Never mind World War II memento, never mind Cold War clouds that loom, new spring we start, aggiornamento, so woe to all those seers of doom. Let people make their new investments, restore all things in wordly goals, behold the KGB in vestments and welcome AJC in shawls. Old-fashioned visions of Don Bosco, Fatima secrets – we don’t see, Good Pope John smiled at blood-red Moscow, Good Pope John smiled at NYC.
So many fathers sit on sessions but most of them just love to nod, robbing Our King of His possessions, for lesser glory of Lord God. Behold the Table, down with Ara, give ecumenism a free pass, so tell me how much is a tiara? and what’s the worth of Ancient Mass? Here come observers – a whole legion and break the liturgical yoke, Sad Pope Paul met the man’s religion and Sad Pope Paul ignored the smoke.
New hope arrives for people waiting, bells of New Advent start to ring and all the earth is celebrating Midsummer of conciliar spring. They want to make new ways more easy, giving the old a useful hint: embrace the spirit of Assisi, peace of the world, ut unum sint. Accept one indult or another, get of the anathema hook, Great John Paul hugged the elder brother, Great John Paul kissed the big green book.
But there are some who draw the border, don’t understand the novelties and do not like the Church New Order, and do not love her brand new peace. Oh Marcel, oh my good, poor Marcel, where, where your stubbornness may lead, trying to save the precious parcel of all the things Church always did?
