Do Not Be Scandalized

For Catholics waiting in the Cenacle between Christ’s visible departure and the coming of the Holy Ghost.

CHRIS JACKSON MAY 17

The Sunday of Holy Expectation

The Church places us today in a strange and holy interval. Our Lord has ascended. The Paschal candle has been extinguished. The visible presence of Christ has withdrawn from the eyes of men. Yet Pentecost has not yet come. We stand, as it were, in the Cenacle with the Apostles and the Blessed Virgin, not abandoned, not triumphant in any worldly sense, but waiting.

This is why the Introit cries out with such tender insistence: “Hear, O Lord, the sound of my call… Thy face, O Lord, I seek.” The Church does not speak here like a widow who has lost her Spouse forever. She speaks like a bride who knows He has gone to His Father and her Father, His God and her God, and who waits for the promised fire from heaven.

Goffine, in his old instruction for this Sunday, says plainly that this whole week should be used as a preparation for Pentecost, so that by good works and pious exercises we may receive the gifts of the Holy Ghost. He singles out exactly what St. Peter gives us in the Epistle: prayer, charity, the faithful use of grace, and the duties of our state in life.

Christ Ascended, Yet Christ Remains

Do not imagine that the Ascension is an absence in the ordinary sense. St. Augustine says that Our Lord “did not withdraw from us when He went up again into heaven.” He is in heaven by His glorified humanity, yet He remains with us by His divinity, His power, and His love. We cannot be in heaven as He is on earth, by divine nature; but in Him, by faith, hope, and charity, our hearts may already ascend.

This is why a Christian must never live as though earth were his final country. The world tells you to settle down here, to make peace with vanity, to arrange your conscience according to comfort, to be agreeable to error, to make religion useful but never sovereign. The Ascension tears that illusion away. Your Head is in heaven. Shall the members crawl contentedly in the dust?

No. If Christ our Head has ascended, then the Christian life must be an ascent. Our thoughts must ascend. Our desires must ascend. Our homes must ascend. Our work, our sufferings, our friendships, our speech, our very recreation must be drawn upward into the service of God. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom should I fear?”

“Be Prudent and Watchful in Prayers”

St. Peter begins today with a warning: “Be prudent and watchful in prayers.” He writes as a man who knows that the end of all things is near, not necessarily near by our calendars, but always near to the soul that may be called tonight before the Judgment Seat.

Prayer is the breathing of the soul. A man who does not pray is already beginning to die inwardly, though he may still speak, work, laugh, and prosper. A family that does not pray is leaving its windows open at night while the enemy prowls outside.

But St. Peter does not say only, “Pray.” He says be prudent and watchful. That is, pray like men who know their weakness, like soldiers on guard, like servants whose Master may return at any hour. Pray against the sins that most commonly conquer you. Pray against your temper. Pray against impurity. Pray against human respect. Pray against discouragement. Pray against that subtle pride which allows a man to confess every doctrine of the Faith while refusing to bend his own will before God.

Pope Leo XIII, writing on the Holy Ghost in Divinum Illud Munus, taught that each one of us greatly needs His protection and help, and that the more a man is weak, troubled, prone to sin, or lacking in wisdom, the more he must fly to the Holy Ghost, “the never-ceasing fount of light, strength, consolation, and holiness.”

Charity Covers a Multitude of Sins

Then comes the command that cuts through so much false piety: “Above all things have a constant mutual charity among yourselves: for charity covers a multitude of sins.”

Mark this well. St. Peter does not places charity above all things. 

Charity is not sentimental weakness or cowardice before evil. Charity is the love of God poured into the heart and then turned toward the neighbor for God’s sake. Charity tells the truth, corrects, suffers, forgives. Charity refuses to make a throne for one’s own injured pride.

Haydock’s old Catholic commentary explains that charity covers a multitude of sins both because it is a great means of atoning for them and because a charitable mind excuses many faults in others.

This is desperately practical. In every parish, every family, every workplace, every circle of Catholics, there are little resentments cherished like relics. There are cold silences nursed for years. There are suspicions, jealousies, old injuries, and remembered slights. And then the same souls kneel and ask for the Holy Ghost.

But the Holy Ghost is the Spirit of charity. He is not drawn to the soul that keeps a private chapel for bitterness. If you wish to prepare for Pentecost, forgive. Make peace. Stop repeating what does not need to be repeated. Cover what charity permits you to cover. Correct only what duty requires you to correct. Speak as one who will answer for every idle word.

The Stewardship of Grace

St. Peter continues: “According to the gift that each has received, minister it to one another as good stewards of the manifold grace of God.”

No Catholic is useless or excused from service. The mother with children, the father at his workbench or desk, the student, the elderly widow, the priest, the religious, the sick man in bed, the child learning his catechism — each has received something. Each must return it to God with interest.

Some are given speech. Then let them speak “as with words of God.” That means no lying, no flattery, no impurity, no useless cruelty, no cowardly silence when duty requires testimony.

Some are given strength. Then let them minister “from the strength that God furnishes.” That means no vanity. No self-advertisement. No pretending that what grace supplied was manufactured by our own greatness.

The Christian does not own his gifts. He holds them in trust. Your intelligence is not yours. Your influence is not yours. Your money is not yours. Your time is not yours. Your children are not yours absolutely. Your body is not yours for sin. All has been received. All must be rendered back.

“You Also Will Bear Witness”

In the Gospel, Our Lord says: “When the Advocate has come… He will bear witness concerning Me. And you also will bear witness.”

This is the order. First the Holy Ghost bears witness. Then the Apostles bear witness. The Church is not built on human enthusiasm. She is not a debating society, a moral improvement club, or a gathering of men who admire Christ as a noble teacher. She is animated by the Spirit of Truth.

Pius XII taught in Mystici Corporis that the Church first showed herself before men on Pentecost, when Christ sent the Holy Ghost as Paraclete upon His disciples. He also repeated the great teaching that as Christ is Head of the Church, the Holy Ghost is her soul.

Therefore, if you would bear witness, you must first receive. Do not try to speak for Christ while living apart from Christ or try to defend the Faith while neglecting confession, prayer, Mass, and the duties of your state. The tongue may speak Catholic words while the life gives pagan testimony.

The witness Our Lord asks is not mere talk. It is fidelity under pressure, patience in crosses, modesty when others mock purity, reverence when others grow casual, and doctrine without embarrassment. It is the Sign of the Cross made without shame, the father who leads his family in prayer, the mother who forms souls for heaven, the young man who refuses impurity and the young woman who refuses vanity. It is the worker who refuses dishonesty and the Catholic who would rather lose comfort than lose grace.

The Warning Against Scandal

Then Our Lord gives the severe mercy of warning: “These things I have spoken to you that you may not be scandalized.”

A scandal is not merely something shocking. In the Gospel sense, scandal is a stumbling block, something that causes a soul to fall. Our Lord warns His Apostles because He knows what persecution, betrayal, false religion, and violence can do to men who expected an easy triumph.

St. Thomas Aquinas, in the Catena Aurea, preserves St. Augustine’s explanation: after promising the Holy Ghost, Christ warns them of sufferings so that they will not be offended. The love of God, poured into the heart by the Holy Ghost, gives great peace to those who love God’s law.

This is a lesson many Catholics never learn. They think peace means the absence of conflict. Christ teaches the opposite. Peace is not the guarantee that enemies will disappear. Peace is the grace not to be overthrown when enemies come.

Our Lord does not say, “You will be admired by all men.” He says, “They will expel you from the synagogues.” He does not say, “The world will understand your motives.” He says, “The hour is coming for everyone who kills you to think he is offering worship to God.”

False zeal is one of the most frightening things in religion. Men may persecute truth while imagining themselves defenders of God. Men may destroy the servants of Christ while thinking they are purifying the temple. St. Augustine, again through the Catena Aurea, says Our Lord told them beforehand because trials, when they come upon men unprepared, are overwhelming.

The Catholic Must Not Be an Orphan

The Alleluia gives us Our Lord’s promise: “I will not leave you orphans; I go away and I come to you, and your heart shall rejoice.”

There is the whole mystery of this Sunday. He goes, and He comes. He is hidden, and He is present. He ascends, and He sends. The world sees absence. Faith knows presence.

The orphan spirit is one of the great temptations of Christians. It whispers: You are alone. God has forgotten you. The Church is too weak. The wicked are too strong. Your prayers vanish into the air. Your sins are too many. Your crosses are wasted. Your little fidelity is unseen.

Reject that voice. It is not the voice of the Paraclete.

The Holy Ghost is called Paraclete because He consoles, strengthens, pleads, and stands beside the soul. Goffine says He made the Apostles eloquent and courageous, so that they professed and preached Christ intrepidly, confirming His doctrine by miracles and sealing it by their blood.

