EVASION: THE NEW COMMANDMENT OF THE YOUTH

“Be free, don’t tie yourself down.”

That is the catechism the modern world endlessly repeats to young people. It has convinced them that promise is a chain, that commitment is a prison, that sacrifice is madness. The entire culture has become a school for fugitives: no one must ever say “forever,” no one must embrace the cross of fidelity, no one must remain.

And yet, the paradox bursts forth in every heart: if everything is so free, why does everything feel so empty? If there are thousands of “contacts,” why is no one truly known? If love is so liquid, why does loneliness echo so loudly?

The new commandment of evasion does not liberate—it enslaves. The young person who flees every commitment does not conquer freedom, but condemns himself to the perpetual anxiety of never having a home. A ship without a harbor does not sail farther: it is lost. A heart that never binds itself does not soar higher: it bleeds out in the air.

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I. THE EMPTINESS AS PROOF

No theory is needed to confirm it: just look. The generation that boasts most of its options is the one least able to choose. The one that proclaims freedom the loudest is the most enslaved to anxiety. The one that talks the most about connections is the loneliest.

The emptiness is no coincidence: it is evidence. The human heart was not made to jump from one experience to another, but to remain in love. When that permanence is denied, one falls into nothingness.

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II. THE DISORDER OF THE END

St. Thomas teaches clearly: every being acts toward an end, and man’s ultimate end is beatitude—that is, God. But the evader has twisted the scale: he has placed his happiness in what is fleeting. He seeks fulfillment in pleasure, in comfort, in immediate gratification.

It is not that he loves evil, but that he seeks the good where it is not. And thus his life becomes constant frustration: because he tries to drink water in the desert. Evasion is, metaphysically, the absurd attempt to find happiness in nothingness.

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III. THE VICE THAT ATROPHIES THE WILL

Evasion is not an accident: it is a vice. And vice, as the Angelic Doctor would say, is not merely a bad habit but a corruption of nature. Virtue perfects the will; vice mutilates it.

The culture of escape has bred young people whose wills have atrophied. It is not that they do not want to commit: it is that they no longer can. Their will, tamed by flight, has become incapable of a definitive “yes.” Thus, the evader is not a rebellious hero, but a weak slave, unable to embrace his own vocation.

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IV. LOVE REDUCED TO INSTINCT

Love, in its fullest sense, is an act of rational will. Animals move by instinct; man, by reason and choice. But in the culture of evasion, love has been reduced to feeling, to appetite, to passing chemistry.

That is why bonds are so fragile: because they depend on emotions that change with mood. “Love without metaphysics” is not love: it is appetite disguised. And appetite does not build homes, does not sustain marriages, does not give children.

The other is no longer an end, but a means. No longer a soul created in the image of God, but an object for consumption. That is why modern relationships look so much like store windows: one chooses, one uses, one changes, one discards.

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V. SOCIETY AS A SCHOOL OF EVADERS

The young person did not invent this flight: he was trained in it. The weakened family did not teach sacrifice; the school suppressed rigor; the contemporary Church preferred silence to truth; the market turned the neighbor into a product; technology fabricated a virtual world where everything is reversible, ephemeral, disposable.

Never have there been so many “friends,” and never so little friendship. Never so many couples, and never so little love. Never so many freedoms, and never so much fear. Evasion is the unwritten commandment of a system that needs men without roots, without permanence, without home.

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VI. THE SIN OF EVASION

Evasion is not neutral: it is sin. It is the denial of sacrifice, and therefore the denial of love. It is the vital heresy of a generation that rejects the cross. But without the cross there is no love, and without love there is no life.

The Gospel said it centuries ago: “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” Evasion whispers the opposite: “There is no greater mistake than to lay down your life for anyone.” A culture that lives this way has already condemned itself to sterility.

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VII. GRACE AS REMEDY

Here St. Thomas is blunt: wounded nature cannot rise on its own. The will sickened by original sin has no strength to pronounce a definitive “yes.”

Grace is not an ornament: it is the only medicine. Confession, the Eucharist, prayer—these are not accessory rites, but the very places where man receives the strength to promise and to remain. The “yes forever” of marriage, of religious vocation, or of faithful friendship is not a human feat but a miracle of Grace.

Without God, every commitment ends in flight. With God, even the impossible—perpetual fidelity—becomes a path of holiness.

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VIII. THE BEAUTY OF PERMANENCE

It is not enough to speak of truth and goodness. Beauty too unmasks evasion. Because evasion is ugly. A life made of flights is like a broken painting, like a symphony interrupted at every bar: it lacks form, integrity, harmony.

Commitment, on the other hand, is beautiful. The fidelity of a long marriage is more splendid than any showcase of fleeting pleasures. A vocation sustained over time has the majesty of a cathedral standing tall. A friendship that endures years and trials is more melodious than any passing song.

Evasion promises youth but delivers ugliness. Sacrifice seems harsh, but shines with splendor. Tradition knew it: the Cross, terrifying to the carnal eye, is the highest beauty of love, for in it is revealed the perfect order of self-giving.

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IX. BEING AND PERMANENCE

Modernity has divinized change, the ephemeral, the reversible. But St. Thomas teaches that being itself is permanence, that mutability is accidental, and that human fidelity participates in the very being of God, who is eternal and unchanging.

The evader does not know it, but when he flees every commitment, he renounces not only love but being itself. He dissolves into nothingness, because nothingness is the only thing that does not remain. The man who promises and fulfills, on the other hand, partakes in the stability of God himself.

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CONCLUSION: FROM “MAYBE” TO “YES”

The modern commandment of evasion has turned the world into a graveyard of broken promises. It has produced empty homes, fragile friendships, weary souls.

But the heart knows what ideology denies: that only the one who promises and remains is happy. Evasion leaves ruins; commitment raises cathedrals. Flight produces ugliness; fidelity engenders beauty. Caprice is smoke; promise is rock.

The young person has before him two paths: to keep worshiping the idol of the ephemeral and end up lost in nothingness, or to dare to say a definitive “yes” and discover therein the only true freedom.

For only the one who gives himself without fleeing lives; only the one who remains loves; and only the one who loves already participates, here and now, in eternity.

Oscar Méndez O.

THE RIGHT TO KILL: BETWEEN THE CANNULA, THE HANDKERCHIEF, AND THE DECLARATION OF HUMAN RIGHTS

I. HELL, EUPHEMISMS, AND THE PROFANE LITURGY OF THE SELF

Abortion is a crime. There is no possible mitigating factor, no context that dignifies it, no rhetoric that softens it. It is, in itself, an act of absolute injustice: the deliberate destruction of the most innocent, the most defenseless, the most irreplaceable. Its malice needs no adjectives to be monstrous. The fact is enough.

But as if death were not enough, modern culture has added mockery. Today, children are killed not only in the shadows, but under the spotlight; not with tears, but with applause; not in secret, but as a spectacle. What was once hidden as a sin is today celebrated as a right.  And this is not just an added aberration: it is a consecration of crime, a profane liturgy of the self, a godless religion whose dogma is absolute autonomy and whose altar is the desecrated womb.

Every time an innocent person is sacrificed in the name of "reproductive freedom," a systematic denial of the natural order, a subversion of law, and a blasphemy against divine law are perpetrated. What they call "voluntary termination of pregnancy" is not merely the extirpation of a child: it is the solemn affirmation that the self has become god, that good and evil can be defined by decree, that killing can be an act of justice.

II. THE INVERSION OF LANGUAGE: FROM CRIME TO LAW

The spiritual war of our time is waged in the realm of language. It is not enough to commit evil: it must be rebranded.  Thus, abortion becomes not only a “right,” but a “conquest,” an “act of love,” a “form of social justice.” Every word has been carefully twisted so that hell is spoken in tones of sweetness.

But the Angelic Doctor teaches that veritas est adaequatio rei et intellectus—truth is the conformity between the thing and the intellect. When language is dissociated from reality, it is also dissociated from truth. Calling murder “intervention” does not make it any less homicide; proclaiming it “progress” does not make it any less sinful. This is the language of the father of lies, who promised freedom in Paradise and delivered death.

III. LEGALITY AS A MASK OF INJUSTICE: THE STATE AS PRIEST OF THE NEW RELIGION

Human law, when it deviates from eternal and natural law, ceases to be law and becomes a corruption of it.  The modern State, once instituted to safeguard justice, has embraced legal apostasy: it not only tolerates abortion, it promotes it; it not only permits it, it finances it; it not only decriminalizes it, it turns it into a symbol of civilization.

Thus, the legal apparatus becomes an instrument of death. And, as the traditional Magisterium taught, lex iniusta non est lex—an unjust law does not oblige, but oppresses. The legal order that protects death and persecutes life has reversed its purpose: it no longer protects the innocent, but rather the executioner.

IV. THE WOMAN'S BODY AS AN IDEOLOGICAL BATTLEFIELD

Modern feminism has replaced the dogma of love with the dogma of revenge. The maternal womb, which was supposed to be a sanctuary, has become a trench; motherhood, which was supposed to be a gift, has become slavery; life, which was supposed to be welcomed, has become the enemy.  The female body has been recruited as a battlefield by an ideology that does not seek to elevate women, but to strip them of their essence.

Women are not liberated when they reject life; they are disfigured. The devil does not hate women's freedom: he hates their capacity to give life. Therefore, abortion is not only an act against the child: it is a rebellion against motherhood itself. It is the Luciferian cry: non serviam.

V. THE VOICELESS VICTIM: THE UNBORN AND THE OMISSION OF THE JUST

The unborn child is the most perfect icon of the innocent Christ: it has no power, no voice, no defense. And yet, its death is celebrated as if it were a victory. Modern culture not only condones crime: it proclaims it as a virtue.

And where are the just? Where are the parents, the teachers, the legislators, the doctors, the clergy? Where are those who should have raised their voices in defense of the least of these? They remain silent.  Because speaking out would cost them prestige, security, or comfort. Yet history, in its ebb and flow, sometimes shows glimpses of heroism: amidst moral decay, there are still those who, with a simple guideline or "blank" of intentions, dare to defend the life of the unborn, bearing witness that political prudence, when upright, can be a bulwark against tyranny.

But silence in the face of injustice is complicity with evil. It is better to die with the Truth than to live with a lie.

VI. NATURE'S REVENGE: SPIRITUAL SCARS

Abortion does not end when the child's heartbeat ceases. The mother's soul—created to love, not to destroy—is scarred. Although ideology claims to have "made a free choice," nature cries out. Empty wombs cry. Cribs never purchased cry out. Nightmares do not cease. Guilt is not erased with pills.

Not only is a body destroyed: a spirit is wounded. Not only is a life extinguished: a conscience is fractured. Not only is the child suppressed: motherhood is obscured.

VII. THE CATHOLIC RESPONSE: LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

Political arguments are not enough. Medical statistics are not enough. Awareness campaigns are not enough. Against this vital heresy, there is only one sufficient response: the full Gospel, natural law proclaimed clearly, Catholic doctrine lived faithfully.

It is necessary for the eternal truth to shine again: that life is sacred, that a child is not an enemy, that motherhood is a gift, that crime can never be a right. The answer will not come from enlightened elites or international NGOs: it will come from humble souls who have kept the faith, from courageous lay people, from faithful confessors, from the apostles of the Sacred Heart, who still dare to call sin sin and grace grace.

EPILOGUE: JUDGMENT DAY AND THE SENTENCE THAT MATTERS

The day will come when the innocent will look down on us from eternity. They will not ask what laws were passed, what marches we organized, what editorials we signed. They will ask something simpler and more terrible: "Where were you when they were killing us?"

And if our silence was complicit, if our lukewarmness was a disguise for prudence, if our inaction was more convenient than our fidelity... then we will be unable to respond.

History will judge abortion as it judges slavery today. But beyond history, the Just Judge will call for an account. And then, only those who have defended life with words, prayer, and sacrifice will be found worthy.

Oscar Méndez O.

TIME IS NOT OURS

As soon as we open our eyes in this life, time has already overtaken us.

It wakes us up without permission, drags us without pause, educates us with blows, and dismisses us without farewell.

No one chooses it. No one can stop it. No one ever sees the same time twice.

And yet, we treat it as if it were ours. As if it were a resource, a calendar, a number to be accumulated or managed, but not a mystery to be received.

And so, by dint of measuring it, dividing it, chasing it, we have forgotten that time does not belong to us.

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There are those who believe that time is the neutral framework of life. Others imagine it as an invisible god who rules all things without a face.

But the truth is much simpler, and more solemn: time is a creature.

As real as the sun, as fragile as the soul, as obedient as a servant awaiting orders from the Eternal.

It did not arise out of necessity. It is not self-sufficient. It has no end in itself.

It was created by God, not for man to dwell on, but to transform it into eternity.

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The human soul was made for eternity, but it can only choose within time.

And that is why time is not an empty succession, but the space of drama.

The drama of freedom, of sin, of grace, of forgiveness, of glory or perdition.

Every second is a battlefield.

Every moment can be an altar or an abyss.

Every day can incline the soul toward Heaven or toward judgment.

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But here is the secret that cannot be taught in academies: time is not understood with concepts, but with worship.

It is not mastered with clocks, but with knees.

It is not won by doing more things, but by uniting everything to God.

Therefore, he who multiplies his agenda but does not love wastes his time.

And he who appears ineffective in the eyes of the world, but unites his day to the Cross, is saving hours for eternity.

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The eternal Word, by becoming incarnate, entered into time.

God, who does not need minutes, agreed to live each one, so that not one of our minutes would be left out of his Redemption.

And thus, time was sanctified.

Not because its substance changed, but because it was assumed by the Word and transfigured among men.

From then on, every moment can be united to the Mystery,

every hour can be grace,

every day can be an oblation...

if it is lived in Christ.

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Time does not wait.

But it does obey.

It obeys the One who created it.

And therefore, he who unites himself to the will of God does not fear the passing of days.  Because he knows that each day doesn't distance him from fulfillment, but brings him closer.

There is a higher freedom than that of one who controls his agenda: that of one who allows himself to be possessed by God's plan in time.

That freedom knows how to lose in order to win, to remain silent in order to conquer, to wait in order to burn.

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The soul that loves God doesn't waste time.

Not because it fears it, but because it sees it as a gift.

A fleeting, fragile, precious gift, whose value is measured not by its duration, but by its destiny.

The saints, who understood time more than all the watchmakers in the world, lived each day as if it were the first... and the last.

They knew that every moment could be the hour of their death or their eternity.

And so, they didn't rush: they worshipped.

They didn't plan for ten years: they prepared for ten centuries of glory.

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Time is not a tyrant.  The tyrant is the man who wants it without God.

Time does not kill: it is we who kill it when we use it without love.

Time does not age: it is the soul that withers if it does not await eternity.

Time, lived in grace, rejuvenates hope.

Time, united with sacrifice, transfigures history.

And time, offered with faith, conquers death.

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Time is not ours.

It was given to us… to give back.

And in that act—free, humble, silent—everything is at stake.

We will not be asked how much we did, but how much we offered.

Not how many hours our work lasted, but how much of God each one contained.

Because time will not be judged by its progress, but by its worship.

And only those who love the eternal Word discover that time is not a prison… but a path.

And that every minute is a possibility of eternity.

OMO

THE BATTLE OF THE SIGNS

 What the soul accepts without knowing and hell celebrates in silence

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I. THE SIGN DOESN'T ASK PERMISSION

The human soul was not made for neutrality. It either adores or falls. And yet, today, modern man—so practical, so enlightened—has grown accustomed to wearing signs he doesn't understand, to repeating gestures he didn't choose, to singing words that deny what he pretends not to believe.

