The Mercy of Akita

Our Lady of the Rosary Library is an amazing resource for Catholic tracts. Their pamphlets discuss things that have been severely neglected since the Second Vatican Council. With my pastor’s permission, I recently started distributing three of these at my parish. I did so hoping that the family rosary would be fervently taken up, and to encourage more people to set aside an hour for Eucharistic Adoration. One tract deals with Our Lady of Akita. At the parish picnic, a friend struck up a brief discussion with me about this one. He acknowledged that Akita has been approved, endorsed by Benedict XVI prior to his election. “But fire from heaven? That just doesn’t sound very God-like.”

Never adept at off-the-cuff debate, I was a bit relieved when the topic turned to the taboulleh my family had brought. I’ve mulled that statement over since then, however. It points to a disconcerting train of thought among even devout Catholics. One of my priest friends—tongue in cheek—put it best: in Old Testament times, God was very angry and prone to punish. With the New Testament, He apparently went through anger management therapy, and is doing much better.

As flippant as that statement sounds, a huge number of Christians seem to believe it. I could almost pay off my student loans in a single lump sum payment, if given a dollar for every variant of, “Oh, I don’t believe in an angry God. My God is a merciful God, who loves everyone.” True, God is love. He is merciful. We see His mercy in Ezekiel 33:11: “As I live, saith the Lord God, I desire not the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way, and live. Turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways: and why will you die, O house of Israel?”¹ (This from the God with an anger management problem.) His mercy is lauded in the Psalms. Our Lord’s intervention with the woman caught in adultery, or His kindness to the Samaritan woman at the well are other examples. Let’s also not forget the writings of St. Faustina! Experiential knowledge likewise proves God’s mercy. We have all sinned; we will all need the Sacrament of Confession many times while we live.

So yes, God is merciful. He has loved every human being since the Creation, enough to become one of us and die an excruciating death to pay the price of sin. Here we come to a fact about God that many today do not like to see: God is just. Justice and mercy are intertwined in a very intricate way. His justice gave us the Law in ancient days. In mercy, He also spelled out the consequences of disobedience (namely, damnation.) His justice and mercy are closely meshed in giving us Purgatory, in order to complete the reparation we do not or cannot complete in this life. Neither law nor consequences have gone away. Culturally, we just ignore them. The four crimes that cry to heaven for vengeance are all committed, more or less in full public view, and few are the voices raised against them (murder being the only exception.) They infest our entertainment, economy, education and politics. But sin has a price. Justice demands that payment be made.

God has fixed in His mind the length of time He will allow every person and culture on earth to turn from sin and follow Him.² In 1973, at a convent in Akita, Japan, God mercifully allowed Our Lady to tell us that our time is drawing near. (I won’t rehash the entire story here, but refer those who are not familiar with Our Lady of Akita to the link above.) She spelled out in detail the punishment we will incur, if mankind fails to repent:

“[I]f men do not repent and better themselves, the Father will inflict a terrible punishment on all humanity. It will be a punishment greater than the deluge, such as one will never have seen before. Fire will fall from the sky and will wipe out a great part of humanity, the good as well as the bad, sparing neither priests nor faithful. The survivors will find themselves so desolate that they will envy the dead.”

Remember, this was in 1973. I personally think it no coincidence. Akita occurred in the same year that abortion became formally legal in the United States. Since then, we have not collectively bettered ourselves. In some ways, we’ve become even worse. This raises unsettling questions.

Is it just, loving, and merciful to continue to permit evil to be done with apparent impunity? How loving is it that those who are less developed in holiness see the vilest sins brazenly committed in broad daylight, with no action taken by the Lawgiver? Are we to assume that He who rained fire upon Sodom and Gomorrah when their wickedness was ripe will not deal likewise with a world that openly celebrates its contempt for all Ten Commandments? Is He who smote Egypt for Israel’s sake no longer omnipotent? Has mercy made God an effeminate weakling? Is the Ancient of Days so old that He no longer dispenses the wages of sin?

Our Lady’s message at Akita is a very sobering and resounding “No.” But because of the foul excesses of that bloodiest of centuries, the 20th, we have allowed ourselves to believe that God is no longer just. We’ve allowed ourselves to believe in mercy without prudence and that punishment is for the past and the Parousia. I suspect that’s why, in 1973, God allowed Our Lady to speak through her humble wooden likeness. She spoke to warn us that she will not be able to restrain the Father’s arm of justice for very much longer. She spoke to say that if we continue to offend God, there will be only one loving, merciful and just option for Him—to cleanse the earth with fire.

Would this break the oath He swore to the Patriarch Noah? If you’ve carefully read that part of Genesis, you know that God’s oath was to never again destroy all life with a flood. As the mark of original sin is removed once in a lifetime using holy water, so sin will be removed from the earth by water only once. God placed no such limits on fire, famine or pestilence.

At Quito, the Blessed Mother foretold our times. At La Salette and Fatima, she issued dire warnings and commanded penance. (Indeed, admonitions to pray and do penance have been central to the message of every Marian apparition for the past several centuries.) At Akita, she gave us her sternest warning. She spelled out the details of our collective sentence, and how it can be avoided. Akita is our final plea bargain offer. God has allowed Our Lady to give many warnings in the past 500 years. Can we really say that He is not being merciful when He finally visits just punishment upon us?

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1 Douay-Rheims Translation. (2009, St. Benedict's Press)^↩

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2 My readers should ask where I am getting this. My source is the chief exorcist for the Diocese of Tulsa, Fr. Chad Ripperger, via his website, Sensus Traditionis. He has made available many conferences, sermons and homilies which he gave when he was a parish priest with the FSSP. I think so highly of this site that I have provided a link in “My Watering Hole”. I cannot recommend it enough! ^↩

Sede Vacante.

The blogosphere has been all a-twitter (n.p.i.) since 2/11. Until now, I have kept my thoughts close. How could I adequately express how the abdication of the Pope--my Pope, Benedict XVI--knocked the wind from my lungs? What could this mean? Why now?

Ironically, I was asking those same questions on April 19, 2005.

Back then, I was only just rediscovering what it means to be Catholic. I was a left-of-center Cafeteria Catholic who couldn't understand why God had chosen the dreaded "Rottweiller" to be His vicar. Wasn't the Church evolving? Becoming more inclusive? Surely this was a mistake--perhaps a recount was in order...? Little did I know how much this papacy would change the face of Holy Mother Church, and my own life.

I became a Catholic in 1991. My conversion was largely aesthetic: I was in love with the institution I saw on T.V. and in the movies. All that arcane ritual, incense, Latin and chant in majestic stone cathedrals lit by massive stained glass windows. Mozart's Requiem. Vestiges of a noble medieval past. I didn't care much for the doctrine; but that distasteful stuff was changing, right?

I was acutely disappointed to discover that those changes had also eliminated everything I loved. The new way of doing things didn't really move me the way "Cathollywood" did. I still chose to be baptized, but it wasn't long before I lost interest and wandered off. (I wasn't really that fond of hippie music.)

For six long years, I tried different things on for size, then lost belief in everything. I grew severely angry, depressed, nihilistic and bitter.

Flash forward to 1996. A few events had happened that shook my worldview significantly (I won't bore you with the personal details.) Nostalgic and a bit lost, I wandered into the chapel of the local Newman Center. I sat there for a good long while, staring at the altar and wishing I could come home. I'm not sure what moved me to talk with the pastor, but I did. He radiated peace, joy and wisdom. He was also a dreadful Neo-Modernist; but at that time I was ignorant. I didn't even know that term existed (truth be known, I wouldn't have cared if I had.) One talk led to another and I was soon singing with the choir every Saturday.