The same Holy Ghost must make us courageous. Perhaps not for martyrdom by sword. Perhaps for the quieter martyrdom of perseverance: a long fidelity, a hidden sacrifice, an illness borne without rebellion, a temptation resisted again and again, a duty performed without applause.

How to Spend This Week Before Pentecost

The Church give us this Sunday for preparation.

Goffine gives the old Catholic program. Withdraw somewhat from noise. Speak less. Pray more earnestly. Purify the conscience by contrite confession. Be reconciled with your neighbor. Give alms according to your means. Desire fervently to receive the Holy Ghost.

Make a good confession if you need one. End a quarrel. Stop an occasion of sin. Put away a bad book, a bad habit, a bad companionship, a bad curiosity. Pray the Veni Creator Spiritus or the Come, Holy Ghost each day. Ask for the seven gifts. Ask especially for fortitude, because weak Catholics do not become saints. Ask for fear of the Lord, because casual Catholics do not become saints either. Ask for wisdom, because cleverness without holiness merely gives sin a better vocabulary.

Pope Leo XIII commanded the annual Novena before Pentecost throughout the Catholic Church and attached indulgences to it, urging the faithful to invoke the Holy Ghost with special devotion in these days.

The Eucharistic Secret of St. Paschal

Today, although the Sunday takes precedence, the calendar also remembers St. Paschal Baylon, the humble Franciscan lay brother whose feast falls on May 17. Pope Leo XIII declared him the heavenly patron of Eucharistic Congresses and Associations, and Catholic tradition remembers him as a saint of burning devotion to the Blessed Sacrament.

That is no accident of piety. The soul waiting for the Holy Ghost must remain near the tabernacle. The Apostles waited in the Cenacle. We wait before the altar. Our Lord has ascended into heaven, but He has not ceased to dwell among us under the Eucharistic veils.

The Host is the answer to the orphan spirit. The tabernacle is the quiet contradiction of despair. The Mass is the sacrifice of Calvary made present until the end of time. Here is Christ hidden, Christ offered, Christ received, Christ adored.

If you want Pentecost, do not neglect the Eucharist. If you want courage, receive worthily. If you want purity, adore. If you want charity, kneel before the Sacred Host and ask the Heart of Jesus to burn away the coldness of your own.

“That in All Things God May Be Honored”

St. Peter ends the Epistle with the purpose of everything: “that in all things God may be honored through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

That God may be honored.

That is the end of the Ascension. That is the end of Pentecost. That is the end of the Church, the Mass, the sacraments, the priesthood, the family, the Christian life, and every breath in your body.

So lift up your hearts. Seek His face. Do not be scandalized. Do not live as orphans. Pray with vigilance. Love with constancy. Serve as stewards. Witness without shame. Wait for the Holy Ghost with the Blessed Virgin in the Cenacle of the Church.

And when the world grows loud, when false zeal rises, when charity cools, when the face of Christ seems hidden, answer with the Introit of today’s Mass:

“Thy face, O Lord, I seek. Hide not Thy face from me.”

Come, Holy Ghost. Fill the hearts of Thy faithful. Kindle in them the fire of Thy love. Amen.

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Francis, one year on: the hacks’ tears and the weight of a fractured legacy

 Silere non Possum

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A year has passed since the morning of 21 April 2025, when Cardinal Farrell announced to the world the death of Pope Francis. Twelve years had passed since that balcony on a rainy March afternoon, since the “buonasera” that went round the world, since the request for a blessing turned on its head, the people blessing the Pope before the Pope blessed the people. Twelve years which the official hagiography, already in full and predictable bloom, is now turning into epic.

The task of Catholic journalism, however, is not to write the lives of saints before their time. It is to look the Church in the face as she is, to listen to her laboured breathing, to register her wounds. And it is precisely in the name of that task - to which Silere non possum has remained faithful in years when keeping silent was by far more convenient than speaking - that, one year after the Holy Father Francis returned to the Father’s house, it is necessary to state clearly what rhetoric leaves unsaid: that pontificate polarised the Church as few others in recent history have done, it produced a fracture which the pontificate of Leo XIV is now trying, with Augustinian patience, to mend, and above all - this is the heart of the matter - it offered the world an image of itself that did not always correspond to the substance.

