Subscribe now

The Evangelists recount that “before the festival day of the pasch, Jesus knowing that his hour was come… having loved his own… he loved them unto the end” (John 13:1).¹ This phrase—in finem dilexit eos—has been read by the Fathers as the interpretive key to the entire evening. St. John Chrysostom sees here not merely the persistence of Christ’s love, but its consummation in sacrificial self-gift.² The Last Supper is thus not simply a farewell meal, but the anticipatory offering of Calvary under sacramental signs.

At the heart of this night stands the institution of the Eucharist. Taking bread and wine, Christ declares: “This is my body… this is my blood of the new testament, which shall be shed for many” (Matt. 26:26–28).³ The scholastic tradition, synthesised by St. Thomas Aquinas, affirms that Christ here effects a true and substantial change—transubstantiatio—whereby the substance of bread and wine becomes the Body and Blood of Christ, while the accidents remain.⁴ This is not symbolic language, but sacramental realism: the same Christ who will be offered on the Cross is made present on the altar.

Yet the Eucharist is not given as a static presence, but as a sacrifice. The words “which shall be shed” locate the Supper within the logic of oblation. St. Cyprian of Carthage insists that the Eucharist is inseparable from the Passion, for it is the same sacrifice offered in an unbloody manner.⁵ Thus, Maundy Thursday reveals the unity of the Cross and the Mass: one sacrifice, differing only in mode.

Simultaneously, Christ establishes the ministerial priesthood. “Do this for a commemoration of me” (Luke 22:19).⁶ This command is not addressed to the multitude, but to the Apostles, whom Christ constitutes as participants in His own priesthood. St. John Chrysostom emphasises that the priest stands at the altar not by human authority, but by divine institution, acting in persona Christi.⁷ The priesthood is therefore not a function delegated by the community, but a sacramental configuration to Christ the High Priest.

The theology of this moment reaches back to the Old Covenant and beyond. Christ is both Priest and Victim, fulfilling and surpassing the Aaronic priesthood. St. Thomas Aquinas identifies Christ’s priesthood as belonging to the order of Melchizedek—an eternal priesthood, not based on lineage but on divine appointment (cf. Heb. 7).⁸ The offering of bread and wine by Melchizedek (Gen. 14:18) is thus seen as a type fulfilled in the Eucharist, where Christ offers Himself under the same elements.

The washing of the feet (mandatum), recounted in John 13:4–15, provides the moral and spiritual context for these mysteries. Christ, rising from supper, girds Himself with a towel and washes the feet of His disciples. This act, at once humble and authoritative, establishes the law of charity that must govern the priesthood and the Church. “I have given you an example, that as I have done to you, so you do also” (John 13:15).⁹

St. Augustine interprets this gesture as both sacramental and moral: sacramental in that it signifies the cleansing necessary for participation in Christ, and moral in that it commands humility as the form of Christian life.¹⁰ The priest who offers the sacrifice must also embody the charity it signifies; otherwise, the sign is contradicted by the life.

The term “Maundy” itself derives from the Latin mandatum—“a new commandment I give unto you, that you love one another” (John 13:34).¹¹ This commandment is not ancillary, but intrinsic to the Eucharistic mystery. St. Thomas Aquinas teaches that charity is both the effect and the proper disposition of the Eucharist: the sacrament unites the faithful to Christ and, in Him, to one another.¹² Thus, the absence of charity renders participation in the Eucharist not only fruitless but culpable (cf. 1 Cor. 11:27–29).

The liturgical tradition of the pre-1955 Roman Rite reflects these theological realities with precision. The Gloria returns after its Lenten silence, accompanied by the ringing of bells, only for them to fall silent again until the Easter Vigil—a sign of the transition from joy to sorrow. The altar is later stripped, recalling the abandonment of Christ, and the Blessed Sacrament is translated to the altar of repose, inviting the faithful to watch with Him in Gethsemane. Dom Prosper Guéranger describes this movement as a passage from the institution of the sacrament to the beginning of the Passion, the light of the Eucharist shining even as the darkness gathers.¹³

Theologically, Maundy Thursday reveals the inner coherence of the Christian mystery. The Eucharist, the priesthood, and charity are not separable elements but dimensions of a single reality: the self-offering of Christ made present and perpetuated in the Church. The sacrifice of Calvary is not an isolated event, but one that is sacramentally extended through time, entrusted to the priesthood, and ordered toward the transformation of the faithful in love.

Spiritually, the day confronts the faithful with the question of participation. To receive the Eucharist is to enter into the sacrifice of Christ; to be united to Christ is to be conformed to His charity. The washing of the feet stands as a perpetual corrective to any attempt to separate sacrament from life. The altar and the towel belong together; the priesthood and service are inseparable.

Thus, Maundy Thursday stands at the heart of the Church’s life. It is the night in which Christ gives Himself to His own, not only as an example, but as a presence, a sacrifice, and a command. From this moment forward, the Passion unfolds not as a tragic necessity, but as a freely embraced offering—already anticipated, already given, and perpetually renewed in the mystery of the Eucharist.

1. John 13:1 (Douay-Rheims Bible).

2. St. John Chrysostom, Homilies on the Gospel of John, Homily 70.1 (PG 59:383–386).

3. Matthew 26:26–28.

4. St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, III, q.75, a.4.

5. St. Cyprian of Carthage, Epistle 63 (On the Sacrament of the Cup of the Lord), §§13–14 (PL 4:389–392).

6. Luke 22:19.

7. St. John Chrysostom, On the Priesthood, Book III, §4 (PG 48:642–643).

8. St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, III, q.22, a.1.

9. John 13:15.

10. St. Augustine, Tractates on the Gospel of John, Tractate 58.4 (PL 35:1793–1794).

11. John 13:34.

12. St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, III, q.79, a.1.

13. Dom Prosper Guéranger, The Liturgical Year, Holy Thursday (Dublin: James Duffy, 1870), pp. 296–302.

    Share

related articles

PASSION SUNDAY: The Veiling of Glory and the Hidden Descent into the Passion

March 20, 2026

The Blessing of Bread on the Feast of St Joseph (19 March)

March 19, 2026

Novena: Under the Mantle of Saint Joseph, Reclaim True Fatherhood

March 18, 2026

Novena: Under the Mantle of Saint Joseph, Reclaim True Fatherhood

March 17, 2026

Novena: Under the Mantle of Saint Joseph, Reclaim True Fatherhood

March 16, 2026

Novena: Under the Mantle of Saint Joseph, Reclaim True Fatherhood

March 15, 2026

Novena: Under the Mantle of Saint Joseph, Reclaim True Fatherhood

March 14, 2026

Quadragesima Sunday IV: Laetare Sunday

March 13, 2026

Mothering Sunday: The Maternal Church and the Customs of Laetare

March 13, 2026

Novena: Under the Mantle of Saint Joseph, Reclaim True Fatherhood

March 13, 2026

Novena: Under the Mantle of Saint Joseph, Reclaim True Fatherhood

March 12, 2026

Novena: Under the Mantle of Saint Joseph, Reclaim True Fatherhood

March 11, 2026

Novena: Under the Mantle of Saint Joseph, Reclaim True Fatherhood

March 10, 2026

Quadragesima Sunday III: Oculi Sunday

March 6, 2026

Quadragesima Sunday II: Tabor Before Calvary

February 27, 2026

Quadragesima Sunday I: Into the Desert with the New Adam

February 21, 2026

The Lenten Ember Days: Springtide Penance, Apostolic Order, and the Theology of the Seasons

February 21, 2026

Standing Watch in the Eternal City: The Roman Lenten Stations — History, Liturgy, Saints, and Spiritual Meaning

February 21, 2026

Between the Porch and the Altar: The Priest as Sacrifice

February 20, 2026

A Nation That Forgot How to Fast

February 17, 2026

Liturgical Notes: Dust, Discipline, and the Beginning of Combat

February 17, 2026

Back to Being Catholic: The Traditional Discipline of Lenten Fast and Abstinence

February 16, 2026

Quadragesima and the Formation of the Penitent in the Pre-1955 Roman Rite

February 16, 2026

Ash Wednesday in the Tridentine Liturgy: The Portal of Mortality and the Architecture of Conversion

February 16, 2026

Shrove Tuesday: Confession, Carnival, and the Last Feast Before the Fast

February 16, 2026

Quinquagesima Sunday: Preparation for the Lenten Journey

February 13, 2026

From Cloister to Campus? The Future of Mount Melleray Abbey and the Intervention of Ave Maria University

February 11, 2026

Christianity Without Contrast: Vocational Decline in the West and the Adoption of the Zeitgeist

February 11, 2026

Can You Build a Future on Borrowed Faith? Civilisational Exhaustion and the Moral Credit of Britain

February 11, 2026

Sexagesima Sunday: Hearing the Word Amid Trial, Weakness, and Patience

February 7, 2026

Latest articles

• The Day of the Lamb: The Coherence of Holy Week in the Traditional Roman Rite and Its Disruption in Modern Reform

  The article discusses the coherence of Holy Week within the pre-1955 Roman Rite, emphasising that the Supper, Passion, and Resurrection are experienced as a singular sacred act rather than distinct events. It critiques modern reforms that shift the focus from sacramental participation to chronological narrative, potentially obscuring the unity of the Paschal mystery.

• The Return of the Young Through Tradition: Holy Week in the Philippines as a Sign of Renewal

  In the Philippines, young people are increasingly returning to the observance of Holy Week, embracing ancient traditions rather than modern adaptations. This renewal reflects a deeper connection to faith through communal participation and embodied practices, contrasting with contemporary, superficial expressions of religion. Such involvement fosters identity, meaning, and a stronger sense of belonging.

• Maundy Thursday: The Institution of the Sacrifice, the Priesthood, and the Mandate of Charity

  Maundy Thursday marks the establishment of the Eucharist, the priesthood, and the command of charity, pivotal to the Christian faith. During the Last Supper, Christ sacramentally offers Himself, intertwining these mysteries. The washing of the feet exemplifies the humility required in embodying charity, linking the priesthood and service in the Church’s life.

• Maundy Thursday Sermon: “Having Loved His Own, He Loved Them Unto the End”

  The Maundy Thursday sermon by Jerome OSJV emphasizes Christ’s profound love and self-sacrifice, culminating in the institution of the Eucharist and priesthood. It explores themes of humility, service, betrayal, and the divine offering, illustrating the depth of Jesus’ love and the call for priests to embody that love through sacrificial service.

• Today’s Mass: April 2 Maundy Thursday

  The content discusses an Act of Spiritual Communion addressed to Jesus, expressing belief in His presence in the Blessed Sacrament. It conveys a deep love for Him, a desire for His presence in the soul, and a plea for unity with Him, while acknowledging the inability to receive Him sacramentally.

Current edition

The mission of the Society of Saint Pius X in Japan stands as a striking example of apostolic endurance under conditions of both cultural marginality and ecclesial disorientation. Its history is not one of institutional expansion, but of fidelity—fragile in its beginnings, delib…

Read more

Carissimi, beloved in Christ
Laudetur Jesus Christus!
We stand today at the threshold of Passiontide, gazing not merely at a season, but at a mystery—the mystery of God’s love, clothed in weakness, crowned in thorns, nailed in silence.

The Church, in her wisdom, veils the crucifix today. And perhaps that troubles us. We ask: why hide the very image that saves? But let me suggest that the veil is not hiding the Cross from us—it is hiding us from the truth of it.

You see, we do not understand the Cross—not really. We sentimentalize it. We wear it around our necks like jewelry, while refusing to carry it in our hearts. The veil reminds us: the Cross is not yet fully known to us. And so, we are asked to behold it—not with our eyes, but with our faith.

Subscribe now

The Key to the Christian Life: Mastery of the Self

At its heart, the Christian life is not a mysterious code or an unattainable spiritual acrobatics. It is, quite simply, self-control. That is the whole trick. Holiness is not a magic gift doled out to a few lucky souls—it is the fruit of learning to govern oneself.

To be a Christian is to take control of one’s emotions, one’s instincts, one’s gifts and limitations—what the ancients called the passions. It is to become master of your predilections, your inclinations, your talents, your appetites, and even your sensitivities. All of these are the raw material of potential… of who we might become.

What distinguishes us from the animals is not strength or instinct, but reason: the ability to reflect, to deliberate, to act not only within but beyond the constraints of impulse and empirical experience.

This rational capacity is not just utilitarian—it is teleological. It exists to orient us toward what is higher, what is good, what is true. And supremely, it exists to lead us to God.

Self-Discipline Is Not Denial—It Is Direction

The Gospel and the saints urge self-discipline not because God delights in denial for its own sake, but because discipline is the door to our destiny. Every “no” to the flesh is a “yes” to the spirit. Every refusal of sin is an opening to grace. Holiness is not about repression—it is about right orientation. It is the harnessing of all we are—body, mind, and soul—toward the one end for which we were made: communion with God.

Seen this way, the Ten Commandments are not restrictions—they are liberations. They prohibit only what wounds ourselves or others. There is no good thing they forbid. They are not a cage, but a guardrail, protecting the freedom of the children of God.

The World, the Flesh, and the Lie of Powerlessness

The world tells us that self-restraint is unnatural, that virtue is an ideal but not a possibility, that indulgence is freedom and chastity is repression. But this is the ancient lie. The body can lie. Our selfish will can lie. Temptation dresses itself up as authenticity. But if we give in to the lower self, we are not free—we are slaves.

The saints are those who got over themselves. Who silenced the tantrums of the ego. Who chose righteousness when it was hard, purity when it was mocked, truth when it cost everything. And they did it not by superhuman strength, but by grace—and by choice.

Holiness Is Always a Choice

There is nothing about the pursuit of holiness that is impossible. It is difficult, yes. But not impossible. “Be ye perfect,” Christ says—not to taunt us, but to invite us. The way of virtue is always open. At every moment, you can choose the good. That is your power. That is your freedom. That is your dignity.

To be godly does not require brilliance, nor status, nor some mystical experience. It requires this: the decision to do what is right. Every time.

And when you fall, it requires the humility to rise again and make the decision anew.

The Ten Commandments Are Not Restrictions—They Are Liberations

The modern world often hears the Ten Commandments as a list of prohibitions, a moral straitjacket designed to limit freedom and suppress desire. But this is a profound misunderstanding. The Commandments are not burdens imposed from without—they are liberations spoken from the heart of a loving God who knows what makes for true human flourishing.

Each commandment guards something sacred. Each one protects a vital dimension of life and love. They do not restrict the good; they define it. They do not inhibit human potential; they release it from the chaos of sin and the tyranny of selfishness.

“Thou shalt have no other gods before Me” liberates us from idolatry, from the soul-crushing slavery of false masters—whether money, power, vanity, or pleasure—and grounds us in the worship of the one true God who alone gives life.

“Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain” protects the holiness of speech and the integrity of our relationship with the divine. It frees our tongues from flippancy, deception, and misuse of what is sacred.

“Remember the Sabbath day” is not a burden but a gift: an invitation to rest, to worship, to be reminded that we are more than what we produce. It liberates us from the idol of work and from forgetfulness of eternity.

“Honour thy father and thy mother” affirms the sanctity of family and the gift of generational continuity. It is not a rule for submission, but a path to harmony, stability, and gratitude.

“Thou shalt not kill” is self-evidently protective—but it also affirms the infinite worth of every human life. It declares that no life is expendable, and that justice is not ours to take by violence.

“Thou shalt not commit adultery” safeguards the integrity of love and the beauty of marital fidelity. It frees us from the destructive lie that pleasure is more valuable than covenant, and that desire is more important than devotion.

“Thou shalt not steal” honors the dignity of work, the right to private property, and the responsibility of stewardship. It restrains the grasping impulse and calls us to mutual respect and justice.

“Thou shalt not bear false witness” upholds truth as the foundation of all human trust and society. It liberates our speech from manipulation and preserves the honor of others.

“Thou shalt not covet” cuts to the root of so many sins: discontent, envy, greed. It is the commandment of interior freedom. To obey it is to be free not only from wrongdoing, but from the restless hunger that spoils joy and peace.

In short, the Ten Commandments forbid nothing that is for our good. They prohibit only what harms: what harms the self, what harms others, what harms communion with God. There is not one commandment that, rightly understood, restricts anything holy, noble, generous, or life-giving.
These laws are not chains but signposts. They do not say “You may not live,” but “Here is the way to life.” They are the spiritual grammar of love—both love of God and love of neighbour.

To follow them is not to be shackled, but to be free indeed.

If Everyone Lived the Ten Commandments…

If every soul on earth truly lived the Ten Commandments, the world would indeed be perfect. There would be no violence, no betrayal, no theft, no lies, no exploitation, no envy. God would be worshipped, the family honoured, the truth upheld, and every human life cherished. That is not fantasy—it is the ideal God Himself revealed as the path to human flourishing. It is the outline of sanctity, the moral architecture of a just and peaceful world.

But we live in a fallen world, where sin wounds even our best intentions. Perfection here may elude us. Yet imagine—not a world where everyone is perfect—but a world where everyone is striving to live the Commandments. Where people do not dismiss virtue as impossible or old-fashioned, but take it seriously. Where families encourage one another in holiness. Where neighbours cheer one another on in truthfulness, fidelity, chastity, generosity, reverence, and worship.

Imagine a culture where the prevailing spirit is not competition in sin, but cooperation in righteousness—where we are not scandalized by others’ goodness, but moved by it; not threatened by virtue, but inspired to imitate it.

That would be no utopia—but it would be a world transformed. A nearly perfect reality, attainable not by force or fantasy, but by the mutual pursuit of what is truly good.

And that—that—is God’s will. Not only that we individually obey His law, but that we desire and help others to obey it too. “Exhort one another daily,” says the Apostle, “that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin” (Hebrews 3:13). The Commandments are not a private code—they are the common foundation of a redeemed humanity.

So let us not despair over the world’s fallenness. Let us build up a culture of striving. Let us will the good for one another, and help each other toward it. That is how the kingdom of God grows—soul by soul, family by family, community by community.

Until one day, that ideal will no longer be a dream—but a reality, fully revealed in the light of His glory.

This Is the Answer to Society’s Problems Today

The Ten Commandments are not relics of a bygone age—they are the enduring answer to the crises of our time. They formed the moral bedrock of Western civilisation, the foundation of what we call the Judeo-Christian world. From them came the dignity of the person, the sanctity of life, the honour of the family, the principle of justice, and the call to responsibility before God.

If that civilisation has faltered, it is not because the Commandments failed—it is because we stopped striving to live them. We abandoned the path, and then wondered why we are lost. We dismantled the moral compass, and then blamed the darkness. But the solution is not more theories, more programs, or more politics—it is a return.

If we came back—not perfectly, but sincerely—to the Commandments as the common rule of life, society could be transformed again. If we once more taught our children to honour their parents, to speak the truth, to revere the sacred, to respect the property and dignity of others, to guard their hearts against envy and lust—if we turned our hearts to the living God and taught others to do the same—then the rot could be reversed, the decay healed, and the beauty of Christian civilisation rekindled.

This is not nostalgia. It is vision. Not naïve idealism, but a sober and hopeful realism. We have the blueprint. It is ancient, yet always new.

The only question is whether we have the courage to return to it.

And that return begins—not with governments, not with institutions—but with individuals. With you. With me. With the choice to live, and to encourage others to live, according to the law of God written not only on stone, but on the heart of every human soul.

We Tried to Make Virtue Out of Sin

In our modern age, we have not merely abandoned the moral law—we have inverted it. We tried to make virtue out of sin, to baptize selfishness and crown it as righteousness. We were told that the pursuit of personal pleasure, self-expression, and unrestrained autonomy was the highest good. That to deny oneself was repression, and to indulge every appetite was liberation.

We rebranded pride as self-esteem, lust as love, greed as ambition, envy as fairness, and wrath as justice. We told ourselves that the old moral codes were outdated, that commandments were chains, and that freedom meant doing what we want, when we want, to whom we want.

But freedom divorced from truth is not freedom—it is slavery to the self. When we made selfishness righteous, we hollowed out virtue. We ceased to pursue what was good and began to worship what was pleasurable. And in doing so, we have reaped what we sowed: broken homes, shattered communities, isolated individuals, a culture sick with anxiety, confusion, and despair.

The irony is stark: we rejected the Commandments as too hard—and now live in a world made harder by sin.

