Yes I realize that the title sounds a bit odd. By fruits I am certainly not referring to the myriad sodomite priests, dykenuns, and assorted hangers-on that openly prance about the proverbial halls of the Church writ-large over the past decade. No, these fruits are legitimate and, if I may, quite beautiful – lush, fragrant, and ripe.
Like many of you, my inbox has been filled up lately with articles sent to me by other trads marking the tenth anniversary of the throne squatting of Jorge Bergoglio. One in particular was sent to me by my dear mother-in-law. Ten Terrible Years of Pope Francis, reads the headline by Damien Thompson.
All of this coverage has one common theme. Over the past decade the world’s slide down the slope of pure, unadulterated evil has rapidly accelerated. Last week’s latest stunt by the wicked German episcopate to recognize a “blessing” for faggots was either the culmination or a jumping off point depending on one’s viewpoint. These kinds of fruits – mutant, odiferous, and rotted to the slimy core – are, of course, rightly lain at the feet of the antipope. Hey, he destroyed that beautiful medieval crucifix in his Coof PR stunt a few years ago. I suppose something has to lay at his feet now.
But here is the biggest fruit in my estimation – and this one is a true fruit. I believe it will grow strong and tall and produce much fruit of its own.
Over the past ten years, I (and I suspect not a few of you readers) woke up and discovered that we had been misplanted. We had to. We saw that the Vatican II tree under which our seeds had fallen was a grotesque, Frankenstein-esque hodge-podge of cut branches, dead leaves, and a decayed, hollowed-out trunk. Did I mention it was covered in a withered vine made of felt?
You see, it started for me, the day he likened my mom to a rabbit. “Something’s not right,” I said to myself. The Vicar of Christ would never intentionally be so flippant, so crude about the sacred gift of life and the uber-dignity of motherhood. But then the crackpot kept going! He told the ill-formed youth of Brazil to make a mess without telling them what that should look like. He sidelined good bishops and cardinals and promoted sodo-heretic priests. And that was all in the first few years. By the time he got around to openly advocating Freemasonic bullshit like “universal brotherhood” and climate worship I knew the garden was desiccated. Then came the blasphemous “orders” to take the poison for the “good of others”. There must be a true tree and a true garden.
Thanks to his decade of abuse and the grace of Almighty God, I am now firmly planted in the older garden – the one that was lovingly tilled by the shepherds and watered by the martyrs’ blood for 1900 years before the attempted uprooting.
So thank you “Francis”. Ten years of you made me a trad!
For your efforts, may God see fit for you to (as Barnhardt says) repent, revert to Catholicism, and die in the state of grace in the fullness of time.
St. Joseph, Defender of the Church, pray for us!
Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad 