Compelled to break silence

My fellow traditional Catholics,

Though I don't post here any longer, I still try to remain present around the edges, and receive much of my information about what is transpiring in the Church at large from you. Thus, though I'm scarcely an active participant in the blogging circle, you do me an invaluable service.

That said, however, I've been very troubled in this past week by much of what's been being said about Pope Francis. I'll admit that I was not enthused at his election. However, neither am I appalled. He remains my Pope, and, certain things I question aside, I am willing to give him a chance. Perhaps he is not a TLM enthusiast, but I doubt he'll ever abrogate SP or the other great gifts given us by Pope Benedict. Traditional circles are, after all, the likely the only part of growing, non-dessicated part the Church in the Western world.

Think, however, of all the other parts of the Church that are dessicated and in need of attention. The Holy Spirit cares an awful lot about our liturgy, no doubt, but is not limited by it. I can't say that I know the divine logic behind the election of Pope Francis, nor do any of us, nor are we supposed to. We would do well to remember this.

In the meantime, such naysaying, ad-hominem attacks, even slander and calumny, that I've been hearing in the circles of traditional Catholic blogs is unconscionable, particularly when our Holy Father, who has said and done very little as Pope as of yet--moreover, one who appeared so daunted by the trials he knew he would have to face while standing on the balcony--is the object of this! If we're doubtful, then we should be on our knees rather than on our keyboards. This is behaviour I expect from the anti-clerical media, but not from those who consider themselves to be loyal sons of the Church.

We are yet in Lent, and we all know where the confessionals are. I have, as yet, been a little loose in my Lenten observance, I will admit. However, that ends today, for I feel impelled to make reparation for those unjustified and Pharisaical attacks on Pope Francis from those who should be his loyalists. The man has enough enemies as it is: the press, entrenched powers in the Roman Curia, the half-witted chattering classes, and so forth; what he needs from us is our prayers and penance. Let us offer these amply.

I make this public not because I wish to offer rebuke to our Holy Father's critics, nor because I wish we should all be uncritical--heaven knows that I harbour some skepticism as it is--but rather because I would like to invite you ("you" being whoever comes across this jotting) to join me in my reparation, and in offering prayers and penance for Pope Francis, remembering always the teaching of Our Lord:

"Love your enemies: do good to them that hate you: and pray for them that persecute and calumniate you: That you may be the children of your Father who is in heaven, who maketh his sun to rise upon the good, and bad, and raineth upon the just and the unjust. For if you love them that love you, what reward shall you have? do not even the publicans this? And if you salute your brethren only, what do you more? do not also the heathens this? Be you therefore perfect, as also your heavenly Father is perfect."

Yours in Christ,
Matthew Palardy

Endings

It occurs to me that it's been a year since I posted anything here. Finding work can do that to one, I figure. So, I'd like to thank all of you who followed ELITL throughout its run, but, frankly, my heart just isn't in it any longer. Rather than just leaving it indefinite, I'll officially bid you all my fond farewell. Please remember me in your prayers.

Aging

I looked in the mirror today and realized I once had more hair than now I do. What happened?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yR2vGJSX0xo

Guess I can't embed any longer.

The Gods of the Copybook Headings

As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall.
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn,
That water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision, and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market-Place;
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch.
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch.
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings.
So we worshiped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbor and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selective Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew,
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four —
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

* * * * * *

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man —
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began: —
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

--Rudyard Kipling

Quick notification

Dear friends, due to my busy schedule and technology problems, I have found myself unable to update in a while. Never fear, however; Et Lux in Tenebris Lucet shall be springing to life once more within the near future, with plenty, I am sure, to talk about.

In the meantime, in solidarity with our friends, a great nation, and the world's last empire:

Our Lady of Akita, pray for Japan.

The Courage of François de Charette

Tea at Trianon refers us to an account of the capture and execution of one of the greatest French Royalist heroes:

The trial took place on the 28^th of March. After five hours of examination, during which the Vendean belied not for a single instant the firmness of his character and the nobility of his cause, his judges pronounced upon him sentence of death. He heard it without emotion, and requested only, that as he had fought, so he might die, a Christian, and that he might enjoy the consolations of religion. They sent him the Abbé Guibert, a priest who had taken the oath to the constitution. Before entering his cell, the ecclesiastic begged that the prisoner might be searched. Charette was indignant at the man’s alarm. “Does he think,” cried he, “that the general of the Catholic and royal armies is an assassin? Let him come without fear.”

The Abbé then entered, and said, in a trembling voice, “I am come, monsieur, to offer you the consolations of religion in your unhappy strait.”

“It is for that purpose I sent for you,” replied the Christian hero. “I abhor your principles, I do not regard you as a legitimate minister; but I know that in the hour of death you have power to absolve me. Come, listen to my confession. I do not want your exhortations, I desire absolution.” So saying, he fell on his knees, and, notwithstanding his wounds, remained in that posture for two hours. Then he arose, pardoned, and ready to appear before his God.

At last the fatal moment arrived; the gate of the prison opened, and Charette was led forth to the place of execution….By his calm attitude and noble and resigned bearing, he attracted more attention than all the magnificence and pomp with which his enemies sought to adorn their triumph. As he passed by a certain house in a street indicated by his sister, he humbly bowed his head. An old man clad in black, and holding a white handkerchief, was at a window; it was a Catholic priest, whom the piety of Mademoiselle de Charette had stationed there to give to the warrior, who was going to die for God and the king, the benediction of heaven. None but a few Vendeans who were hidden in the crowd knew why Charette thus inclined his head; but they blessed God for the grace He had accorded to His faithful soldier.

Vive le Roy.

King Charles I

From Cromwell. The king here shows the same courage that his French counterpart and descendant would a century and a half later.