The manufacture of gestures

In The Leopard, by Tomasi di Lampedusa, there is a line that has become a commonplace without ever being exhausted: if everything is to stay as it is, everything must change. No formula better describes the twelve years of Francis. The Pontiff who wanted “a poor Church for the poor” lived in Santa Marta rather than in the Apostolic Palace: a choice presented as a sign of humility, yet within a few years it had become the instrument of a personal and opaque form of government, removed from the institutional filters which the Curia, for better or worse, had guaranteed for centuries. The door of Santa Marta opened to whom the Pope wished, and closed to whom he did not wish: not the promised transparency, but a new - and less controllable - form of court. Not to mention the cost.

Evangelii gaudium called for a Church that was “bruised, hurting and dirty because it has been out on the streets”. Yet in the twelve years that followed, it was above all priests, religious and bishops who found themselves bruised and dirty: not because they had been walking, but because they had been overwhelmed by a canon law turned  - as Silere non possum has documented meticulously over these years - into a punitive instrument, altered through repeated motu proprio which layered up a vexatious, complicated and often contradictory legal order. There were those, in the lecture halls of the pontifical universities, who recalled an old maxim: those who truly know a subject can explain it simply; those who complicate it betray that they do not know it. Not to mention Vatican law. The four secret rescripts signed between 2019 and 2020 - those which brought to light the existence of a special judicial regime inside Vatican City State - remain the symbol of a season in which the principle of legality was bent to the will of the monarch. And the media system, which on this day celebrates its own god, had closed ranks in exchange for a few favours. The Pope acted like a despot of the sort journalists denounce in eastern republics, but in the Vatican they had become more papal than the Pope.

Hypocrisy as a system

Here it is necessary to pronounce the word that so irritates the “professionals of disinformation”: hypocrisy. Bernanos, in The Diary of a Country Priest, observed that injustice done in the name of the Church wounds twice over: the victim, and the faith of the one who witnesses it. Under the pontificate of Francis, the distance between the official discourse and actual practice at times became abyssal.

Mercy was preached, and priests were suspended a divinis even before the substance of the accusations had been verified, simply in order to feed the media with a guilty party to exhibit. Synodality was celebrated, and those who dared to raise legitimate questions about incomprehensible texts such as In Ecclesiarum Communione were dispatched with a one-way ticket. Poverty was preached, and enormous sums were spent on the whims of the new image: wardrobes redone in order to appear more humble, the abandonment of the Apostolic Palace in favour of a Santa Marta refurbished to measure, the Palace of Castel Gandolfo abandoned and then reopened as a museum attraction; and all the while the Dicastery for Communication was allowed to turn the face of the Pontiff into merchandise. The welcome of those who had gone astray and were “far away” was celebrated, and yet those who were “near” were dealt with mercilessly through commissariamenti and suspensions that bore the marks of a harshness that had nothing paternal about it. Clericalism was thundered against, and personal friends such as Marko Ivan Rupnik were protected, while the alleged victims waited for justice. There was talk of “opening up to women”, and behind closed doors it was said that “gossip is women’s stuff”, only then to stigmatise - with a lexical choice that speaks for itself - the “frociaggine” in seminaries. A veritable worm at the heart of Jorge Mario Bergoglio.

When Manzoni, in chapter twenty-two of The Betrothed, sketches the figure of Federigo Borromeo, he devotes memorable pages to the distinction between charity that seeks the gaze of men and charity that hides itself away. In the twelve years of the pontificate of Jorge Mario Bergoglio, there was plenty of noise. The real good, the silent good of frontier parish priests, of cloistered monasteries, of bishops who did not seek out microphones, that good was often left alone, and at times punished.

The liturgy as a battlefield

With Traditionis custodes, in 2021, the Jesuit Pope who had promised not to leave anyone behind wrote a letter that left a great many behind: those faithful who found in Holy Mass celebrated according to the Vetus Ordo not a reactionary nostalgia but a way into the mystery. The gesture, justified as a defence of unity, produced the opposite: divided dioceses, embarrassed bishops, scattered communities, boys and girls pushed - these really were - towards extreme positions from which authentic pastoral care ought to have kept them away. The present writer recalls the page in Newman, in Apologia pro vita sua, in which the English writer confesses that faith takes root when intellect and affection find their home together. One may debate the Vetus Ordo endlessly; one cannot pretend that thousands of faithful did not feel, in that season, not accompanied but expelled.

More: https://x.com/silerenonpossum/status/2046509977611723167?s=46&t=IydJ-X8H6c0NM044nYKQ0w