So a nick in my left forearm turned out to be a superbug, leading to hospital stay via the ER and IV antibiotics. Back home now with this weird mainline setup called a pick line where the IV meds are self-administered. Being neither of the following, the injection activity causes one to feel like a diabetic junkie. Needless to say, the experience leads to think about modern pestilence. The gym, the fighting class, or the football team’s poorly maintained gear all become petri dishes of the most virulent pathogens. Modern man somehow never steps back to understand a single thing about the moral pigsty of his existence. Looking in the mirror at his arm blown up from his numbing fingers half way up his brachium, it never occurs to him that normal activity ought not lead to this. It’s all normal. Anyway, the wizards of science will save and return him to his liberty to be enslaved by his vices and appetites. Mainlining antibiotics arising from a tiny cut? Who cares – football is on!
Amidst all the above, a recent telephone interview with Father Paul Kramer emerged. The last I had heard regarding Father Kramer was a quick glance at the website of Sisco and Salza (no link provided), where some exceptionally nasty things were said about the Priest. Without regard to their potential veracity, the viciousness of the ad hominem attack alone seemed both surprising and was indeed very off-putting. Perhaps this incident instantiates the larger pathology at work in the Body of Christ. Low morale in Church Militant is pervasive and each member blindly flails, striking some other. Get upset. Repeat. So fragments this last little gathering, cornered amongst the ruins. They who really try to hold to Tradition as best they understand, turn on one another. Trad-fragging. No act, idea or discussion seems to have any salutary effect on anything from which afflicts Holy Mother. Things have come to the point where a dispute, that of whether Her indefectibility precludes the potential for an apostate pope, results in rhetorical savagery and plain old character assassination.
Over the past few years however, the sober prognosticators of things can never get that bad, you know, continually receive a drubbing at the hands of reality. Every stage of anti-church’s unmasking since 2013 has been preceded by a certain stratum of the commentariat having the calm tone of delivering a pleasant weather forecast. Afterword, such comments get shoved down the memory hole.
It is just such profound agony, contradiction, denial, and outrageous silence into which Father Kramer will prove profoundly insightful. That this priest has had rigorous training in Catholic theology becomes obvious to anyone willing to listen. His depth of understanding the crisis of the present hour and eruditely applying to it Catholic prophecy and theology will shed much light on what’s going on. How can we ever see the other side of this Passion, either here or hereafter, if we deny its potential depth? We cannot. Father Kramer was a friend of both Father Hesse’s and Father Gruner’s, the latter two now gone. What he has to say will dispel not the pain, but very much the confusion. With proper orientation regarding the meaning of our suffering, the trad-fragging can cease. By understanding that only an infinitely loving God could will us to unite to the Passion of His Son, and His Son’s Bride, we know that even if Bishop Twinkle Toes forsakes us, we will nonetheless never be forsaken.
When lying in supine agony, staring into the pitilessly inhuman fluorescent lighting tubes, the Catholic has to take the pain to Jesus. He will meet us there. He will explain and we will understand. He wants us to listen to his priests. The holy ones. The Catholic ones. The few who actually try to love Him back.