He wears inverted crosses as if they were ornaments. He wraps himself in festive skulls. He decorates his house with oriental idols. And he does all this while saying that "it means nothing," while his soul is soaked—drop by drop—in the content that this "nothing" truly contains.

The sign acts. Even if the conscience sleeps. Because the symbol is not just a drawing: it is a seed. It is not an accessory: it is a silent language that forms the soul, as the climate forms a landscape.

And in this civilization that claims to have transcended forms, the most subtle—and most decisive—battle is no longer fought in treaties: it is fought in signs.

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II. THE LANGUAGE OF GOD: WHEN THE INVISIBLE BECOMES VISIBLE

God speaks. But he does not do so like men. His pedagogy is ancient, but alive: He teaches with fire, with water, with bread, with blood. He does not explain: He reveals. He does not theorize: He shows Himself. And that is why His truth is not only heard, but touched, smelled, and tasted.

Christianity is the only religion where truth became flesh. And a flesh needs gestures, forms, time, and color. That is why the Church—wise mother—did not allow her faith to dissolve into abstractions, but wove it with signs: the cross, the altar, genuflection, incense, fasting, and silence.  Everything that modernity calls “superfluous” is, in reality, the alphabet of the redeemed soul.

The sacraments—effective signs instituted by Christ—contain and cause grace. Sacramentals, blessed by the Church, dispose the soul, elevate the mind, protect the body. And beyond them, there is a universe of holy signs that, without causing anything in themselves, teach, prepare, and protect.

Saint Thomas teaches it bluntly:

“Man needs the sensible to rise to the spiritual.”

And Saint Gregory the Great adds:

“What Scripture teaches with words, the liturgy proclaims with signs.”

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III. VISIBLE SHIELDS, INVISIBLE BONDS

A crucifix is ​​not a figure: it is a proclamation. The Rosary is not routine: it is resistance. The scapular is not a cloth: it is belonging. Holy water is not an ornament: it is an invisible trench.

Holy signs, when blessed and used with faith, do not contain God like the Sacrament, but they make His memory present, dispose the soul, and exercise true protection. They are moral shields. They are silent pedagogy. They are calls to conversion.

That is why the saints used them as weapons. Saint Benedict traced the cross over poison and defeated it. Saint Teresa of Jesus humbled the devil with a drop of holy water. The Curé of Ars slept among signs that the devil hated. Saint Pio of Pietrelcina discerned the blessed from the profaned like one recognizes the perfume of heaven.

Nothing was secondary to them. Because they knew that God also speaks through forms, and that whoever guards His signs guards His Kingdom.

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IV. THE SIGNS OF COUNTERRELIGION

The devil cannot create, but he knows how to imitate. And when he does, he inverts.

This is how the enemy's liturgy has infiltrated T-shirts, music videos, festivals, tattoos, fashions, and jewelry. Pentagrams, skulls, inverted crosses, occult eyes, ritual greetings, invocations disguised as design, lyrics laden with blasphemy, desecrated images. All presented as art. All consumed as entertainment. But all sown with precision.

Just look around: Santeria symbols sold as culture; band t-shirts that glorify suicide; posters that mix paganism and politics; candles with counterfeit saints; chants that repeat heresies with a party beat.

And even more subtle: Eastern idols turned into decoration; mandalas as therapy; mudras as elegant gestures; Buddha statues presiding over Catholic dining rooms; yoga postures—born as offerings to pagan deities—turned into spiritual gymnastics for souls who no longer know who redeemed them.

No, they are not neutral.  Because every sign has an owner.

And the soul that accepts a sign, even if it ignores it, enters the sphere of influence of that which that sign proclaims.

Saint Augustine, who knew the deceptions of hell, summed it up lucidly:

“The devil cannot create, but he imitates and perverts everything God made.”

And the saints acted accordingly: Saint Patrick destroyed the Druidic signs. Saint Boniface cut down Thor's tree. Saint Cyprian, who had once been a magician, confessed that the impious signs he used were real instruments of the devil. And when he came to know the cross, everything that had come before was shattered.

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V. DEMONIC INFLUENCE AND OPEN DOORS

The devil doesn't need to possess to reign. It's enough for the soul to lower its guard.

Possession is extraordinary. Influence, on the other hand, is everyday. It creeps in through gestures, habits, objects, music, symbols. It manifests itself as resistance to prayer, unfounded confusion, an allergy to silence, a repulsion toward the sacred. And often, it all began with a symbol accepted without thinking.

Because the symbol, even unintentionally, educates the soul. And when the soul grows accustomed to darkness, it ends up believing that darkness is just another form of light.

Father Amorth said it bluntly:

“The devil enters through the doors that are opened to him. And a symbol can be one of those doors.”

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VI. LIVING WRAPPED IN LIGHT

Therefore, the Catholic soul must surround itself with holy signs like one who builds a fortress.

Not out of superstition, but out of fidelity.  Not out of fear, but out of identity.

A visible crucifix. A blessed scapular. Holy water in the home. True images. Music that uplifts. Words that don't wound the sacred. Clothing that doesn't contradict the faith one professes.

It's not rigidity. It's coherence.

Saint Cyril of Jerusalem, preparing the catechumens of the fourth century, said it without poetry:

"Every Christian gesture is a shield for the soul."

And the Church has always taught it: Lex orandi, lex credendi, lex vivendi. The way we pray teaches faith. And faith shapes life.

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VII. THE WAR OF SILENCE AND SIGNS

We are not in a debate: we are in a war.

And this war is no longer fought only in books, but in symbols.

It doesn't just happen in parliaments, but in closets, on bodies, in profiles, at parties, in songs.

Today the crucifix is ​​expelled and the skull is venerated. Incense is laughed at and blasphemy is applauded. The cassock is censored and nudity is celebrated.

And whoever does not consciously choose the signs of the Kingdom will end up unwittingly wearing the mark of the enemy.

Saint John Damascene said it with theological precision and fire in his blood:

“I do not worship matter, but the Creator of matter, who became matter for me.”

We say it today, in the face of the advancing shadows:

We do not worship signs. But we do not despise them.

Because whoever loses the language of holy signs will soon speak—unknowingly—the language of hell.

OMO

WHERE IS YOUR PARTNER OF SALVATION?

Personal Judgment and the Eternal Weight of Marital Love

“In the end, love will be heavy.
And only the love that saves will have the weight of eternity.”

I. THE THRESHOLD WHERE ALL MIRRORS WILL FALL

The time will come.

We know it. Even if we fill the days with words, laughter, or silence, we know it.

The time will come when everything that was appearance will fall.

When every smile, every indifference, every act and every omission will be called by its true name.

Personal Judgment.

It will not be a cold interrogation or a bureaucratic list of errors.

It will be the total revelation of who we were, of what we did with the love God entrusted to us.

And then, for the husband—and also for the wife—there will be a question that will resonate with a gravity impossible to imagine now:

"Where is your companion in salvation?"

Not:

"Where is your companion in affection?"

Nor:

"Where is your accomplice in joy?"

But:

"Where is the soul I placed in your keeping?

Where is the woman whose eternal destiny I entrusted to you?"

Because marriage, which for the world is only a contract or a story of feelings, for God is a covenant of redemption.

II. MARRIAGE: NOT COMPANIONSHIP, BUT CUSTODY OF THE SOUL

The day a man and a woman say "yes"—before the altar and under the heavens that also bear witness—they seal a covenant that knows no fashions or fleeting emotions.

They promise fidelity.

But that fidelity is not only physical companionship or emotional constancy.

It is a fidelity to the soul of the other.

“I receive you as my wife…” does not mean: “I will accompany you as long as it is easy.”

It means: “I will take custody of your soul even when love becomes a cross.”

Saint John Chrysostom said it with the strength of those who see beyond the earth:

The husband must love his wife as Christ loved the Church: to the point of sacrifice, to sanctification, to total surrender.

Saint Francis de Sales, with the gentleness possessed only by the strong, added:

True conjugal love does not seek only to make life more pleasant. It seeks to lead the other to God.

And Saint Thomas Aquinas did not speak of fleeting affections, but of mutuum adiutorium: mutual help not only in earthly matters, but in what weighs eternally: the destiny of the soul.

The great moralist Antonio Royo Marín summed it up with resounding clarity:

Seeking the salvation of one's spouse is not pious advice. It is a grave obligation.  Ignoring it is a sin of omission.

III. THE FALSE MEASURE OF LOVE: THE ELEGANT POISON OF MEDIOCRITY

Today, the world has invented false measures of love:

“I made her happy.”

“I let her be free.”

“I didn't judge her.”

These are phrases that sound mature and reasonable.

But they are often masks of fear or laziness disguised as virtue.

Love that never corrects, never exhorts, never inconveniences, never suffers… is not love. It is indifference disguised as respect.

Saint Francis de Sales warned:

There is no neutrality in marriage. Either husband and wife help each other to save themselves, or they drag each other down into lukewarmness, which is the prelude to spiritual ruin.

IV. OMISSIONS WILL WEIGH MORE THAN SINS

In that personal judgment, it will not be sins that weigh the most.

These will be the omissions:

— The times you remained silent when your wife abandoned prayer.

— The times you didn't correct her for fear of displeasing her.

— The times you preferred your comfort to the sacrifice of guiding her.

— The times you didn't pray for her because you thought “she wouldn't listen anymore.”

— The times you didn't set an example because you believed “it was too late.”

Every silence will have its weight.

Every cowardice will have its name.

Every omission will be called to the center of the tribunal.

Cardinal Robert Sarah expressed it with the gravity of one who contemplates many lost souls and some redeemed ones:

God will entrust us with the soul of the other. And he will ask us what we did with it.

V. THE GREAT QUESTION AND THE HOPE OF THOSE WHO STRUGGLE

“Where is your companion in salvation?”

It won't be a metaphor.

It will be the summary of your entire married life.

And there will be no room to say:

“Lord, I did not mean to impose.”

“Lord, I respected their freedom.”

“Lord, each one had his own path.”

Because marriage is not the coexistence of individual freedoms under the same roof.

It is a unity of destiny and mutual co-responsibility on the path to Heaven.

Pius XI firmly proclaimed this in Casti Connubii:

“God has instituted marriage not only for the propagation and education of children, but also so that spouses may help one another to attain eternal life.”

VI. WHEN THE QUESTION BECOMES MORE INTIMATE:

“DID YOU LOVE YOUR WIFE AS I LOVED MY CHURCH?”

On Judgment Day, that great question will not only be:

“Where is your companion in salvation?”

But, in the depths of the soul, another, even more fearful and luminous question will resonate:

“Did you love your wife as I loved my Church?”

It will not be a reproach.

It will be the measure by which the Christian husband is weighed.

“Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the Church and gave himself up for her” (Eph 5:25).

We will not be asked to have loved “as best we could.”

We will not be asked if we were kind or patient at times.

We will be measured by the crucified love of Christ:

— A love that was patient in the face of infidelity.

— Who corrected with charity and taught with truth.

— Who sacrificed himself without expecting a reward.

— Who forgave even when wounded.

— And who gave his life to save.

The husband who loves like this, even with human imperfection, becomes a living image of redeeming love.

VII. THE FACE THAT QUESTIONS WILL ALSO BE THE FACE THAT SMILES

But that judgment will not be only burden and fear.

The same God who will question is the one who gave sufficient grace to fulfill the mission.

And if you can say—with humility and tears—:

“Lord, here is the companion You gave me.

I wasn't perfect.

I fell many times.

But I prayed for her.

I corrected her with love when I could.

I held her in her weaknesses.

I sacrificed myself for her spiritual good.

And when I didn't know what to do, I entrusted her to You, in my prayers and in my weariness.”

Then—as Fulton Sheen taught—judgment will not be a condemnation, but a glorification.

The face that asks will also be the face that smiles.

Because the love that saves, however imperfect and struggled with, is the only love that counts when time is over.

VIII. ETERNITY IS NOT SHARED AS SPOUSES, BUT AS SOULS WHO HELPED EACH OTHER ACHIEVE IT

Christian marriage does not remain in heaven.

“In the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage.”  (Mt 22:30).

The sacramental bond, like all sacraments, is a journey, not a destination.

Once its mission is accomplished, it ceases.

But the spouses who fought for each other's salvation will eternally recognize each other as the souls who collaborated with grace to bring each other to glory.

"They will not share eternity as spouses,

but they will contemplate each other in beatitude as instruments of the redemptive love that led them to God."

And that will be their supreme joy:

not having shared just one life, but having collaborated in the salvation that made them eternal.

"Where is your companion in salvation?"

May we respond with truth and hope:

"Lord, here she is.

And though the journey was difficult and I was imperfect,

I never stopped fighting for her soul."

Then we will understand that marriage was—as Christian tradition teaches—the highest form in which natural human love can participate in Christ's redemptive work.

The priesthood and consecrated virginity, which are higher in the order of grace, will have already shone forth in their heavenly fullness.

But the conjugal love that contributed to the salvation of the other will be crowned by God with a glory of its own:

having been, on this earth, an imperfect but true image of the Love that does not abandon and does not fear sacrifice.

OMO

NOT EVERYONE FIT IN THE TRUTH

The church is not an inn of affection, but the threshold of eternal judgment

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I. THE MODERN DOGMA OF INCLUSION

There are phrases that, because they are endearing, become dangerous. “There is room in this Church for everyone,” it is said with a sweet vinegar smile, like someone offering peace in exchange for doctrine, or mercy without the price of conversion. It is a phrase that sounds like the gospel, but it is not. Or rather, it is an apocryphal gospel: good news for ears tired of the cross, but not for souls seeking to be saved.

Because no, not everyone fits in the Truth, and this is not an arbitrary exclusion, but an affirmation of reality. The Truth is not an elastic room where all ideas can be accommodated, nor a democratic dining room where everyone brings their spiritual recipe. The Truth is a Person—Jesus Christ—and only those who convert enter. Not those who accommodate, not those who assert themselves, not those who demand to fit in without giving up.

The Church is universal, but not relativist. Catholic, but not chaotic. It embraces all who wish to cease to be what they were without Christ. It does not accept conditions: only souls who, falling, cry out to be lifted up. But today, as if we were on a television set, the Church is intended to be the stage for reconciliations without tears, weddings without sacraments, blessings without obedience, and heavens without hell.

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II. FEELING WITHOUT JUDGMENT: THE CULT OF EMOTION

The modern soul does not seek to be redeemed: it seeks to be validated. It does not want to hear: "your sins are forgiven," but: "your sins are not sins." It is an emotional liturgy, where conscience is replaced by consent, and fraternal correction is confused with symbolic violence. If you tell it the truth, it is offended. If you offer it a cross, it demands a sofa.

And so we have created a "pastoral ministry of welcome" where welcoming is synonymous with surrender, and tenderness has become the sacramental form of surrender. But charity without truth is the cruelest of lies, and tenderness without form is the mother of disorder.

Saint Thomas taught that truth is adaequatio rei et intellectus: the adequacy of the mind to the thing. Postmodern sentimentalism, however, demands the opposite: that the thing be adapted to the emotion of the moment. And so we have replaced the Logos with the like, doctrine with empathy, and penitence with applause.

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III. THE CHURCH AS A HOSPITAL FOR SOULS, NOT AS A HOSPITAL FOR ERROR

The analogy we like to repeat—and which is true in itself—is that the Church is a hospital. But not a hospital like those of today, where the patient imposes the diagnosis. It is not a spiritual self-help clinic. It is rather a field hospital under the banner of the cross, where the doctor is Christ, and the treatment is grace, not tolerance.

The Church welcomes those who arrive broken, but heals them with the surgery of truth, not with a compassionate pat on the back. The wounded are welcomed, but their wound is not flattered. For if the leper is told that leprosy is part of his identity, he is denied the cure and condemned with sweet words.

And there are those who quote "come to me, all of you," as if Christ had said: "and remain as you are." But they forget that after the embrace comes the imperative: "Go, and sin no more." The Church is not a place where all doctrines fit: it is where false doctrines die, burned by the light of faith.

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IV. THE CHURCH DOESN'T EXCLUDE PEOPLE, IT EXCLUDES LIES

Whoever says the Church excludes has not understood its heart. The Church does not exclude anyone because of their history, their wounds, their sin, their past. But it does reject heresies, errors, and pacts with lies.

The confusion arises when one believes that every idea has the right to citizenship in the Catholic soul. But the Church is not a marketplace of opinions: it is the custodian of a sacred deposit. It does not administer consensus; it guards mysteries. It does not debate its identity: it proclaims it.

Therefore, not all ideas fit into the Church, just as not all poisons fit into a healthy body. It is not that dialogue is denied: it is that the truth is denied as a matter of opinion. There is a difference between evangelizing and negotiating.

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V. A MOTHER WHO CORRECTS, A TEACHER WHO TEACHES

The image of the Church as a mother is true, but dangerous if separated from the other: that of a teacher. Because a mother who only embraces, but does not teach, raises orphans of the soul. And a teacher who does not correct, perpetuates error.

Mary is the Mother of Mercy, yes, but she is also the Seat of Wisdom. And her tenderness is full of clarity, and her sweetness does not adulterate the truth. Does a mother who sees her son walking toward the abyss remain silent for fear of hurting him?

The Church is sweet as the song of the Magnificat, but sharp as the words of John the Baptist. She is the cradle of converts and the executioner of idols. She is the mother of repentant sinners and the sworn enemy of justified sin.

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VI. ALL ARE CALLED, NOT ALL RESPONSE

Christ died for all, yes. But not all want to live for Him. Christ's blood was shed for all, but not all desire to be washed clean. And here lies the modern tragedy: God's love is expected to be effective without freedom, and salvation is automatic without struggle.

God wants all to be saved, but He saves no one by force. And the Church, His bride, cannot lie to the world by telling it that it is already saved, without repentance or conversion. True inclusion does not mean allowing everything, but calling everyone to the Truth, whatever the cost.

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VII. IN THE CHURCH, THERE IS NO PLACE FOR WHAT CONTRADICTS THE TRUTH

There is no place here for sentimentalisms that deny reason, nor for emotions that canonize error. There is no place for justified sins, nor for ideologies disguised as compassion. There is no place for those who believe that to love is to silence, or that to teach is to exclude.

Because the Church cannot contradict itself. And Truth cannot be denied without ceasing to be. Here comes the firmest principle of all philosophy, proclaimed by Aristotle: "It is impossible for something to be and not to be at the same time and under the same consideration." The same doctrine cannot be true and false. The same conduct cannot be virtue and sin. The same teaching cannot be Catholic and heretical.

And if this is true for logic, how much more so for faith, which touches the eternal? The Church cannot teach that what was sin yesterday is virtue today. She cannot declare blessed what God has called disorder. She cannot call pastoral care what is, strictly speaking, a betrayal of the Gospel.

The Church is not here to adapt, but to faithfully proclaim the Truth that does not contradict itself, that does not change with the winds of the century, that does not become flexible so as not to cause discomfort. Christ died for all, yes. But not all want to live for Him. Christ's blood was shed for all, but not all desire to be washed clean. And here lies the modern tragedy: God's love is expected to be effective without freedom, and salvation is automatic without struggle.

God wants all to be saved, but He saves no one by force. And the Church, His bride, cannot lie to the world by telling it that it is already saved, without repentance or conversion. True inclusion does not mean allowing everything, but calling everyone to the Truth, whatever the cost.

⸻

VII. IN THE CHURCH, THERE IS NO PLACE FOR WHAT CONTRADICTS THE TRUTH

There is no place here for sentimentalisms that deny reason, nor for emotions that canonize error. There is no place for justified sins, nor for ideologies disguised as compassion. There is no place for those who believe that to love is to silence, or that to teach is to exclude.

Because the Church cannot contradict itself. And Truth cannot be denied without ceasing to be. Here comes the firmest principle of all philosophy, proclaimed by Aristotle: "It is impossible for something to be and not to be at the same time and under the same consideration." The same doctrine cannot be true and false. The same conduct cannot be virtue and sin. The same teaching cannot be Catholic and heretical.

And if this is true for logic, how much more so for faith, which touches the eternal? The Church cannot teach that what was sin yesterday is virtue today. She cannot declare blessed what God has called disorder. She cannot call pastoral care what is, strictly speaking, a betrayal of the Gospel.

The Church is not here to adapt, but to faithfully proclaim the Truth that does not contradict itself, that does not change with the winds of the century, that does not become flexible so as not to cause discomfort. She is a mother, yes, but a mother who forms. And she is a mother precisely because she teaches.

Therefore, not all ideas fit here. Not all spirits fit here. There is no room here for the logic of the world. Because there is no room here for anything that contradicts the Incarnate Word.

The door is open to all people, but closed to error. The Church does not exclude people, but it does reject everything that denies the Logos, because in Him is the truth, and outside of Him there is only confusion, contradiction, and death.

Yes, in this Church there is room for all...

all those who humbly seek the truth that saves, not the truth that flatters; the truth that burns, not the truth that lulls.

Because in this Church there is no room for all voices,

but there is room for all hearts that surrender to the one Word.

OMO

THE SOUL THAT DISCOVERS ITSELF "JUDAS"

The soul that reveals itself as Judas… and doesn't flee

—Lord…

last night we dined with you.

We sang the psalm.

And your eyes were raised to heaven with tenderness.

You broke the Bread…

and looked at us as if we were still worthy.

But I already had the dagger sheathed in my soul.

It wasn't made of metal,

but of indifference,

of cowardice,

of hidden loves stronger than yours.

—Lord…

I was Judas.

Not with scandal.

But with feigned fidelity.

With Mass and sin.

With just words and a double heart.

And today,

when I wake up,

I discover that the kiss is still on my lips.

—I sold you.

Not for thirty coins,

but for peace with the world.

So as not to inconvenience.

For not loving you to the point of blood.

And you...

you looked at me.

Not with reproach.

With that meekness

that breaks more than judgment.

With that purity

that accuses without a voice.

And you said:

"Friend..."

and that was worse.

For there is no pain deeper

than receiving love

when Love itself has been wounded.

I was Judas, Lord.

And yet you did not push me away.

You did not call the angels.

You did not invoke the Father.

You only allowed

yourself to be seized

like a meek Lamb.

And I trembled.

"Lord...

I do not deserve to look at you.

I do not deserve your Passion.

I do not deserve your Name.

And yet you wait for me?

"

[Christ responds]

"You turned your back on me,

but I have waited for you head on."

You sold me,

but I have paid for you with my Blood.

You called me "Master" without faith,

but I have called you "friend"…

and I have not withdrawn the word.

Don't you see, my soul,

that in that kiss you gave me

I placed all the warmth of my eternal Love?

Don't you understand yet

that I did not come to save innocents,

but to rescue traitors?

I did not defend myself when you handed me over.

I did not hide when you pretended.

No…

I stayed.

And for you

I was led like a dumb lamb to the slaughter.

Don't explain.

Don't make excuses.

Don't dissemble.

Just give me your wound.

I will heal it with nails.

I will wash it with Blood.

I will clothe it in my seamless tunic.

I will make your betrayal

my throne in my soul.

Come.

Not as one who begs for forgiveness,

but like the thief crucified at my right hand,

who only said:

"Remember me..."

and was already mine.

Because even after the kiss,

I have loved you more.

THE LAST LORD OF THE BODY

:

There once was a man —and there still is— who proclaimed himself king.

Not over a realm of mountains or over armies.

He proclaimed himself king of his own being.

Absolute lord of his body. Legislator of his flesh. Sole judge of his life.

“My will is law,” he said.

“There is no greater good than what I choose. No truth beyond my decision.

Not even God may command me, for I am free.”

And with that stone, he laid a foundation.

It had no roots, yet he built it high.

He called it the dominion of freedom, and raised its columns with decrees,

verdicts, referendums, and solemn formulas.

Each generation was taught:

“You have not received life. You hold it.

And what one holds, one may dispose of.”

In his kingdom, death ceased to be a mystery.

It became a right.

Life was no longer a gift, but a loan.

And the body, no longer a temple, became territory.

The judges of the realm learned to obey desire.

The lawmakers learned to legislate demands, not justice.

And the supreme court no longer ruled from the throne of righteousness,

but from the echo of majority will.

Thus the self-king ruled with a firm hand:

he permitted abortions, assisted suicides, mutilations,

experiments on bodies, freedoms without purpose.

And if anyone spoke of natural law,

they were branded heretics against the new faith:

self-determination.

One day, the king fell ill.

And, loyal to his laws, he issued his final decree:

that a clean, dignified, legal death be administered.

No prayer. No mystery. No surrender.

But when the body no longer obeyed,

when pain arrived without consent,

a voice arose within him.

It was not the law.

It was not memory.

It was something else.

And it asked:

“Can one abolish what one did not establish?”

“Did you give yourself life? Did you craft your being? Did you author your soul?”

The king fell silent.

Too late, he understood

that he had lived as if he were the author,

when he was only a creature.

That he had signed laws over his body

as though it were property,

when in truth it was a sanctuary.

That he had called freedom what was escape,

and called sovereignty what was solitude.

But his signature had already been sealed.

The protocol had already been set in motion.

His death was clean, legal, and empty.

No one bid him farewell. No one wept.

Not because he was unloved,

but because no one remembered what a soul was.

And so ended the reign of the last sovereign of the body.

Not as a martyr of freedom,

but as proof of error.

For he had been coherent, yes.

But coherence can destroy as much as falsehood,

when it begins from a false premise.

And there is no premise more false than this:

that man is his own god.

For man does not belong to himself.

He is not the master of his life,

nor the judge of his death, nor the author of his being.

He is a creature.

And he forgot.

OMO