umblepie

Monday, 22 October 2018

Father William Doyle S.J. (1873-1917) - good priest, courageous man, true shepherd of souls.

The article below was first posted ten years ago, on 19th October, 2008, on my blog 'whitesmokeahoy'. I feel it appropriate to remind ourselves of this holy and courageous priest, a true shepherd of his flock. 




Good day friends of the Pro Papa League.

We have recently received the latest edition of ‘Catholic’ published by the F.SS.R Transalpine Redemptorists, Golgotha Monastery, Papa Stronsay. This is the first edition published since the reconciliation with Rome, and it maintains the high standards that we have come to expect over the years. There is an excellent editorial by Fr Michael Mary FSSR, Superior General, together with the usual wide range of learned and interesting articles, Church news past and present, announcements, photographs, quiz, etc. I fully recommend this publication, which maintains its traditional Catholic ethos, to those who have not yet subscribed. Each edition of ‘Catholic’ includes a book of specifically Catholic interest, abridged and reprinted in soft-back format, produced by ‘The Desert Will Flower’ Press. The latest book is ‘Trench Priest, The Life of Fr William Doyle, S.J.’ This is the abridged biography of an Irish Jesuit priest who died in 1917, aged 44 years, nr Ypres, on the battlefields of Belgium, whilst serving as Chaplain to several Irish regiments. This book vividly brings to life the selfless devotion and courage shown by Fr Doyle in the terrible blood-bath and horror of the Western Front, an account of heroic faith and true charity which genuinely brought tears to my eyes. The deep faith, trust in God, selfless love for others of whatever creed, courage, and devotion to duty, exhibited by Fr Doyle in all circumstances, shines like a beacon in the darkness of hell. It is only possible to include here a few extracts from this absorbing book, but it is appropriate to do so, particularly as we will soon be in November, the month of ‘All Saints’ and the ‘Holy Souls’, and I have absolutely no doubt that ‘Fr William Doyle S.J.’ is inscribed on the Roll of Honour for both.

‘All through the worst hours an Irish Padre went about among the dead and dying, giving Absolution to his boys. Once he came back to headquarters, but he would not take a bite of food or stay, though his friends urged him. He went back to the field to minister to those who were glad to see him, bending over them in their last agony. Four men were killed by shell-fire as he knelt beside them, and he was not touched – not touched until his own turn came. A shell burst close by, and the Padre fell dead’ ( Philip Gibbs, in the Daily Chronicle and Daily Telegraph)

‘The Orangemen will not forget a certain Roman Catholic chaplain who lies in a soldier’s grave in that sinister plain beyond Ypres. He went forward and back over the battlefield with bullets whining about him, seeking out the dying and kneeling in the mud beside them to give them Absolution, walking with death with a smile on his face , watched by his men with reverence and a kind of awe until a shell burst near him and he was killed. His familiar figure was seen and welcomed by hundreds of Irishmen who lay in that bloody place. Each time he came back across the field he was begged to remain in comparative safety. Smilingly he shook his head and went again into the storm. He had been with his boys at Ginchy and through other times of stress, and he would not desert them in their agony. They remember him as a saint – they speak his name with tears’ (Percival Phillips, in the Daily Express and Morning Post)

‘Fr Doyle felt fear deeply. He had a highly- strung nervous system and a vivid imagination that visualised danger fully, and realised the risk before him – all the physical elements of cowardice were his. He went out to perils, not at the word of command that meant death to disobey, not with the lust of battle surging in his veins and sweeping him along with a primitive savage longing to kill, not in the company of cheering, sustaining comrades. Fr Doyle had no word of command but his conscience and his sense of duty. He had no violent emotions to blind him to danger. Usually he had no comrade to bear him company save grim Death, who walked very close to him at times. It may sound a paradox, but it is perfect truth: Fr Doyle was the biggest coward in the 16th Division, and the bravest man in the British Army! An even more striking description was given by one of his men,, who declared emphatically that Fr Doyle was ‘the bravest man in the war’. (A Colonel who knew him intimately)


Fr Doyle was awarded the Military Cross at the battle of the Somme,, recommended for the D.S.O. at Wytschaete, and the Victoria Cross at Frezenberg. Though recommended for the VC by his Commanding Officer, by his Brigadier, and by General Hickie, commander of 16th Division, ‘superior authority’ did not agree. Possibly the fact that he was an Irish Roman Catholic priest influenced the decision of those ‘superior authorities’? Beyond the tributes of this world, numerous favours and cures have been attributed to his intercession, and to the use of his relics. I cannot recommend this book highly enough. To order please use the ‘Transalpine Redemptorist’ link on my sidebar which will take you straight to their blogsite.

*********************************


More from ‘Thoughts from St Alphonsus’ by Rev C McNeiry CSSR

‘Humiliation is the touchstone of sanctity. You will acquire
more merit by meekly receiving an affront, than by fasting ten
days on bread and water.’ (October 24th)        
And


‘Ecclesiasticus says that her bonds are a healthful binding,
and that in the latter end thou shalt find rest in her. You will
be indeed fortunate if at death you are bound with the sweet
chains of the love of the Mother of God. These chains are chains
of salvation.’ (November 17th)

All ye holy angels and saints, guide and protect our Holy Father Pope Benedict XVIth
O Holy Mother of Christ, pray for our Holy Father and for us thy children.

 Much has happened in the Church over the past ten years. We enjoyed many blessings during the papacy of Pope Benedict XVI, most importantly the 'Motu Proprio' (2007) which confirmed that the traditional Latin Mass prior to Vatican II had never been abolished, and that priests were free to celebrate this Mass whenever they wished without the need to first obtain the permission of their bishop. The Ordinariate was officially set up which has brought many good clerics and laity into the Church, with many ordained as Catholic priests, and the Ordinariate playing an increasingly active and important role in the life of the Catholic Church in England and Wales. This spiritually invigorating state of affairs came to an abrupt halt with the unexpected resignation/retirement of Pope Benedict XVI in 2013, and the advent of a new papacy under Pope Francis. We know what has happened over the past five years; the papal attack on Church tradition in all its forms; the disgraceful political machinations in the Synod on the Family; the selection of certain bishops and cardinals known to share the Pope's views on various matters, not least the  LGBT influence within  the Church; the ambiguous wording of papal encyclicals opening the door to sacrilegious practice regarding receipt of Holy Communion by those in invalid 'marriages'; aggressive persecution of any opposition to papal authority eg. the Knights of Malta fiasco; the sexual abuse scandal in the Church, particularly in Vatican circles and in the upper hierarchy of the Church world-wide, which while clearly developing over several decades, has not been helped by the Pope's response, or to be precise his lack of response; also his choice of inner circle of advisers several of whom have themselves been subject to investigations for various matters;  the financial scandals which have been under scrutiny for many years, the latest involving a thirteen million dollar donation to a Vatican hospital already suspected of serious financial mismanagement. The list goes on, and as we approach the final days of the Youth Synod, one wonders what surprises lie in store. Rumour has it, and it may be no more than rumour, that Pope Francis plans to introduce a new form of the Mass sympathetic to Protestant thinking, originally devised by Pope Paul VI during Vatican II, but not actually celebrated.  Throughout this pontificate it would seem that Pope Francis has little time for tradition within the Church, instead steering the barque of Peter into the dark and dangerous waters of contemporary thinking, sowing cockle in the wheat-fields of the Faith. We will not lose heart, for we know from Our Lord’s words the outcome of the parable of the cockle and the wheat, and we also know from Our Lord that a good tree will bring forth good fruit, and a bad tree bad fruit. Future generations will be aware of the history of this pontificate with all its ramifications, and will make their own judgment. I fully accept, respect and honour the See of Peter, and pray for the incumbent whoever that may be. However, humanly speaking, I do not hold all incumbents in the same esteem, if at all.

Friday, 7 September 2018

St Padre Pio - Saint of our times.




Padre Pio - born Francesco Forgione, 25.5.1887, in Pietrelcina, Beneventu, Italy.
  Died 23.9.1968 in San Giovanni Rotondo, Foggia, Italy.
  Beatified by Pope John Paul II in 1999.

Canonised by Pope John Paul II in 2002.

Feast Day -  23 September



Padre Pio - Roberto Dughetti/Lucia Dughetti  (1966) (Wikipedia)



I have recently finished reading ‘Padre Pio, Man of Hope’ by Renzo Allegri, published by Servant Books, St Anthony Messenger Press, Ohio, which I thoroughly enjoyed and strongly recommend.


My knowledge of St Padre Pio and his life was minimal,  limited to the facts that he was an Italian Franciscan priest, renowned for his holiness,  who bore the Stigmata throughout his religious life.

Having read this book I now know much more, particularly with regard  to Padre Pio’s great  love of God and his love of people, and his  holy acceptance of suffering,  physical and moral.  As well as the pain experienced from the Stigmata, Padre Pio suffered  from generally poor health throughout his life. Additionally he was the innocent victim of malicious rumours spread by certain secular clergy, resulting in the Holy Office imposing humiliating restrictions on his priestly freedom, restrictions which lasted for many years.  Padre Pio was finally and completely exonerated from any wrong-doing, and his accusers shamed.


Padre Pio first received the Stigmata when he was 23 years old, shortly after his ordination to the priesthood. This remained with him until his death in 1968, aged 81 years. When preparing his body for burial no trace of the stigmata was found. Perhaps this was not so surprising, for when he first received the Stigmata , he prayed in his humility, that it be hidden from view of others, without any lessening of the pain endured by him. At the end his prayer was answered.

In his life, Padre Pio always looked to the future in a spirit of optimism, faith and love, with  incredible, some would say miraculous, results. An example of this was the planning and overseeing, with others, of  the construction of the 'House for the Relief of Suffering’, a hospital for everyone rich and poor, which today is one of the largest, most well-equipped and efficient hospitals in the south of Italy.

 

 'House for the Relief of Suffering', San Giovanni Rotondo. (Mazaki)  (Wikileaks)


Of Padre Pio’s spiritual stature, Cardinal Siri had this to say; “With the Stigmata which he bore throughout his life and with the other physical and moral sufferings he endured, Padre Pio calls our attention to the body of Christ as a means of salvation. Jesus died on the cross for us, and the entire theology of redemption rests on this truth, one of the principal tenets of our faith. This truth is so important … and men have forgotten it…. and God has sent us this man with the task of calling us back to the truth.” (ack. ‘Padre Pio, Man of Hope’)

Bilocation, levitation, mind-reading, premonition, and clairvoyance, are some of the phenomena known to have been associated with Padre Pio during his life, as were numerous miracles.

In his monastic cell, on many occasions he suffered violent physical assaults by devils, also continual  spiritual torments.

 I have only touched the tip of the iceberg as far as Padre Pio’s life is concerned. For a fuller introduction you need to read this book or any of the many books written about this humble Saint.

Even the little I have learnt has truly been a revelation, and I intend to try to deepen my faith by learning more of Padre Pio’s life, and praying for his intercession to Our Lord and His Blessed Mother, for myself and all those dear to me.


This post is just a brief introduction to Padre Pio, but I include at the end a video recording events, people, and places, during and after his life, which is fascinating and occasionally very moving.   I urge you to make time to watch it, or at least some of it, if you possibly can. You will not regret it.



   

Saint Padre Pio, pray for us.


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Thursday, 5 July 2018

'The Hail Mary' by Marigold Hunt; 'He is the Boy' by GK Chesterton.



Marigold Hunt born in the United Kingdom in 1905 was a speaker for the Catholic Evidence Guild and served for many years as advertising manager of Sheed and Ward publishing company.   She wrote several children's books, mostly on religious themes, in which she excelled in sharing her great love for her faith and God's creation in a manner attractive to young children and all those 'young at heart'. She spent her final years in Somerset, Massachusetts, USA, with her friends Patricia and Owen McGowan. She died on December 15, 1994, and is buried at St Patrick's cemetery, Somerset, MA.  

'The   Hail   Mary'
      Marigold Hunt
            1.
Hail, full of Grace” (Luke 1. 28)
          Our Lady helped her mother
        To wash the breakfast things,
        And in the garden Gabriel
        Waited, with folded wings.
        Our Lady came to the garden
        For lettuces and peas,
        And Gabriel knelt to worship her
        Humbly, on his knees.


        Our Lady’s soul was shining,
        The light was in her face ---
        “Hail, full of grace,” said Gabriel,
        “Hail, full of grace.”

        He began a prayer
        For you and me.
        “Hail, Mary, full of grace
        The Lord is with thee.”


                      II

“And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Ghost:  And she cried
out with a loud voice,  and said:  Blessed art thou among women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb”  (Luke 1. 41-42).

        Our Lady had a cousin
        Who was getting rather old,
        Her name was Elizabeth
        And she was good as gold.
        Our Lady loved Elizabeth,
        So God let her see
        Who Our Lady was, and whose
        Mother she would be.

        “Blessed art thou among women,”
        St. Elizabeth said,
        “And blessed the fruit of thy womb,
        Jesus.”  Bow your head.

        An angel and a saint
        Showed us the way
        Of greeting Our Lady
        And what we should say.


                      III

         “Behold a virgin…. shall bring forth a son, and they shall call
his name Emmanuel,  which being interpreted is,  God with us  (Matt. i. 28, quoting Isaias vii. 14)

        When Our Lord was a little new baby
        And lay on Our Lady’s knees,
        He heard the bees in the clover,
        He heard the wind in the trees.

        He remembered making the clover,
        And telling the wind to blow,
        He remembered putting the hum in a bee
        And setting the trees to grow.

        He remembered making Our Lady
        To be Queen of Everything,
        The Crown of the World, and His mother,
        He, her son and her king ----

        The angels call her holy,
        And we will do the same,
        “Holy Mary, Mother of God,”
        Our Lord made her name.


                            IV

“He was subject to them” (Luke ii.51)

         Every day at Nazareth
         St. Joseph sawed and chipped,
         Our Lady bound his fingers up
         When the chisel slipped.

         Every day at Nazareth
         Playing with the chips,
         Our Lord made Our Lady
         Boxes and ships.

         Every day at Nazareth
         Our Lady knelt to pray
         For Joseph; and for you and me
         Who must be good to-day.

         “Pray for us sinners, now,
         Dear Our Lady, please,
         While we are safe and happy
         And can go on our knees.


            V

         “But he, taking her by the hand, cried out, saying: Maid, arise.
And her spirit returned, and she arose immediately.  And he bid them
give her to eat  (Luke viii. 54-5).


         A friend of Our Lord’s in Galilee
         Had a dear little girl who died.
         Her mother was sad, and her father was sad,
         And everybody cried,

         Our Lord was coming to make her well,
         But she died before he came,
         So they told him not to bother,
         But he bothered all the same.

         He took the little girl’s hand in His,
         And said: “Little maid, arise!”
         And the little girl came to life again,
         Sat up, and opened her eyes!

         Death must come to stay at last
         And sorrow hard to bear,
         But it doesn’t really matter,
         So long as Our Lord is there.

                    So we ask Our Lady
                    To pray for us then,
                    And come to us and bring her Son
                    “At the hour of our death
                                                              Amen.”    

********************************


   He is the Boy

   
G.K. Chesterton

‘I have little doubt that the return of liberty and prosperity to Ireland will mean the development of that Christian craftsmanship, in which Our Lady once taught the world in the decorative designs of the Dark Ages.  Any impression so atmospheric must appear arbitrary, and it would be idle to mention the multitude of small experiences that have seemed to me to point to such a destiny.  I will only mention two things out of a thousand; one an old story which I heard and even recorded long ago; the other a small incident that quite recently happened to myself’ but in both of which is expressed with a certain emotional exactitude the shade of fact and feeling that I mean.  The first is a story that I heard in Donegal twelve years ago; but I know nothing of the origin of the story.  It told how someone had met in the rocky wastes a beautiful peasant woman carrying a child, who on being asked for her name, answered simply:  I am the Mother of God, and this is Himself, and He is the boy you will all be wanting at the last.”  I had never forgotten this phrase, which expresses the spirit of which I speak in a language which is a natural literature; and I remembered it suddenly long afterwards, when I fancied I had found something that expressed it also, not in literature but in sculpture.

          I was looking about for an image of Our Lady which I wished to give to the new church in our neighbourhood, and I was shown a variety of very beautiful and often costly examples in one of the most famous and fashionable Catholic shops in London.  It was a very good shop, and the proprietor was not to blame if the nature of the find was something of a parable. It is the glory of the great Cult of Mary that she has appeared to painters and sculptors under a variety of bodily types almost wider than the actual variety of all the women in the world.  She has been the patroness of so many lands and cities that she has become the centre or the prop of every scheme of ornament or school of architecture; and her garments have been made of all the materials of the world.  Here there was everything, from what some would call the conventional dolls of the Repository to what some would call the harshest caricatures of the Primitives. But somehow I felt fastidious, for the first time in my life; and felt that the one kind was too conventional to be sincere and the other too primitive to be popular. There were the types of the bronze Byzantine gloom and types of the cereal Flemish exuberance; extravagances of Renaissance drapery, wrought in enamel or in metal, sprawling like a wheel of wings yet poised like a pillar;  delicate figures in ivory or dark figures in ebony; all the multi-form manifestations of the most profound inspiration of the arts of our race. But, for some reason, as I have said, they left me not indeed cold, but vague, and I ended prosaically by following the proprietor to an upper floor, on some matter of mere business; the receipting of an old bill or what not. But the upper room was a sort of lumber room, full of packages and things partially unpacked, and it seemed suddenly that she was standing there, amid planks and shavings and sawdust, as she stood in the carpenter’s shop in Nazareth.  I said something, and the proprietor answered rather casually:  “Oh, that’s only just been unpacked;  I’ve hardly looked at it. It’s from Ireland!”

          The colours were traditional; but the colours were not conventional;  a wave of green sea had passed through the blue and a shadow of brown earth through the crimson, as in the work of the ancient colourists.  The conception was common and more than common, and yet never merely uncommon.  She was a peasant and she was a queen, and in that sense she was a lady; but not the sort of sham lady who pretends to be a peasant, nor the sort of sham peasant who pretends to be a lady.  She was barefoot like any colleen on the hills; yet there was nothing merely local about her simplicity.  I have never known who was the artist and I doubt if anybody knows; I only know that it is Irish, and I almost think that I should have known without being told. I have heard of on other man who felt as I do, and went miles out of his way at intervals to revisit the little church where the image stands. She looks across the little church with an intense earnestness in which there is something of endless youth; and I have sometimes started, as if I had actually heard the words spoken across that emptiness; I am the Mother of God and this is Himself, and He is the boy  you will all be wanting at the last.
     ‘Christendom in Dublin’ by GK Chesterton (1932)

***********************

'Christendom in Dublin', a classic novel written by G.K. Chesterton, records his impressions of the 31st Eucharistic Congress held in Dublin in 1932.

The Catholic Church in Ireland has suffered terribly over recent decades. The disastrous liturgical and other changes imposed after Vatican II, combined with  the on-going clerical abuse scandals, damaged the faith and trust of so many people, Catholic and non-Catholic, that the Church today in Ireland compared to 1932 when Chesterton wrote the above, is but a shadow of its former self. 
We Catholics in the United Kingdom owe a tremendous amount to our fellow Catholics from Ireland, who over many decades have been the backbone of our parishes and Catholic organisations. We  pray for our Irish friends and for the Church in Ireland.

Wednesday, 9 May 2018

'Of Such is the Kingdom of Heaven'

How can we ever forget the compelling but tragic scenario of the last  days of little Alfie Evans , who would have been two years old today, a patient in Alder Hey hospital, Liverpool, since December 2016, suffering from an unidentified degenerative and ultimately fatal disease. The heroic efforts of Alfie's parents to obtain alternative care for their son in the Children's Hospital in Rome, with the moral support of  Pope Francis, and practical help, viz. transportation and travelling medical staff, provided by the Italian government and medical services, was  ultimately to no avail, due to the intransigence of the Alder Hey hospital medical team and the Courts. However the love, sacrifices, and selflessness of the parents and all Alfie's supporters, are indelibly recorded in the annals of  history. There has been world-wide criticism of the Alder Hey hospital authorities for their refusal to allow Alfie to be moved, and questions asked regarding medical treatment administered  in his last hours immediately preceding  his rapid deterioration and death. It is fair to say that the hospital did receive support, including from the Roman Catholic Bishop's Conference of England and Wales, who publicly praised the hospital for their actions and  care. They have been strongly criticised for this, for their statement supposed some medical knowledge and expertise which they could not possibly have had, for even the doctors in the case were ignorant. In hindsight we know that the doctors were wrong when they said Alfie would die very shortly after his life-line was removed, and in fact he survived for several days. A senior member of the Bishop's conference is the Archbishop of Liverpool, Rt. Rev. Malcolm McMahon O.P. in which diocese the Alder Hey hospital is situated. It is reasonable to presume a good working relationship exists between Archbishop and the Alder Hey hospital, in fact the diocese provides chaplains for the hospital. It may be that the message of support was an expression of  mutual trust and friendship for the hospital in the face of public criticism, rather than on known medical facts, for after all Alfie had been cared for by the hospital for some 18 months.  If it had been possible for the Bishops to foresee the manner and circumstances of Alfie's death, which of course it wasn't, maybe  their reaction may have been rather different. 

The following post is by Laurence England, from his blog-site,  'That The Bones You Have Crushed May Thrill'. It is a truly powerful post deserving to reach as many readers as possible. I have Laurence's authority to reproduce it here. Thank you Laurence.


 'One baby boy, so many victims.' 

'As the battle over the life and death of Alfie Evans intensified in the full glare of the onlooking world, I was among those who could not comprehend the unswerving logic of an entire machinery, governmental and ecclesiastical, locked on course for the snuffing out of a precious human life, that of little Alfie, who from his hospital bed lay blissfully unaware of the extraordinary tumult surrounding him, a tumult inside and outside the hospital, in the courts, in the media, around the whole world.

I cannot help but feel that in ages past, Alfie Evans might have lit the blue touchpaper of civil unrest, mass demonstrations, even calls for revolution in a country like the United Kingdom. The sheer powerlessness felt by those following the case of Alfie and his parents, those close to him and those far away, apart from a committed and passionate team surrounding the family, an intense gathering of supporters outside the hospital, manifested itself in cries from the heart on social media, blogs, Facebook and other vents for public anger and frustration. Perhaps because of the rise of social media, things have changed, perhaps not for the better. Perhaps when the release valves of public anger made known through hashtags fail to save the cause of a baby boy, it is time for a rethink.




Clearly, Alfie was a victim of a foul ideology that now dominates public life in Great Britain, a hideous, unreasoning line of repressive eugenic thought reminiscent of 1930s and 40s Germany, one that was already politely embedded in the British Establishment thanks to the rise of social darwinism, one that was never even nearly defeated during the Second World War, an ideology that does not even limit itself to the upper echelons in the British Establishment but finds a welcome in the hearts of British men and women working in myriad fields across the social spectrum in these Isles. It isn't really new. It never really was. For centuries, millennia, human societies have justified the killing of innocents because some human life is deemed 'unworthy' of being called human life. For centuries, we have employed utilitarian justifications for murder. For centuries, we have deemed some lives more or less worthy and that social 'inferiors' possess less inherent worth. What marks causes like that of Alfie Evans out, however, along with the crimes of Nazi Germany, is the tying of this myopic, if common, human error - one to which we are all essentially prone - to the over-wielding, face-crushing apparatus of the modern State.

And what a State it is and what a tyrannical monster it can become when a society becomes detached from Christ. For differing reasons, we Catholics, we British Catholics, should have seen the killing of Alfie Evans coming, because as other commentators have stated, the State-based assassination of Alfie, a British citizen whose right to life is, unlike the unborn, legally recognised, was entirely legal and 'above board'. While completely contrary to what we know as the natural law, that knowable in the hearts of mankind to be right, just, noble or virtuous, compassionate or kind, Alfie's life could be 'ended' and all 'by the book'. It could even be 'ended' by the withdrawal of basic sustenance and / or by the injection of toxins designed to sedate the patient into silence until even his breathing falls utterly silent. It could be ended because laws have been implanted into the British legal system that recognise, inherently, that in some, most, if not all cases, the life of citizen to State is one of 'owned' to 'owner', if not necessarily 'slave' to 'master'.

With language dressed in solemn medical virtue and medical care, the United Kingdom has reached the tipping point at which all but those without even a rudimentary vision of the limits on State power, could cry, "Murder!", as a judge told a court, a hospital, parents, a nation, yes, the whole world and its Creator, that an NHS patient could essentially be put to death in 'the best interests of the child'. There are, as has been documented, real reasons why the State and those who act in the name of Her Majesty's Government deem the State the possessor of persons, their lives and their deaths, beyond all reasonable limits.

Actual laws, such as the Children's Act of 1989, the Mental Capacity Act of 2005 and those laws which gave rise to the Court of Protection, a kind of super-secretive court that has those kind of powers  which should astonish and horrify British citizens, foresee just these kinds of situations and accord to the State just those kinds of justifications as were used in what Alfie's army could call the killing of Alfie Evans. What was and remains astonishing is that all of these conditions were met in one little boy and the entire weight of the British legal system fell like a tonne of bricks on one little boy and his brave, besieged and embattled parents.

It serves us nothing to say that Alfie Evans is a warning to the British people, since the warnings are long behind us, long before Alfie was born. If Alfie were a warning, he may still be alive in a hospital in Rome receiving treatment, still being caressed by his loving parents, still charming the world with his beautiful face, with his loving vulnerability, with his touching and mysterious interaction with those who loved him, with those who saw in his innocent eyes a glimpse, as so often we do, of something of the mystery of God. No, Alfie was not a warning. A warning is a threat. Evil men carried out an evil plan and succeeded in their evil plan and left a signature of evil across the face of the United Kingdom, confirming that this nation is now under the influence of horrifying evil that will not yield even in the face of the vehement reproach of just men and women around the whole world.



No, the warnings have been many and have gone unheeded. The warnings were the low-income family living on a housing estate deemed by the encroaching State apparatus of social services to be neglecting their child because they couldn't afford or for some reason failed to provide the correct environment for their child, note, to the standards to which social services holds them. Many children, of course not all, are forcibly removed, through the family courts, from those who have been deemed 'unworthy' of parentage. These children are then 'processed' into a care system in which they experience no or little love whatsoever, their links with parents and natural bonds severed.

The warnings were the man or woman with schizophrenia, be it mild or not so mild, who, having been sectioned, and placed under an authority's 'care', is diagnosed and placed on a mental health wing periodically, but is generally left to live an isolated and marginalised life, only to be placed on medication that renders him or her impotent, sterile or both, or unable to function as he or she could without them.

The warnings were the Christian family who, having discovered that their school was providing their child with completely unsuitable material for 'sex education' are informed that they are unable to pull their child from a toxic and highly sexualised learning environment, because wishing to preserve a child's innocence, or wanting to provide more suitable information themselves, is not 'in the child's best interest'. The warnings were the children removed from couples deemed unable to provide enough for their child, only for their children to be handed over by an adoption agency, with all the power of the State behind them, to sexually active 'gay parents' who can never provide children with the moral environment for their growth to maturity, nor the masculine love of a father, combined with the feminine love of a mother.

The warnings were the homeless man who, deemed unsightly to beg around our cities, or even to busk, is given the kind of stringent legal order that inhibits his movement or freedom and means that he cannot beg or even busk in a certain locale without a possible prison sentence being the result of his disobedience. The warnings are there, have been there, wherever an unjust State manned by unjust personnel, rob human beings of their natural and inalienable rights.

