wear a Masonic face muzzle.

St. Luke, pray for us!

We Interrupt this Blog to Bring You…

Tonight, simply a prayer of thanksgiving and another in my posts of ongoing praise of Our Lord and His beloved servant Rita of Cascia.

Almost two weeks ago I began to pray the novena to St. Rita. I’ve prayed it so many times in my life I have it committed to memory. She has never let me down. I invited readers to pray the novena as well and many responded with emails asking me to add their intentions to my own novena. This I did with gratitude. I most humbly ask others to add my intentions to their own novenas to this saint of the impossible.

This past Saturday I concluded day 9. A former student – a young man with whom I have become good friends – had been looking for a job and, more importantly, a wife. He wants a trad girl. He wants lots of babies. He wants nothing more than to take care of them, help them get to heaven and himself along the way. I didn’t tell him I had added his intention, simply prayed it.

The shrine to St. Rita in my home. Originally in a church named in her honor in west Texas, this shrine was rescued from wreckovation by a devout woman who kept it for 30 years until her daughter informed her of my devotion. She then gifted it to me.

On Saturday night as we sat in my yard with a few cocktails and cigs I suddenly remembered another friend was having a get-together. If you’re keeping score, that is exactly two friends I have. Something about being abrasive or something… I asked the young man if he wanted to join me for an hour at the older friend’s party. He came along out of a sense of obligation. Within minutes he had been approached by another guy I know who works in construction in a very lucrative job. 20 minutes later my friend found me to tell me that he had been offered a job.

I told him at this point that it was Rita’s doing. He kind of scoffed. I looked up heavenward and laughed.

Two days later, still thinking the job offerer had been drinking and speaking out of turn, my friend decided to give him a call. Well, at this point St. Rita decided to toy with him. Do you know that within 36 hours, the deal has been not only inked but moved along so rapidly that this morning, on almost no notice, my friend boarded a flight to California where he will live and work at that amazing job for the next five months. After that he’ll return to Texas where he will continue in that job as a supervisor.

Friends, pray this novena. She will come through for you.

I’m still waiting on a few favors I requested for myself but I have confidence. Again I ask, please pray for me and my intentions. I greatly appreciate it.

St. Rita of Cascia, patron of impossible causes, pray for us all!