Then I rather abruptly met and married a Wiccan, outside the Church. I quit going again. Four years and one kid later, we were in divorce court. Broken, I moved back home to reassemble the pieces. For the sake of my kid, I went back to church. An acquaintance went to St. James the Just, so I started attending there, despite the infamous Father Erik J. Richsteig. (Had I heard the bells of fate ringing, I probably would have run in the opposite direction.) By then, I was used to the Novus Ordo. I even had my favorite hippie songs. I was singing in the choir again. My attitude hadn't really changed much, but it was changing. Slowly. The biggest catalyst for change were two dreadful words thundering out on April 19, 2005:

"Habemus papam."

The man I dreaded more than Jesse Helms was now the Holy Father. What to do? I chose to let it rest in God's hands. Over the course of a year, I discovered that everything I "knew" was wrong. My daughter made her first Communion. My ex-wife became a Catholic.

Then came Summorum Pontificum. Right about that time, I discovered that my ex-wife had fled to the SSPX in desperation, thanks to recurring issues in our lukewarm diocese. Like any good father, I began looking closely at this disturbing new influence in my daughter's life. In the process, I discovered the FSSP and an entire trove of Traddies in full communion with Rome. I was elated. I bought a 1962 Roman Catholic Daily Missal from Catholic Caravans when they came to visit our parish. Immediately afterwards I half-jokingly approached Fr. Richsteig to have it blessed, holding it aloft:

"Hey, Father! Are you going to give us a chance to use these?"

He gave me a look, made the Sign of the Cross over my new purchase, and slowly replied "HmmMay-be."

About a year later, he did (despite passive-aggressive resistance.) Every Wednesday and the first Sunday of every month. I became a regular attendee; soon I was learning to serve. The graces that come with service at the altar have changed my soul and my outlook forever. I joined the Confraternity of St. Peter, embraced the rich patrimony of the Extraordinary Form.

I had grown to love "our German Shepherd." My dismay was now joy. The Church I had wanted to join was here again (albeit diminished, in absolute ruins on our local level.) Pope Benedict XVI was to thank for it.

I also rejoiced when the Pope introduced changes to the English translation of the Novus Ordo Missae. By that time my doctrinal understanding had evolved into something unrecognizable from the shallow aestheticism that led to my baptism, the sappy & sentimental need to belong that had formed my "reversion" (both times.) Still a far cry from the depth and splendor of the Usus Antiquior which has become my preferred mode of worship, I see a glimmer of hope for the future of the Ordinary Form which was not there when His Holiness Benedict XVI became Pope. His papacy has formed my future, and that of my family.

On February 11, 2013 His Holiness knocked the wind out of me again.

I got a text from my fiancee. Our beloved Holy Father was resigning. I was stunned. Had the circling wolves at last devoured my dear shepherd? Anxiously I watched the news, hoping to make some sense of this jarring development.

Thanks to this insightful post by Dr. John C. Rao, I have some perspective and equilibrium again. I will pray for the coming Conclave. May God send us the Pope we need at this crucial time.

Veni, Creator Spiritus.

ANOTHER Conversion Story?

It seems like everyone wants to bullhorn their thoughts, opinions, and personal lives into the ether for all to see. The desire to be noticed, loved, seen as an important expert...these tend to override both shame and good common sense. My last blog (now defunct) was no exception. It had become nothing more than a vehicle for my own narcissism. So I killed it.

Now I'm back. I was going to bore all three of my readers (only a one of whom actually intended to end up here, the others having arrived purely by accident) with the prosaically eloquent (secret code for "long-winded and pretentious") tale of how and why I came to Tradition. Sufficient prayer and reflection made me think better of it. Why trade one narcissistic blog for another? It seems better to post a link to one of the prayers that has become the cornerstone of my spiritual life:

The Litany of Humility

And while we're somewhere near the topic, please consider taking up the cause for the beatification of its author.