But most stridently of all, the warnings were there, already in place, for years, perhaps decades in Great Britain's National Health Service and within care homes, which can stealthily, at a time of their own choosing, place patients on the kind of 'end of life' plan that could render families and loved ones impotent in the face of the State's own medical system, as British citizens with firmly established legal rights, are placed on a well-documented death pathway that necessarily enables doctors and nurses to administer to patients deep sedation-causing drugs, in increasing dosage, while removing the most basic necessities of food and water from these patients, who, unable to speak out for themselves, are rendered entirely helpless as they grow nearer and nearer to death, whose bodily organs slowly succumb to the most agonising end, while families, some aware, some unaware, look on helplessly, because 'experts' have told them that this, the most barbaric, the most inhumane path, is the only path upon which patients can be placed at this stage in their treatment.

In the final analysis, we see in Alfie Evans a whole world, a world that is, a cruel and unjust world, a cold and heartless world, a world in which evil appears to us triumphant, a world which parodies 'care' and 'treatment' in its eugenic analysis that ends that 'life unworthy of being called life'. Those with a Christian vision of human life, however, see something else. We see a little boy, unknowing of all that was surrounding him, a warrior who did not, could not acknowledge the battle in which he was staged, through whom Almighty God has already worked wonders. Through a single baby, God has paraded the wicked for all mankind to see, whose pride and vanity will be recorded one day as legendary.

Little Alfie has paraded the unjust, the wicked and pathetic bishops of England and Wales, unmasked evil present in our own Bishops' Conference, hurled down the reputations of those who, fearing the consequences of conflict with the British Establishment and the British State, sided with Alfie's persecutors and those of his parents, adopting precisely the same sinister and deceitful language as those who felt a baby boy was better off dead. He has revealed the broad, cunning and evil face of the eugenic mindset against which Catholics must once more rise to slay, if necessary with our own blood. He has revealed the true state of our country.

He has also paraded those who fight for true justice, who fight for God's law, who fight against the culture of death, who wish for no earthly reward for their efforts, who pulled resources together to move heaven and earth for this young couple and their child, those who recognise that the State's power, though a necessary presence in the lives of the modern nation, has limits it cannot exceed without crushing human dignity. He has revealed the openness of whole nations to true compassion and true justice, those countries who offered to treat Alfie, who saw a fight for a human life as a fight worth fighting and an expense worth paying.

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It is doubtful that Alfie's death will bring about a 'sea-change' in the attitude of the legal and medical establishment that denied Alfie and his parents treatment elsewhere, lest the cherished NHS be seen to be ineffective. No, it was vital that the NHS was seen to be effective, if not in caring and treating the most vulnerable, then in policing and administering death to its its patient. The truth is that what is most feared among the powerful in this country is the 'sea-change' that is yet to take place but that all Catholics who value and cherish human life pray will take place, the 'sea-change' from a country that justifies the taking of innocent human life on entirely subjective grounds, that justifies judicial and medical tyranny in the name of a thinly-veiled form of social darwinism rampant throughout British institutions, into a country that honours Almighty God, that honours the rights of parents, that honours the lives of its citizens from conception to natural death, that honours all that is good, all that is honourable, all that is worthy of praise.

Perhaps one day that day will come, perhaps one day Britons will rise from their slumber and demand the respect for human life that they themselves have discovered is sacred and holy. Perhaps that day is coming, but if it does, it won't have come without God's help and the wonders He has already done, through little Alfie Evans, the little warrior prince of Liverpool who, history may yet record, even put the silence of the Royal Family themselves to shame.

Pray for Alfie's parents, pray for our nation, pray for our bishops, pray for the clergy, but Alfie, Alfie must now be safe with God, for all along, his cause, in baptised innocence, was with God. Many people failed Alfie, while many valiantly fought on his side, but our holy Faith tells us God did not fail him. He is faithful. Alfie has been delivered from the pains of death and his enemies who surrounded him, from the fury of his foes, of both men and demons. May God do the same for us, for those who govern us and for our country as well. '

                            Ack. Laurence England, 'That The Bones You Have Crushed May Thrill'