I woke up this morning planning to write about the Easter Vigil Mass at some point today. That plan went out the proverbial window as soon as I picked up my phone and saw a RIP Pope Francis notice on Instagram. I didn't believe it because it was from an up and coming Catholic "influencer," whom I consider to be sweet and enthusiastic but gullible. My first thought was, "Not this crap again. Cool it with the fake reports." Then I saw a post from EWTN and realized the story was true. To my surprise, I felt...nothing. Not sorrow, like when Pope John Paul II, died, not pity as I did when poor Benedict died and certainly not satisfaction. There was simply nothing. Later I checked Twitter and was revolted by some of the gooey, sniveling posts, including a horrible AI rendering of Francis being held in the arms of Our Lady. I decided that in the the coming days since I have nothing nice to say I'd restrict my remarks to vague platitudes and that's what I'll do with the folks at work.
Jorge Bergoglio is dead. Many are sad. Many are relieved but none that isn't what matters now. What matters is eternity. We all die and have to face God and give account of ourselves. There's no weasel room. There's not arguing your case. They'll be no appeals to a higher court. On the day of our particular judgment we get exactly what's coming to us. That is a truly terrifying and awesome thought.
One more thing, Cardinal Kevin Joseph Farrell is the camerlego. Theodore McCarrick's roommate of five years is running the Church until there's a new pope. As I've said before, the death of one man is not the end for those left behind. Whoever is elected at the conclave just might be one of McCarrick's "nephews" or at least will be someone who was a friend of a close friend.
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