Yet even now, the path back is not closed. It is still there, waiting: the path of repentance, of truth, of virtue. A return to calling good good and evil evil. A return to the God who alone defines righteousness—not by feelings, but by love grounded in truth.

And if we would recover society, we must begin by recovering that truth—starting in the soul.

We Don’t Need to Overthrow the World—We Need to Change Ourselves

There is a great temptation in times of cultural collapse to look outward—to seek grand solutions, political revolutions, systemic overhauls. And while politics has its place, it is not the starting point. We do not need to bring down governments or refashion entire systems. Those things will follow if hearts are changed. What we need first, and most urgently, is to change ourselves.

The crisis we face is not merely institutional—it is moral, spiritual, personal. We are not suffering from a lack of policy but a lack of virtue. And virtue cannot be legislated into being. It must be cultivated, soul by soul, family by family, community by community.

What would transform the world is not ideological conquest, but personal conversion. Men and women who choose to live the truth, to uphold what is good, to restrain their passions, to discipline their appetites, to seek God’s will above their own.

And as we seek this transformation, we must not punish weakness but encourage striving. We must recover the distinction between failing and refusing to try. The former deserves patience and support; the latter, honest correction. But even correction must be oriented not to shame, but to rehabilitation. Holiness is not about perfection from the start—it is about the will to keep rising when we fall.

We must learn again to be a people of both truth and mercy. Not soft in our standards, but strong in our compassion. A society that upholds the good and helps the fallen return to it is a society on the road to renewal.

The world is changed not by programs or protests, but by people—people who choose to become what God made them to be. That is the beginning of everything. That is how cultures are rebuilt: not from the top down, but from the inside out.

No One Denies the Goodness of Jesus

Across cultures and centuries, even among those who reject Christianity, one thing is rarely denied: the goodness of Jesus. His compassion, His wisdom, His courage in the face of power, His mercy toward the sinner, His unwavering commitment to truth and love—these shine even through the haze of skepticism. The world may dispute His divinity, but it does not easily dismiss His virtue.

And this is no accident. God did not reveal Himself as a theory, a moral code, or an abstract ideal. He became man. He took on flesh, entered history, and walked among us—so that we might have a person to follow. A face to look upon. A voice to hear. A life to imitate.

Jesus is not a symbol of goodness—He is goodness incarnate. He shows us, not only what God is like, but what man is meant to be. He is the pattern of holiness made visible, the commandments lived out perfectly in love.

God knew we needed more than rules—we needed a relationship. More than principles—we needed a Person. Not just a ladder to climb, but a hand to grasp.

And so He came.

To follow Jesus is not to chase after an unreachable ideal. It is to walk behind the One who has gone before us, who knows the path because He is the path. His goodness is not a challenge thrown down in judgment, but an invitation extended in mercy: Come, follow Me.

Conclusion

In Christ we have the “fulfillment of the Law” (cf. Matthew 5:17)—not its abolition, but its perfection.

We have in Him not just the One who spoke the commandments, but the One who lived them.

He is the Law in motion. The Word made flesh. The Commandments walked out in sandals, written not on tablets of stone, but on the beating heart of a sinless Man.

In Him, we see what it means to love God with all the heart, all the mind, all the soul, all the strength.

In Him, we see what it means to honour one’s mother, to bless one’s persecutors, to speak no falsehood, to covet nothing.

In Him, the will of the Father becomes a life poured out for others.

And so He does not simply tell us to follow the Law—He leads us in it. He goes before us. He makes the impossible possible, because He gives us more than example—He gives us grace.

And now, dear brethren, as we go forth into Passiontide and draw near to the Cross, let us not follow at a distance. Let us follow closely. Intimately. Let us take up His commandments—not as burdens, but as the path of love.

Because in the end, it is not rules that save us—it is a Person.

And that Person is Jesus Christ—crucified, risen, and reigning—who is Himself the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6).

Follow Him—and you will walk not only through the shadow of death, but into the dawn of resurrection.

Use this veiled Passiontide to learn to follow Him and His embodied living of the Commandments, seeing Him with the eyes of faith. Amen.

Share

Carissimi

A matter of grave consequence now stands before us. A measure has been advanced within the Parliament of the United …

Read more

Read more

Read more

When God created man, He made him in His image and likeness (Gen. 1:26–27). This divine imprint signifies that man was made for truth, goodness, and beauty—ultimately for communion with God. Everything God created, He declared to be good (Gen. 1:31), including human desires and the objects of human longing. However, after the Fall, man’s nature was wounded. The harmony that once existed between his reason, will, and passions was disrupted. As a result, his desires became disordered, and his will, instead of being directed toward God, began to turn inward, seeking self-gratification rather than self-gift.

You see, it’s not that you were made bad, nor even that the things you long for, the temptations you face, or the tendencies you struggle with are inherently evil. They are not. Everything that exists, every created good, is fashioned by God and, in its proper order, serves a purpose in His divine plan. The problem is not in the objects of our desire—whether personal happiness, material wealth, pleasure, skill, or talent—but in our will’s inclination to grasp at them for ourselves, to manipulate, possess, and control them rather than receive and steward them rightly.

The real battleground is not outside of us but within. Our desires, left unchecked, become tyrants. They lead us not to fulfillment but to slavery—slavery to self-indulgence, to ambition, to the fleeting approval of others. This is why the path to spiritual maturity, and indeed to true manhood, requires more than external discipline; it demands an internal transformation. It is not enough to suppress desire—we must reorder it. The very things that tempt us can, if properly directed, become instruments of grace rather than occasions of sin.

To grow in holiness, to become the men God calls us to be, we must learn to master our will rather than be mastered by it. We must learn to direct our desires not toward selfish ends, but toward the highest good—the perfection of our own souls and the good of others. Only in this can we find true peace, true purpose, and true freedom.

Subscribe now

I. The Root of the Problem: Not the Object, but the Will

Many people misunderstand the nature of temptation and sin. It is not that we were created bad, nor that the things we desire—pleasure, success, security, companionship, recognition—are inherently evil. Indeed, God made all things good (Gen. 1:31), and our natural inclinations reflect aspects of the divine order. The problem is not what we desire but how we desire it.

Sin does not reside in the objects of our longing but in our will’s perversion of them. Take material wealth as an example: money itself is neither good nor evil, but our attachment to it, our greed, our willingness to sacrifice moral integrity to obtain it—these are the evils. A man who seeks financial stability so he can provide for his family and support charitable works has ordered his wealth properly. But a man who amasses riches to serve his ego, gain control over others, or indulge his appetites corrupts the gift of prosperity.

Similarly, personal happiness is not wrong in itself, but if a man seeks it above virtue—if he avoids responsibility, ignores truth, or compromises his conscience in pursuit of comfort—then his will has become disordered. It is not the object of desire that is at fault, but the heart that seeks to manipulate, possess, and dominate.

Saint Augustine explains this distinction in The City of God:
“Two loves have made two cities: the love of self to the contempt of God, and the love of God to the contempt of self.” (City of God, XIV.28)

The difference is not in the things we desire but in whether our love is ordered to God or to self.

At the core of fallen human nature is the desire to possess and control. This was the temptation in Eden: “You will be like God, knowing good and evil.” (Gen. 3:5)

Rather than trust in God’s providence, Adam and Eve sought to take for themselves what was not theirs to grasp. This fundamental pride is echoed in every form of sin—when we seek to control rather than surrender, to use rather than to love, to dominate rather than to serve.

Consider the temptations of Christ in the desert (Matt. 4:1–11). The devil tempts Jesus with three things: material provision (bread), power (dominion over the kingdoms), and spectacle (testing God’s protection).

Each temptation mirrors the way human desire can be corrupted:

1. Materialism – seeking comfort, wealth, and security at the expense of virtue.

2. Power and Dominion – seeking to rule rather than to serve.

3. Glory and Vanity – seeking recognition and admiration rather than humility.

Jesus, however, resists each temptation by subordinating desire to the will of the Father. He teaches us that true strength lies not in grasping for control but in surrendering to divine providence.

II. The Consequence of Disordered Desire: A Life of Restlessness

When our will seeks to control rather than to receive, when we chase possession rather than stewardship, we inevitably suffer. Disordered desire leads to slavery—slavery to passions, to ambition, to addiction. The man who lives for pleasure is never satisfied, for each indulgence only creates a greater hunger. The man obsessed with power or recognition will never feel secure, for the praise of the world is fleeting.

This restlessness of the human heart is not in itself evil. It is a sign that we were made for something greater than the passing pleasures of this world. The problem is not that we desire, but that we desire improperly, turning away from God to finite things, treating them as ends rather than means. This is what St. Paul warns about in Romans:

“For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.” (Rom. 7:19)

This inner struggle—between our higher calling and our fallen inclinations—is at the heart of spiritual growth.

Scripture warns of this restless pursuit:
“He who loves money will not be satisfied with money, nor he who loves wealth with his income; this also is vanity.” (Eccl. 5:10)

And Christ Himself tells us plainly:
“What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?” (Mark 8:36)

Here lies the tragedy of the disordered will: the very things we seek to control end up controlling us. A man who pursues pleasure without moderation becomes enslaved by his cravings. A man who hoards power out of fear becomes paranoid and insecure. A man who chases approval from others becomes a prisoner of their opinions.

Saint John of the Cross, in his Ascent of Mount Carmel, describes this condition:
“The soul that is attached to anything, however much good there may be in it, will not arrive at the liberty of divine union.”

The more we clutch at finite things, the more we lose sight of the infinite.

We must recognize that temptation is not the sin itself, but an opportunity either to fall into disorder or to reorder our desires toward the good. The difference between virtue and vice lies in whether we master our desires or they master us.

Saint Thomas Aquinas, in the Summa Theologica, distinguishes between lawful and unlawful desires. He explains that:
“The sin of lust consists in seeking venereal pleasure not in accordance with right reason.” (ST, II-II, q. 153, a. 2)

The same principle applies to all other human desires—whether for wealth, power, or even personal fulfillment. It is not the object that is evil, but the disorder in how we seek it.

This is why the Church warns against materialism, hedonism, and the idolatry of success. The problem is not wealth itself but attachment to wealth; not pleasure itself but enslavement to pleasure. The saints show us that sanctity does not require rejecting all earthly goods but using them rightly.

