27 Settembre 2022 Pubblicato da Marco Tosatti Lascia il tuo commento

Marco Tosatti

Dear readers of Stilum Curiae, while everyone’s attention is turned to the elections and the political changes happening before our eyes, I quietly offer you, like a little spiritual retreat, these wandering thoughts from Benedetta De Vito. Enjoy your reading.

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I was at Saint Peter’s, yesterday morning. There were lots of tourists and among them, it seemed to me, many Americans. In the Basilica there was a nice organized group of the faithful gathered to pray and listen to catechesis. Standing under the obelisk placed there by Sixtus V, a great fighting pope (whom I love), I looked at the sky wearing a soft scarf of grey clouds that seemed to wrap around Bernini’s colonnade.

Saint Peter’s [Basilica] looked like a majestic theatrical background, made of parchment paper, and I don’t know why but it seemed to me that it was crying, calling to me from afar. Oh, that’s just me, always having my visions, I said to myself, and an American lady called to me and I began to help her because she didn’t know where to meet her tour guide. Walking around the obelisk, I imagined that hot August centuries ago when in just a few days that huge Egyptian colossus was set up, as a mighty work giving glory to God, the ropes doused with water, the sweat of so many of the faithful, oh the wonder of it: the Romans in celebration! Now, no one gives any of that past history a thought; it has all become just a backdrop for a selfie to post on Instagram.

After I met the person I had to meet, I retraced my steps, walking along the long Piedmontese serpent called the Corso Vittorio, thinking in spite of myself of that sad Saint Peter’s Basilica that looked at me from over there. Lord, I said, help me, because I am little and nothing. I continued on my way, thinking and praying.

And what came to mind was the horrible image of the day of the election of Bergoglio-Orgoglio [Bergoglio-Pride], when, so it seemed to me, the new successor of Peter emerged from nowhere, appeared out of darkness before the crowd, and said his horrendous “Buona sera” with the “e” open, like the slimy example of an ancient now-forgotten advertisement. I remember how at that moment I turned to my husband and said only this: “I am afraid.” It was my heart speaking. He already knew who this man dressed in white was who, without a mozzetta, boldly appeared on the horizon.

That gentleman had so much to do, that here I no longer want to list all his roguish thoughts intended to capsize the Church and her teaching with Jesuitical cunning. Between the fact that he had arrived when his predecessors had already cleared the piazza of tradition (the Latin so hated by the devil, as they know very well and I too…) and the mischievous name that was chosen, and that too is part of the game, it has now even reached the point of changing the words of the Our Father which are the words Our Lord himself taught us.

Never, in all the Masses that I have gone too, have I ever said that horrid and false wording! But before I go on, I go back only a few years and I am in a Catholic school where a little girl went who died in the odor of sanctity. The nun who accompanies me to see her toys and the clothing she left at school points out a room to me: “This is where Cardinal Roncalli slept when he came to Rome prior to becoming John XXIII; would you like to go in and see it?” A sense of disgust invaded me. I felt petrified and I hurriedly said no, no thank you, I would prefer not to, and I shook my head. This is what I think about the popes of Vatican II, who have all been beatified as if they were Roman emperors, who when they died were made into gods…

And now, wearing cat boots, I went yesterday to the church of Sant’Agata dei Goti for Mass with my husband. An African priest is celebrating Mass who bears in his gestures and in his heart, I am sure of it, love for Jesus and for the Church. I know from the way he administers the Host to me, in solemnity and reverence. Yes, in the wider Church there are many holy priests, and this is a cause of joy and consolation and a gift of hope.

But, recollected within myself, imagine me kneeling in the little chapel of the “good” holy virgin Agatha (the word “agatos” means good in Greek) and thinking again of the revelation about Saint Peter’s. Yes, the first pope, Cephas, chosen by Jesus himself, has been fixed to the Cross, his head upside down, by pagans, cannibals, by the fake church which now vaunts itself within the church constructed over his tomb, the church of churches, the very symbol of Christianity itself. In the meantime, I am looking forward to reading the book The Ratzinger Code that Andrea Cionci has kindly sent me. Yes, with “Benny,” in prayer, we go forward!

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Tag: bdv, de vito, san pietro

Categoria: Generale