How bad must things get before we can all agree that the sky is actually falling and that Chicken Little was right all along? Forget the secular scene, where Biden-induced disasters have become pretty much standard issue. What about that far greater and deeper and richer dimension, the one that Holy Mother Church herself presides over? How are things going in the realm of the sacred, the place where the grammar and the poetry of God are spoken?
Now that rather depends on who’s in charge, doesn’t it? When Pope St. John XXIII would have his frequent night sweats over the state of the Church, he’d have to remind himself who was actually running the show. And knowing it was the Holy Spirit, he’d allow himself to go back to sleep.
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But what if the Holy Spirit seems to have gone to sleep as well? Or, to put it in a way that does not invite despair, what happens when the Church herself—large swaths of her membership, at any rate—behaves as though God had somehow closed the door on the world, leaving us to our own devices and desires? Will the gates of Hell have then finally triumphed over the Church founded upon the Apostles? Will she no longer be filled with the Spirit of God? Who then will ensure the safety and security of God’s children?
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