III. The Path to Spiritual Maturity: Overcoming and Ordering Desire

To grow spiritually and mature as a man is to overcome disordered desire—not by suppressing it, but by transforming it. The solution is not Stoicism, which denies emotion and passion, but rather the Christian path of rightly ordering them.

I. Recognizing the Purpose of Desire

Desire itself is not the enemy. Properly directed, it is a gift from God, meant to lead us beyond ourselves toward higher goods. Saint Thomas Aquinas, in the Summa Theologica, affirms:

“Happiness is the natural desire of man; but man does not naturally know wherein happiness consists, and must therefore be led to it.” (ST I-II, q. 1, a. 7)

The problem is not that we desire but that we misidentify the object of our fulfillment. Instead of recognizing that our deepest hunger is for God, we seek satisfaction in transient things—wealth, status, pleasure. The first step toward spiritual maturity is realizing that these are shadows of the true good, not ends in themselves.

To overcome disordered desires, man must engage in ascesis, the discipline of self-denial for the sake of a higher good. This is not merely about self-control, but about reorienting the will toward God.

II. Training the Will Through Self-Mastery

Because our nature is wounded by sin, our desires often conflict with our highest good. The solution is discipline—training the will to govern desire rather than be governed by it. This is the role of the virtue of temperance, which allows us to enjoy created goods without becoming enslaved by them.

Saint Paul exhorts us:
“Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable one.” (1 Cor. 9:25)

The virtue of temperance helps us moderate our desires and use created goods rightly. As St. Thomas Aquinas teaches:
“Temperance withdraws man from things which seduce the appetite from obeying reason.” (ST, II-II, q. 141, a. 2)

This means learning to use material things without becoming attached to them. Wealth should serve charity, pleasure should be ordered to love, and power should be exercised as service.

Discipline in small things—fasting, silence, self-denial—trains the soul for greater battles. If a man cannot master his appetite for food, how will he resist lust? If he cannot control his tongue in small disputes, how will he govern his anger in serious matters?

Saint Benedict, in his Rule, speaks of this gradual formation:

“The life of a monk ought to be a continuous Lent.” (Rule of St. Benedict, Ch. 49)

While not all are called to monastic life, the principle applies universally: self-denial is the path to self-possession.

III. Redirecting Desire Toward the Common Good

At the root of spiritual maturity is the realization that everything must be directed toward the summum bonum—the highest good, which is God Himself. St. Ignatius of Loyola encapsulates this in his Principle and Foundation:

“Man is created to praise, reverence, and serve God our Lord, and by this means to save his soul. The other things on the face of the earth are created for man to help him in attaining the end for which he is created.” (Spiritual Exercises, 23)

Thus, everything—our work, our relationships, our talents—must be ordered toward our eternal destiny. When we seek first the kingdom of God (Matt. 6:33), all other things fall into their proper place.

To overcome selfishness, we must learn to order our desires toward the good of others. Love properly understood is not about taking but giving. True love—because it reflects the nature of God Himself—is inherently self-sacrificial.

When a man turns his desires outward—seeking not his own fulfillment but the flourishing of those around him—his soul expands. The father who sacrifices his own ease for his family, the leader who uses power to serve rather than dominate, the friend who rejoices in another’s success rather than envying it—these are signs of true spiritual maturity.

This is the example of Christ Himself, who:
“Did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant.” (Phil. 2:6–7)

IV. The Highest Desire: Union With God

If all other goods are only partial reflections of the highest good, then true fulfillment is found not in them but in God Himself. The ultimate purpose of overcoming disordered desire is not mere moral improvement but divine union.

Saint Augustine expresses this longing:
“Late have I loved You, Beauty so ancient and so new! Late have I loved You! You were within me, but I was outside, and there I sought You.” (Confessions, X.27)

What, then, does it mean to reorder all desire toward God?

• It means seeking not personal success but holiness.

• It means learning to receive rather than to grasp.

• It means trusting in divine providence rather than forcing one’s own will.

This is not passivity but active surrender—choosing to love as Christ loves, to serve as He serves, to embrace the will of the Father as He did.

Saint Ignatius of Loyola, in his Suscipe Prayer, encapsulates this abandonment:
“Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will… Give me only Your love and Your grace; that is enough for me.”

When a man reaches this state—where all his desires are ordered toward the supreme good—he finds peace. He no longer clings to possessions, to control, to worldly success, because he has already found the one thing necessary.

Conclusion: The Freedom of the Ordered Will

To grow spiritually and to mature as a man is to master desire, not be ruled by it. This does not mean eradicating desire but elevating it. The will must be purified, not crushed; the heart must be disciplined, not deadened.

The world tells us that happiness lies in acquiring and controlling, but Christ tells us that true freedom lies in surrender and love. By grace, we can overcome the desire for possession and control and instead learn to receive and steward all things rightly.

As St. John of the Cross teaches:
“In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.” (Dichos de Luz y Amor, 64)

If we purify our desires, seek God first, and love rightly, we will not only find happiness in this life but eternal joy in the life to come. Let us, then, reorder our hearts toward the supreme good, so that all things may lead us to Him who alone satisfies the longing of the human soul.

To overcome disordered desire is to gain freedom—freedom from compulsion, from anxiety, from the endless hunger for more. A man who has mastered his will possesses himself fully and is therefore capable of true love, true service, and true joy.

This is what it means to mature spiritually—not to extinguish desire, but to elevate it. Not to reject the good things of this world, but to use them as God intended. Not to live for self, but to live for the highest good.

When we learn to desire rightly, we do not lose happiness—we find it. And in finding it, we find God Himself.

My dear faithful, as we move deeper into this sacred season of Lent, we find that the journey is not simply one of exterior observance, but of interior transformation. In the first week, we reflected on self-knowledge—the necessity of seeing ourselves as we truly are before God. But today, we must address the next and even more difficult stage of Lent: the battle to overcome ourselves.

For once we begin to see our faults and weaknesses, we are faced with a choice—either to accept them as inevitable, resigning ourselves to mediocrity, or to engage in spiritual combat, striving with the grace of God to overcome the false self that clings to us so persistently.

Make no mistake: Lent is not merely a season of reflection; it is a season of warfare. We do not pass through these forty days unchallenged. The world, the flesh, and the devil all conspire to keep us as we are, to lull us into complacency, or to convince us that real change is impossible. But Holy Mother Church, in her wisdom, calls us to arms, providing us with the weapons of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, guiding us through the sacred liturgy, and urging us onward to the foot of the Cross.

We must understand, therefore, that Lent is not primarily about external penances, but about who we are becoming. If we do not emerge from Lent changed, then we have wasted the season. If we do not strive to put to death the old man within us, then Easter will come, and we will remain as we were—unmoved, untransformed, and unprepared to rejoice in the Resurrection.

Let us, then, take up this second stage of our journey with seriousness. If we have seen ourselves for what we are, we must now fight to become what God calls us to be.

Subscribe now

I. The False Self: The Greatest Obstacle to Holiness

The greatest obstacle to holiness is not external persecution, nor even the devil’s direct temptations, but the subtle resistance of the false self—that part of us which stubbornly resists grace, clings to pride, and refuses to submit fully to God.

The false self is not merely our sinful tendencies; it is a distorted way of seeing ourselves. It is the illusion of self-sufficiency, the belief that we can define ourselves, that we can follow Christ while still holding on to our own will, our own plans, and our own attachments. It is the self that whispers, “I will obey God, but only on my terms.”

This false self takes many forms, and if we are not vigilant, we will fail to recognize it in ourselves.

Many souls spend their lives saying, “I know I need to change,” yet they never take up the battle. They make peace with their weaknesses, rather than striving to overcome them.

But to tolerate the false self is to reject the call to sanctity. Our Lord does not ask us for half-measures. He tells us plainly: “Whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever shall lose his life for My sake shall find it” (Matt. 16:25).

To become who we truly are, we must die to who we think we are.

The false self does not always manifest in obvious rebellion against God. More often, it is subtle, appearing under the disguise of virtues or common sense, deceiving us into complacency. It convinces us that we are justified in resisting grace, that our hesitations are reasonable, even necessary. This deception allows us to remain attached to our weaknesses while persuading ourselves that we are not rejecting God outright.

Three of the most insidious disguises of the false self are pride masked as independence, laziness disguised as prudence, and fear masquerading as humility.

1. Pride Disguised as Independence

A refusal to surrender completely to God, excusing it as “just the way I am.”

Pride is the original sin—the sin of Lucifer, the sin of Adam and Eve, the sin that lies at the root of every other vice. But most souls do not fall into pride by openly declaring themselves independent of God. Instead, pride worms its way into the spiritual life under the appearance of self-reliance, personal autonomy, or simply “being realistic.”

This false self says:

“This is just who I am—I can’t change.”
“God wouldn’t ask me to do something that isn’t natural to me.”
“I know myself better than anyone else, so I will decide what works best for me spiritually.”

Here, pride does not outright reject God’s authority; it simply resists transformation. It acknowledges the call to holiness but insists on dictating the terms. It tells God, “I will follow You, but on my own terms.”

This disguised pride leads many souls to settle for a lower spiritual life than the one to which they are called. Instead of striving for perfection, they excuse their faults, insisting that certain weaknesses are simply “part of their personality.” Instead of asking for grace to change, they say: “God made me this way.”

But this is not humility; it is pride refusing correction. God did make us, but sin has wounded us. He calls us not to remain as we are, but to be transformed. True humility does not resist grace—it welcomes it.

If we excuse our weaknesses as “just the way I am,” we close ourselves off to the work of God. But holiness is not found in self-reliance. It is found in surrender.

2. Laziness Disguised as Prudence

A reluctance to commit to a serious spiritual life, claiming that one must not “overdo it.”

The false self is not always arrogant; sometimes it is slothful. But even spiritual laziness does not usually present itself as laziness. It often comes disguised as prudence, balance, or moderation.

This false self says:

“I don’t want to be too extreme in my spiritual life.”
“I need to be reasonable—I can’t spend too much time on prayer.”
“God does not expect so much effort from me.”

Here, the soul deceives itself into thinking that it is avoiding spiritual excess, when in fact, it is avoiding spiritual discipline. The world has conditioned us to believe that holiness should be comfortable, that one can advance in virtue without real sacrifice, that a moderate commitment is all God requires.

But Our Lord did not preach moderation in love. He said: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind” (Luke 10:27). And again: “If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me” (Luke 9:23).

Where, in these words, do we find half-measures?

The saints understood this. They were not moderate in their pursuit of holiness—they were radical in their love for God. This did not mean they were imprudent, but they understood that lukewarmness is the greatest danger to the soul.

If we hesitate to fully commit, we must ask ourselves: Is this prudence, or is it fear? Am I being careful to avoid error, or am I simply avoiding effort? The false self resists discipline, but the path of sanctity requires effort and sacrifice.

3. Fear Disguised as Humility

A shrinking back from holiness, not out of true humility, but out of cowardice, fearing the cost of full surrender to God.

Some souls do not resist holiness out of pride or laziness, but out of fear. They recognize their unworthiness and their limitations. They see the saints and think:

“I am too weak to be a saint.”
“Holiness is for priests and nuns, not for someone like me.”
“God cannot expect so much from an ordinary soul.”

At first, this seems like humility. But true humility never refuses God’s invitation. False humility is merely fear dressed up in pious language.

This fear is often rooted in a misunderstanding of holiness. Sanctity is not about doing great things; it is about doing small things with great love. It is open to every soul who trusts completely in God’s mercy.

What is truly behind this fear? Often, it is fear of suffering—fear that holiness will require sacrifices we do not want to make, that God will ask too much of us.

We see this in the rich young man of the Gospel. He approached Jesus sincerely, asking, “Good Master, what shall I do that I may receive life everlasting?” (Mark 10:17). Jesus responded: “Go, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor… and come, follow Me.” But he went away sad. Why? Because he feared the cost of full surrender.

How many souls today are like him? They want holiness without sacrifice.

But Christ does not ask us to be strong—He asks us to be willing.

God does not choose the strong—He strengthens those He chooses.

If we shrink back from holiness, we must ask ourselves: Is this humility, or is it fear? And if it is fear, then we must remember His words: “Fear not, for I am with thee” (Isaiah 41:10).

Conclusion: The False Self Must Die

These are the disguises of the false self: pride, which refuses to change; laziness, which resists effort; fear, which shrinks back from God’s call.

If we are to rise with Christ at Easter, we must first die with Him. This means rejecting every excuse, every attachment, every hesitation that keeps us from full surrender to God.

Holiness is not for the few—it is for all who are willing. If we let go of our false selves, if we surrender in trust, then grace will do what we could never do alone.

II. The Enemy Within: The Flesh in Rebellion

Many souls imagine that the greatest threats to their spiritual life come from outside—secular influences, occasions of sin, or even the direct attacks of Satan. But the most dangerous enemy is within: our own fallen nature.

The world entices, the devil tempts—but it is our weakened will that consents. As St. Paul writes: “For I do not that good which I will; but the evil which I hate, that I do” (Rom. 7:19).

This battle manifests in the mind, in the senses, and in the will.

The mind must be disciplined against distraction and doubt. The senses must be restrained from indulgence and constant stimulation. The will must be surrendered fully to God, without bargaining, without clinging to attachments, without fear of divine providence.

If we do not master ourselves, we will be mastered. The man who cannot say no to himself will not be able to say yes to God.

True happiness is not found in self-fulfillment but in rising above the self. As Saint Bonaventure teaches, no one can enjoy the supreme good unless he rises above himself. To live in God, we must die to self.

Lent is the school of this transformation.

III. The Role of Grace: We Do Not Fight Alone

We must remember: we do not conquer ourselves by sheer willpower.

There are two errors in the spiritual battle: despair (“I cannot be holy”) and self-reliance (“I must make myself holy”). Both are false.

We rely instead on grace—through prayer, the Sacraments, and devotion to Our Lady.

Strength is found in surrender. The saints did not achieve holiness by their own power, but by complete abandonment to God.

If we try to make ourselves saints, we will fail. But if we surrender, allowing God to strip away everything that is not of Him, sanctity will come—not by our doing, but by His.

Through prayer, fasting, and self-denial, may we ascend beyond our fallen nature and seek our happiness in the Supreme Good—God Himself. Only when we lose our lives for Christ do we truly live.

Per Mariam ad Jesum. May the Blessed Virgin Mary, the model of perfect surrender, guide us on this path, that we may rise with Christ at Easter, transformed and ready to glorify God in all things.

Read more

Read more

“Non est bonum esse hominem solum”
A pastoral epistle for Septuagesima 2026

To the clergy, religious, and faithful of the Old Roman Apostolate,
and to all those who seek to preserve the Catholic faith in its integrity and fullness:
grace to you and peace from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.

Carissimi

“It is not good for man to be alone” (Gen…

Read more

Carissimi Filii

Beloved Sons in Christ,

As we stand at the threshold of a new year of grace, I write to you not as an administrator issuing directives, nor as a supervisor evaluating outcomes, but as a father speaking to his sons in the priesthood—men marked by an indelible character, conformed sacramentally to Christ the Eternal High Priest, and entrusted with the care of souls in an age that scarcely remembers what a priest is meant to be.

The words of the Venerable Fulton J. Sheen, which I place before you at the opening of this year, cut through all illusion and sentimentality:

O sacerdos! Tu quis es?
Non es a te, quia de nihilo.
Non es ad te, quia es mediator ad Deum.
Non es tibi, quia soli Deo vivere debes.
Non es tui, quia es omnium servus.
Non es tu, quia alter Christus es.
Quid ergo es? Nihil et omnia.¹

“O priest! What are you?
You do not come from yourself, for you come from nothing.
You do not belong to yourself, for you are ordered to God.
You do not live for yourself, for you must live for God alone.
You are not your own, for you are the servant of all.
You are not yourself, for you are another Christ.
What then are you? Nothing—and everything.”

This is not poetry for ornament’s sake. It is metaphysical truth. It expresses the very ontology of the priesthood. The priest does not possess his vocation as one might possess a skill or office; he is possessed by it. Holy Orders imprints a character that cannot be erased, a permanent configuration to Christ the High Priest, whether the world recognises it or not.² As I wrote to you last July, “the key to true discipleship and authentic spiritual progress lies not in being affirmed, promoted, or seen, but in the complete surrender of the possessive self.”³

In an age intoxicated with self-expression, self-definition, and self-sovereignty, the priest stands as a living contradiction. The modern world exhorts man to “be himself,” to assert his identity, to claim autonomy as a right. The priest, however, is commanded to do the opposite: to surrender selfhood, to disappear into Christ, to become transparent to Another.⁴

You were not ordained to affirm yourself, but to be consumed. You were not ordained to be affirmed by the age, but to be faithful to the Gospel. You were not ordained to speak your own word, but to hand on what you yourself received.⁵

This is why the priesthood has always been a sign of contradiction. It stands athwart the spirit of every age—not by political agitation, but by ontological witness. The priest is not his own property. He belongs to Christ, and therefore he belongs to the Church, and therefore he belongs to souls. And many of you—particularly the younger clergy—know what it is to “be treated as if you are irrelevant relics or even rebellious interlopers,” to be “ignored by chancelleries, snubbed by peers, questioned by family, and denied even the companionship of many once called brethren.”⁶

Such a vocation will never be comfortable.

You will be misunderstood. You will be ignored. At times you will be opposed—sometimes even by those within the household of faith. You may labour in obscurity, minister in small flocks, or carry burdens unseen and unacknowledged. Yet heaven measures differently than the world. A single faithful Mass offered in obscurity outweighs a thousand eloquent speeches. A single absolution pronounced in faith repairs more than a thousand editorials ever could. “The hiddenness you endure is not failure—it is purification.”⁷

Remember: the priesthood does not derive its dignity from visibility, numbers, or influence, but from sacrifice. The altar—not the platform—is its centre. The confessional—not the microphone—is its true tribunal. The tabernacle—not the crowd—is its true audience.⁸

You are not called to save the Church by strategy or reform. You are called to be holy. Holiness is the Church’s true reform. Every authentic renewal in the history of the Church has begun not with structures, but with saints.⁹

Therefore, I urge you, my sons: guard your interior life with vigilance. Be faithful to the daily offering of the Holy Sacrifice. Guard the silence of prayer. Love the sacred liturgy, not as a performance but as the action of Christ Himself. Teach sound doctrine without compromise, and do so with charity. Flee from the temptation to accommodate error for the sake of peace. Truth is never served by dilution.¹⁰

Above all, remain priests—priests of the altar, priests of the confessional, priests of the Cross. “The priest is not his own. He belongs to Christ. He is not here to be served, but to serve. Not to shine, but to burn.”¹¹

You are nothing.
And in Christ, you are everything.

With paternal affection and the assurance of my prayers,

Oremus pro invicem.

I.X.

Brichtelmestunensis
S. Silvestri Papæ et Confessoris MMXXV A.D.

Footnotes

1. Fulton J. Sheen, The Priest Is Not His Own (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1963), adapted from his meditation on the ontological identity of the priest. The Latin formulation is commonly attributed to Sheen’s paraphrase of traditional spiritual theology.

2. Council of Trent, Session XXIII, Doctrine on the Sacrament of Order, cap. 4: “In the sacrament of Order a character is impressed which can neither be effaced nor taken away.”

3. Jerome of Selsey, “Humiliati et Absconditi: A Pastoral Epistle to the Clergy” (17 July 2025).

4. Cf. Galatians 2:20; John 12:24–26.

5. 1 Corinthians 11:23; 1 Corinthians 4:1–2.

6. Jerome of Selsey, ibid.

7. Ibid.

8. St. John Chrysostom, De Sacerdotio, Book III.

9. Pope Pius XI, Ad Catholici Sacerdotii (1935), on the supernatural dignity of the priesthood.

10. Council of Trent, Session XXII, Doctrine on the Sacrifice of the Mass.

11. Fulton J. Sheen, The Priest Is Not His Own, Chapter 1.

    Subscribe now

TAGALOG

Minamahal kong mga anak kay Kristo,

Habang tayo ay nakatayo sa bungad ng panibagong taon ng biyaya, sumusulat ako sa inyo hindi bilang isang tagapangasiwa na nagbibigay ng mga kautusan, ni bilang isang superbisor na sumusuri ng mga resulta, kundi bilang isang ama na nakikipag-usap sa kanyang mga anak sa pananampalataya at pagkasaserdote—mga lalaking may tandang hindi na mabubura, na sakramentong hinubog ayon kay Kristo na Walang Hanggang Kataas-taasang Saserdote, at pinagkatiwalaan ng mga kaluluwa sa panahong halos limot na kung ano ba talaga ang pari.

Ang mga salita ng Kagalang-galang na si Fulton J. Sheen, na inilalagak ko sa inyong harapan sa pagsisimula ng taong ito, ay tumatagos sa lahat ng ilusyon at sentimentalismo:

O sacerdos! Tu quis es?
Non es a te, quia de nihilo.
Non es ad te, quia es mediator ad Deum.
Non es tibi, quia soli Deo vivere debes.
Non es tui, quia es omnium servus.
Non es tu, quia alter Christus es.
Quid ergo es? Nihil et omnia.¹

“O pari! Sino ka?
Hindi ka nagmula sa iyong sarili, sapagkat ikaw ay mula sa wala.
Hindi ka para sa iyong sarili, sapagkat ikaw ay itinakdang tunguhin ang Diyos.
Hindi ka nabubuhay para sa iyong sarili, sapagkat dapat kang mamuhay para sa Diyos lamang.
Hindi ikaw ang may-ari ng iyong sarili, sapagkat ikaw ay lingkod ng lahat.
Hindi ka ikaw, sapagkat ikaw ay isa pang Kristo.
Ano ka nga ba? Wala—at lahat.”

Hindi ito panulaan para lang sa palamuti. Ito ay isang pilosopikal at teolohikal na katotohanan. Ipinahahayag nito ang mismong ontolohiya ng pagkasaserdote. Ang pari ay hindi basta mayroong bokasyon gaya ng isang kasanayan o tungkulin; siya ay pagmamay-ari nito. Ang Banal na Orden ay nag-uukit ng isang tandang hindi na nabubura, isang permanenteng pagkakahubog kay Kristo bilang Kataas-taasang Saserdote, kahit hindi ito kilalanin ng mundo.² Gaya ng isinulat ko noong Hulyo, “ang susi ng tunay na pagsunod at tunay na paglago sa espiritu ay hindi ang makilala, maitaas, o makita, kundi ang ganap na pagsuko ng makasariling sarili.”³

Sa isang panahon na lasing sa pagpapahayag ng sarili, sa pagbibigay-kahulugan sa sarili, at sa sariling pamumuno, ang pari ay isang buhay na kontradiksiyon. Tinuturuan ng modernong mundo ang tao na “maging siya mismo,” na igiit ang kanyang pagkakakilanlan, at angkinin ang awtonomiya bilang karapatan. Ngunit ang pari ay inuutusang gawin ang kabaligtaran: isuko ang sarili, maglaho kay Kristo, maging malinaw na salamin ng Isa pa.⁴

Hindi kayo naordinahan upang pagtibayin ang inyong sarili, kundi upang magpakasayang buo. Hindi kayo naordinahan upang aprubahan ng daigdig, kundi upang maging tapat sa Ebanghelyo. Hindi kayo naordinahan upang magsalita ng sariling salita, kundi upang ipasa ang inyong natanggap.⁵

Ito ang dahilan kung bakit ang pagkasaserdote ay laging naging isang tanda ng kontradiksiyon. Tumitindig ito laban sa espiritu ng bawat panahon—hindi sa pamamagitan ng pulitikal na pagkilos, kundi ng ontolohikal na saksi. Ang pari ay hindi sarili niyang ari-arian. Siya ay kay Kristo, at samakatuwid ay sa Simbahan, at samakatuwid ay para sa mga kaluluwa. At marami sa inyo—lalo na kayong mas nakababatang klero—ang nakararanas kung paano “itrato na tila kayo’y mga hindi mahalagang relikya o mapaghimagsik na banyaga,” na “hindi pinapansin ng mga opisina ng simbahan, kinukutya ng mga kapwa lingkod, kinikwestiyon ng sariling pamilya, at pinagtatabuyan ng dati’y mga kapatid sa pananampalataya.”⁶

Hindi kailanman magiging maginhawa ang bokasyong ito.

Kayo’y hindi maiintindihan. Kayo’y hindi papansinin. Minsan ay lalabanan pa kayo—maging ng mga nasa loob ng sambahayan ng pananampalataya. Maaaring kayo’y maglingkod sa kabila ng kawalang-kilala, magpastol ng maliliit na kawan, o magpasan ng mga pasaning di-nakikita at di-kilala. Subalit iba ang pamantayan ng langit kaysa mundo. Ang isang matapat na Misa na inaalay sa lihim ay higit na mahalaga kaysa sanlibong talumpati. Ang isang absolusyon na binigkas sa pananampalataya ay higit na nakapagpapagaling kaysa sanlibong artikulo. “Ang pagiging nakatago na inyong dinaranas ay hindi kabiguan—ito’y paglilinis.”⁷

Alalahanin: ang dangal ng pagkasaserdote ay hindi nagmumula sa kasikatan, bilang, o impluwensiya, kundi sa sakripisyo. Ang altar—hindi ang entablado—ang sentro nito. Ang kumpisalan—hindi ang mikropono—ang tunay na tribunal. Ang tabernakulo—hindi ang madla—ang tunay na madla.⁸

Hindi kayo tinawag upang iligtas ang Simbahan sa pamamagitan ng estratehiya o reporma. Kayo ay tinawag upang maging banal. Ang kabanalan ang tunay na reporma ng Simbahan. Bawat tunay na pagbabagong panloob sa kasaysayan ng Simbahan ay nagsimula hindi sa mga estruktura kundi sa mga santo.⁹

Kaya’t hinihimok ko kayo, aking mga anak: bantayan ninyong mabuti ang inyong panloob na buhay. Maging tapat sa araw-araw na pag-aalay ng Banal na Sakripisyo. Bantayan ang katahimikan ng panalangin. Ibigin ang sagradong liturhiya, hindi bilang pagtatanghal kundi bilang kilos ni Kristo Mismo. Ituro ang tunay na doktrina nang walang kompromiso, at gawin ito nang may pag-ibig. Tumakas sa tukso ng pakikisama sa kamalian alang-alang sa katahimikan. Hindi kailanman napaglilingkuran ang katotohanan sa pamamagitan ng pagpapalabnaw nito.¹⁰

Higit sa lahat, manatili kayong mga pari—mga pari ng altar, mga pari ng kumpisalan, mga pari ng Krus. “Ang pari ay hindi kanya. Siya ay kay Kristo. Siya ay narito hindi upang paglingkuran kundi upang maglingkod. Hindi upang magningning kundi upang magliyab.”¹¹

Kayo ay wala.
At kay Kristo, kayo ay lahat.

Sa pagmamahal ng isang ama at sa katiyakan ng aking panalangin,

ESPANOL

Amados hijos en Cristo:

Al encontrarnos al umbral de un nuevo año de gracia, os escribo no como un administrador que dicta directrices, ni como un supervisor que evalúa resultados, sino como un padre que habla a sus hijos en el sacerdocio—hombres marcados por un carácter indeleble, configurados sacramentalmente con Cristo, el Sumo Sacerdote Eterno, y encargados del cuidado de las almas en una época que apenas recuerda lo que verdaderamente debe ser un sacerdote.

Las palabras del Venerable Fulton J. Sheen, que os presento al inicio de este año, cortan toda ilusión y sentimentalismo:

O sacerdos! Tu quis es?
Non es a te, quia de nihilo.
Non es ad te, quia es mediator ad Deum.
Non es tibi, quia soli Deo vivere debes.
Non es tui, quia es omnium servus.
Non es tu, quia alter Christus es.
Quid ergo es? Nihil et omnia.¹

“¡Oh sacerdote! ¿Quién eres?
No vienes de ti mismo, porque vienes de la nada.
No llevas a ti mismo, porque eres mediador hacia Dios.
No vives para ti, porque debes vivir solo para Dios.
No eres tuyo, porque eres servidor de todos.
No eres tú mismo, porque eres otro Cristo.
¿Entonces qué eres? Nada… y todo.”

Esto no es poesía ornamental. Es verdad metafísica. Expresa la ontología misma del sacerdocio. El sacerdote no posee su vocación como quien tiene una habilidad o un cargo; él es poseído por ella. El Orden Sagrado imprime un carácter que no puede borrarse, una configuración permanente con Cristo Sumo Sacerdote, aunque el mundo no lo reconozca.² Como escribí el pasado julio, “la clave del verdadero discipulado y del progreso espiritual auténtico no está en ser afirmado, promovido o visto, sino en la entrega total del yo posesivo.”³

En una era embriagada por la autoexpresión, la autodefinición y la autoafirmación, el sacerdote es una contradicción viviente. El mundo moderno exhorta al hombre a “ser él mismo”, a afirmar su identidad, a reclamar la autonomía como un derecho. El sacerdote, en cambio, recibe un mandato inverso: renunciar a sí mismo, desaparecer en Cristo, volverse transparente a Otro.⁴

No habéis sido ordenados para afirmaros, sino para ser consumidos. No habéis sido ordenados para ser reconocidos por este siglo, sino para ser fieles al Evangelio. No habéis sido ordenados para hablar por vosotros mismos, sino para transmitir lo que habéis recibido.⁵

Por eso el sacerdocio siempre ha sido señal de contradicción. Contradice el espíritu de cada época —no con agitación política, sino con un testimonio ontológico. El sacerdote no se pertenece. Pertenece a Cristo, por tanto a la Iglesia, y por tanto a las almas. Y muchos de vosotros —sobre todo los más jóvenes— sabéis bien lo que es “ser tratados como reliquias anticuadas o incluso como elementos perturbadores; ignorados por las cancillerías, rechazados por los compañeros, interrogados por los familiares, e incluso privados de la fraternidad de quienes alguna vez fueron llamados hermanos.”⁶

Tales vocaciones nunca serán cómodas.

Seréis incomprendidos. Seréis ignorados. A veces seréis resistidos —a veces incluso por quienes comparten la fe. Puede que sirváis en la sombra, que atendáis rebaños pequeños, o que carguéis cruces invisibles y no reconocidas. Pero el Cielo mide distinto que el mundo. Una sola Misa fiel celebrada en el anonimato vale más que mil discursos elocuentes. Una sola absolución dada con fe repara más que mil editoriales. “La invisibilidad que soportáis no es un fracaso —es una purificación.”⁷

Recordad: la dignidad del sacerdocio no depende de la visibilidad, del número ni de la influencia, sino del sacrificio. El altar —no la plataforma— es su centro. El confesionario —no el micrófono— es su tribunal. El sagrario —no la multitud— es su verdadero auditorio.⁸

No habéis sido llamados a salvar la Iglesia con estrategia o reformas. Estáis llamados a ser santos. La santidad es la verdadera reforma de la Iglesia. Toda renovación auténtica en la historia de la Iglesia ha comenzado no con estructuras, sino con santos.⁹

Por eso os exhorto, hijos míos: cuidad con celo vuestra vida interior. Sed fieles a la ofrenda diaria del Santo Sacrificio. Preservad el silencio de la oración. Amad la santa liturgia, no como espectáculo, sino como la misma acción de Cristo. Enseñad la sana doctrina sin componendas, y hacedlo con caridad. Huid de la tentación de acomodar el error para conservar la paz. La verdad nunca se sirve aguada.¹⁰

Y sobre todo, permaneced sacerdotes: sacerdotes del altar, sacerdotes del confesionario, sacerdotes de la Cruz. “El sacerdote no se pertenece. Pertenece a Cristo. No está para ser servido, sino para servir. No para brillar, sino para arder.”¹¹

No sois nada.
Y en Cristo, sois todo.

Con afecto paternal y la seguridad de mis oraciones.

FRANCAIS

Bien-aimés Fils dans le Christ,

Alors que nous nous tenons au seuil d’une nouvelle année de grâce, je vous écris non pas comme un administrateur émettant des directives, ni comme un superviseur évaluant des résultats, mais comme un père s’adressant à ses fils dans le sacerdoce — des hommes marqués par un caractère indélébile, configurés sacramentellement au Christ, Souverain Prêtre éternel, et chargés du soin des âmes en une époque qui a presque oublié ce qu’est réellement un prêtre.

Les mots du Vénérable Fulton J. Sheen, que je vous offre en ce commencement d’année, tranchent dans l’illusion et le sentimentalisme :

O sacerdos! Tu quis es? Non es a te, quia de nihilo. Non es ad te, quia es mediator ad Deum. Non es tibi, quia soli Deo vivere debes. Non es tui, quia es omnium servus. Non es tu, quia alter Christus es. Quid ergo es? Nihil et omnia.¹

“Ô prêtre ! Qui es-tu ? Tu ne viens pas de toi-même, car tu viens du néant. Tu ne mènes pas à toi, car tu es médiateur vers Dieu. Tu ne vis pas pour toi-même, car tu dois vivre pour Dieu seul. Tu ne t’appartiens pas, car tu es serviteur de tous. Tu n’es pas toi-même, car tu es un autre Christ. Qu’es-tu donc ? Rien — et tout.”

Ce n’est pas une poésie pour l’ornement. C’est une vérité métaphysique. Elle exprime l’ontologie même du sacerdoce. Le prêtre ne possède pas sa vocation comme on posséderait une compétence ou une fonction ; il en est possédé. L’Ordre sacré imprime un caractère qui ne s’efface pas, une configuration permanente au Christ Prêtre éternel, que le monde le reconnaisse ou non.² Comme je vous l’écrivais en juillet dernier, « la clé du véritable discipulat et du progrès spirituel authentique ne réside pas dans le fait d’être affirmé, promu ou reconnu, mais dans l’abandon total du moi possessif. »³

En un temps enivré par l’expression de soi, la définition de soi et la souveraineté de soi, le prêtre est une contradiction vivante. Le monde moderne exhorte l’homme à “être lui-même”, à affirmer son identité, à revendiquer l’autonomie comme un droit. Le prêtre, quant à lui, reçoit un commandement inverse : renoncer à soi, disparaître dans le Christ, devenir transparent à un Autre.⁴

Vous n’avez pas été ordonnés pour vous affirmer, mais pour être consumés. Vous n’avez pas été ordonnés pour être reconnus par ce siècle, mais pour être fidèles à l’Évangile. Vous n’avez pas été ordonnés pour parler en votre nom, mais pour transmettre ce que vous avez reçu.⁵

C’est pourquoi le sacerdoce a toujours été un signe de contradiction. Il contredit l’esprit de chaque époque — non pas par l’agitation politique, mais par un témoignage ontologique. Le prêtre n’est pas sa propre propriété. Il appartient au Christ, donc à l’Église, donc aux âmes. Et beaucoup parmi vous — en particulier les jeunes clercs — savent ce que c’est que « d’être traités comme des reliques démodées ou même des perturbateurs indésirables », « ignorés par les chancelleries, rejetés par vos pairs, interrogés par vos proches, et privés même de la fraternité de ceux qu’on appelait autrefois vos frères. »⁶

Une telle vocation ne sera jamais confortable.

Vous serez incompris. Vous serez ignorés. Parfois vous serez opposés — parfois même par ceux qui partagent la foi. Vous pourrez œuvrer dans l’ombre, servir de petits troupeaux, ou porter des fardeaux invisibles et non reconnus. Mais le Ciel mesure autrement que le monde. Une seule Messe fidèle célébrée dans l’oubli vaut mieux que mille discours éloquents. Une seule absolution donnée avec foi répare plus que mille éditoriaux. « L’invisibilité que vous supportez n’est pas un échec — c’est une purification. »⁷

Souvenez-vous : la dignité du sacerdoce ne dépend pas de la visibilité, du nombre ou de l’influence, mais du sacrifice. L’autel — non l’estrade — en est le centre. Le confessionnal — non le micro — en est le véritable tribunal. Le tabernacle — non la foule — en est le vrai auditoire.⁸

Vous n’êtes pas appelés à sauver l’Église par stratégie ou réforme. Vous êtes appelés à être saints. La sainteté est la véritable réforme de l’Église. Chaque renouveau authentique dans l’histoire de l’Église a commencé non par des structures, mais par des saints.⁹

Je vous exhorte donc, mes fils : gardez votre vie intérieure avec vigilance. Soyez fidèles à l’offrande quotidienne du Saint Sacrifice. Préservez le silence de la prière. Aimez la sainte liturgie, non comme une performance, mais comme l’action même du Christ. Enseignez la saine doctrine sans compromis, et faites-le avec charité. Fuyez la tentation d’accommoder l’erreur pour préserver la paix. La vérité n’est jamais servie par la dilution.¹⁰

Par-dessus tout, demeurez prêtres : prêtres de l’autel, prêtres du confessionnal, prêtres de la Croix. « Le prêtre ne s’appartient pas. Il appartient au Christ. Il n’est pas là pour être servi, mais pour servir. Pas pour briller, mais pour brûler. »¹¹

Vous n’êtes rien. Et dans le Christ, vous êtes tout.

Avec affection paternelle et l’assurance de mes prières.

“Per Tempus Concussionis et Ventilationis”
a Pastoral Epistle for the New Year 2026

To the clergy, religious, and faithful of the Old Roman Apostolate, and to all those who seek to preserve the Catholic faith in its integrity and fullness:
grace to you and peace from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.

Carissimi

As we cross the threshold into the year of Our Lord 2026, I write to you not merely to observe the calendar’s turning, but to acknowledge what many of you already feel in your bones: that we are living through a season of shaking and sifting. Laws have been passed which strike at the very heart of human dignity; children are sacrificed to ideology in clinics and classrooms; the name of Christ is pushed to the margins of public life while false religions and false unities are courted and indulged. Within the Church, liturgy is bent to personalities, doctrine is “managed” as if it were policy, and ecumenical ceremonies are staged without any serious call to conversion.⁷

Faced with this, the temptation is either despair or distraction. But for Christians, neither is permitted. Our Lord did not promise us comfort; He promised us a Cross and His own abiding presence: “In the world you shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”¹

This epistle is therefore not a lament but a call to action. I want to speak plainly about what you, as ordinary faithful, can do in 2026 to stem, and by God’s grace begin to reverse, the tide that seems so strong against us. The work begins where it always has: at the altar, in the confessional, in the home, in the mind, in the public square, and in the daily formation we receive.

I. Christ First: Rebuilding from the Altar Outward

Every renewal in the history of the Church has started, not with strategies, but with worship. When Israel forgot the law, the prophets rebuilt the altar. When Christ came, He established, not a programme, but a Sacrifice. When the world grows darker, the first duty of the faithful is to ensure that somewhere, in their time and place, God is truly adored in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.²

For us, this means redoubling our love and reverence for the sacred liturgy in its traditional form. Where the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is offered worthily and devoutly, according to the rites handed down, there the Kingship of Christ is already visibly proclaimed, whatever the politicians may legislate and whatever confusion may reign in chancelleries and dicasteries.⁸

In practical terms, I ask you in this new year:

Make Sunday Mass non-negotiable, even at real cost. Arrange your work, your travel, your family gatherings around the altar, not the altar around your convenience. Where you are able, sanctify at least one weekday each week by assisting at Mass. The world is not sustained by our activism but by the Blood of Christ made present on our altars. Examine your manner of assisting at Mass. Come early enough to recollect; dress as if you really believed you were going to Calvary; remain in thanksgiving after Mass rather than rushing away as soon as the last word is said. Recover Eucharistic adoration in our chapels wherever it is possible. Half an hour of silent adoration each week will do more to steady your soul and re-order your priorities than hours of anxious news-consumption.

If laws are now passed that permit abortion to birth, if children are experimented on in the name of “gender affirmation,” if public blasphemies are staged in parliaments and city squares, it is above all because Christ is not recognised as King.⁸ The most radical thing you can do in 2026 is to adore Him with faith and reverence in the Blessed Sacrament and to place the Mass at the centre of your week and your decisions.

II. Return to the Fountain: Confession, Conversion, and the Interior Life

We cannot hope to convert our culture if we ourselves will not be converted. The crisis “out there” is sustained, in part, by tepidity within the Church. The line between good and evil runs through every human heart, including mine and yours.

Therefore:

Seek regular confession. Do not content yourself with an annual visit to the confessional, as if you were renewing a licence. Make a firm decision now: monthly, or even fortnightly, you will kneel before Christ’s representative and accuse yourself humbly of your sins.³ Do this even if you must travel or wait. The sacrament of Penance is not a decorative extra; it is the instrument by which God renews His image in us and equips us with grace for the battles of our time.

Establish a rule of daily prayer. Many Catholics attempt to fight great cultural battles with almost no interior life. Decide on a daily minimum and hold to it firmly: morning offering, consciously uniting the day to God; at least fifteen minutes of mental prayer or meditative reading of Scripture; the daily Rosary, even if you must divide the decades through the day; nightly examination of conscience, however brief, with an act of contrition.

Without this, you will find your reactions shaped more by fear, anger, and the media cycle than by the Holy Ghost. With it, you will begin to discern where God is calling you to act and where He is calling you to be silent, to suffer, or to wait.

III. The Domestic Church: Guarding Children and Re-Christianising the Home

The enemies of Christ understand something many Catholics have forgotten: whoever forms the children, owns the future. It is no accident that so much pressure is placed on schools, media, and medicine to normalise grave sin, confuse identities, and sexualise the young. If we do not actively guard and form our children, others will gladly do it for us.⁴

For parents and grandparents, I therefore speak with urgency.

First, reclaim authority in the home. You are not the chaplains of the State; you are the first pastors of the souls entrusted to you. No government, school, or clinician has a greater right over a child than his or her parents acting in accordance with God’s law.⁴ If policies or programmes directly contradict the moral law or the teaching of the Church, you have not only the right but the duty to say “no.”

Second, reform the home around the family altar. Enthrone an image of the Sacred Heart; keep a crucifix prominently displayed; mark the feasts and fasts of the Church with visible signs — blessed candles, an Advent wreath, a simple family altar. Let the liturgical year be kept not only in the chapel but in the kitchen and living room. Children whose imaginations are formed by crucifixes, icons, and the Rosary will be less captivated by the glowing idols of the screen.

Third, be intentional about schooling and catechesis. If your children are in state schools, you must recognise that you are sending them into mission territory. Know what they are being taught about sex, gender, and religion. Read the policies. Ask questions. Withdraw them from sessions that contradict your faith and morals. If you can homeschool, or support genuinely Catholic schools that refuse ideological capture, seriously consider this sacrifice.⁵

Do not delegate catechesis. Teach your children the basics of the faith from solid sources — the Catechism of the Council of Trent, the Baltimore Catechism, the traditional prayers and devotions of the Church. Family catechism for half an hour each week will do more for their souls than a lifetime of vague “religious education.”⁵

Finally, guard their innocence in the digital sphere. Unfiltered smartphones and unguided internet access are among the most efficient tools for undoing everything you try to teach. Set limits. Use filters. Do not be afraid to be thought “old-fashioned.” Your duty is not to make your children fashionable but to help them reach Heaven.

IV. Formation of the Mind: Thinking with the Church in an Age of Confusion

Much of the present crisis is intellectual. Laws are passed, policies implemented, and ecumenical gestures staged on the basis of confused or deliberately distorted ideas about the human person, the Church, and God. Catholics who cannot think with the Church will be swept along, however orthodox their sentiments.

For this reason, I urge you in 2026 to make serious study of the faith part of your Christian life. This does not mean amassing internet arguments, but drinking from sound wells.

Choose one reliable catechism and read it through. The Catechism of Trent or the Baltimore Catechism are excellent foundations. Take a small section each day or each week, read it slowly, and discuss it in the family or parish group.⁵

Read Scripture with the mind of the Church. The Bible is not a weapon to be wielded for private interpretation; it is the book of the Church, to be read within Tradition. Consider choosing one Gospel and one Epistle this year and reading them meditatively, perhaps with a commentary from a trustworthy Father or Doctor, such as St Augustine, St John Chrysostom, or St Thomas Aquinas.

Be intentional in your media and news consumption. You do not need to know every outrage in real time. Choose a small number of sources that you know will not lie to you, and limit your intake. For the rest, do not be afraid to turn things off. A mind perpetually inflamed by outrage will not perceive where God is asking it to act.

On questions of sex, gender, and the body, acquaint yourself with the Church’s perennial teaching on creation, marriage, and the natural law. Understand why hormonal interventions on healthy children are wrong; why “assisted dying” is in truth assisted killing; why pornography is not merely a private vice but a grave injustice that deforms the soul and poisons society.⁶ Catholics who can explain these things calmly and clearly will be a rare and necessary leaven.¹⁴

V. Christian Action in the Public Square: Witness Without Illusion

Not every Catholic is called to stand in Parliament or to appear in the media. But every Catholic, by baptism and confirmation, is called to confess Christ before men in whatever station Providence has placed him.⁶

In 2026, this will demand both courage and prudence.

First, resolve never to cooperate in a lie. There will be increasing pressure in workplaces and institutions to affirm falsehoods about marriage, sex, and identity; to use words that deny reality; to treat abortion as healthcare and euthanasia as mercy. While there may be room for discretion and silence in some circumstances, there is never room for formal cooperation in error. Do not place your signature, your vote, or your voice behind statements that contradict the law of God. If policy demands that you affirm what you know to be false, seek advice and, if necessary, be ready to accept professional or financial loss rather than betray the truth.⁶

Second, support those on the front lines. Not everyone can bring legal challenges, stand for office, or lead campaigns. But many can write letters, sign petitions, attend peaceful vigils, support crisis-pregnancy centres, contribute to legal defence funds, or simply stand beside those who are being singled out for punishment because they have refused to compromise. In an age of official intimidation, honest men and women must know that they are not alone.

Third, exercise your duties as citizens. Vote when you can do so in good conscience. Make your representatives aware that their positions on life, family, and freedom are not marginal issues but decisive ones. Write respectfully but clearly. Where public consultations are opened on matters such as hate-speech legislation, “conversion therapy,” or restrictions on homeschooling, take the time to respond.

At the same time, do not allow politics to become your functional religion. The Kingdom of Christ is not tied to any party programme. When earthly parties or movements align more closely with the moral law, they may deserve your support; when they do not, withdraw it. Keep your ultimate loyalty for Christ and His Church.⁶ There is a fine line between rightful Christian engagement and idolatry of the political process; cross it, and you will find your spiritual life withers even as your activism increases.

VI. Building Small Strongholds: Communities of Faith, Charity, and Culture

We are too scattered. One of the devil’s most effective strategies has been to isolate faithful Catholics: each family thinking itself alone in its convictions, each priest imagining himself the last of his kind. This is not only emotionally draining; it is also strategically disastrous. Lone Christians are easier to intimidate than communities.

In 2026 I ask every chapel, mission, and group within the Old Roman Apostolate to take concrete steps toward forming small, sturdy communities of faith and friendship.

After Sunday Mass, do not rush away. Make a point of greeting those you do not yet know. Learn names. See who is standing alone. Over time, encourage the formation of guild-type groups: men’s confraternities, women’s sodalities, youth circles, study groups, practical mutual-aid networks.

Consider how your chapel can become a centre not only of worship but of Christian culture: catechism classes, talks, book groups, shared meals on feast days, practical workshops on living the liturgical year at home. The more the faithful know and love one another, the harder it will be for hostile structures to drive them into silence or compromise.⁹

Do not neglect works of mercy. The credibility of our witness depends in part on whether we actually care for the poor, the lonely, the sick, the unborn, the women in crisis pregnancies, the victims of abuse and neglect. Ask what your community can realistically do: perhaps supporting a local pro-life initiative, visiting the housebound, assisting a family in need of schooling help, or helping refugees who are genuinely fleeing persecution rather than exploiting systems. Start small, but start somewhere.⁹

VII. Standing Firm in the Church: Fidelity Without Servility

Some of you carry heavy burdens over the situation in the wider Church: the marginalisation of the traditional Mass, the confusion spread by ambiguous documents, the wounds of the abuse crisis, the sight of bishops hugging those who promote or live in public contradiction to the moral law while ignoring or disparaging those attached to Tradition. You ask: how can we remain obedient sons and daughters without endorsing manifest disorder?

The answer is the same as it has always been in times of crisis: cling to what the Church has always taught; love and receive the sacraments wherever they are validly and worthily celebrated; respect the office of the Pope and the bishops without imagining that every prudential decision or personal opinion they voice binds your conscience.

We in the Old Roman Apostolate have taken a particular path within this tension: neither abandoning the Roman See nor colluding in its present confusions; neither pretending that nothing is wrong nor declaring the See vacant; neither inventing a new Church nor accepting a new religion.¹¹ This position is not comfortable, but it is, I am convinced, the one that best preserves both the faith and the hope of eventual restoration.

You can assist this work by praying daily for the Pope, for the bishops, and for us who labour in this small portion of the Lord’s vineyard. Pray especially for holy priests and vocations. Encourage young men of faith and character to discern the priesthood; do not discourage them with your cynicism. Whatever else changes, the Church will always need altars, priests, and souls hungry for the sacraments.

VIII. Nuntiatoria and Old Roman TV: Daily Formation, News, and Worship

In this struggle for truth, you are not without companions and tools. One of the great dangers of our time is confusion: Catholics drinking from poisoned wells, relying on media that misrepresent the Church, and being formed more by partisan slogans than by the mind of Christ. It is therefore vital that you make use of sound, faithful resources.

For this reason, I commend to you in a particular way our own apostolate of word and image: Nuntiatoria and Old Roman TV.

Nuntiatoria exists to do three things for you.¹²

First, catechesis. Through essays, doctrinal reflections, and explanations of the liturgical year, Nuntiatoria aims to help you think with the perennial Magisterium of the Church, drawing especially on the Fathers, the traditional catechisms, and the pre-conciliar papal encyclicals. Make a habit of reading one substantial piece each week. Use it in family discussion, parish groups, or personal study. Let it sharpen your understanding and clarify your speech.

Second, informed news and analysis. We do not pretend to be encyclopaedic, but we strive to be honest: presenting key developments in Church and world through a Catholic lens neither captured by the secular left nor beholden to a merely political “right.” Many of you cannot spare hours to sift through partisan outlets. Let Nuntiatoria help you see what truly matters and why, so that you are neither naïve nor consumed by rage.

Third, orientation in the cultural battle. Our editorials on abortion, assisted dying, grooming gangs, Islamism, false ecumenism, academic freedom, policing, attacks on Christians, and the crisis in Rome are not meant merely to alarm you, but to arm you: with facts, principles, and language to speak the truth in your own circles.

Alongside Nuntiatoria, Old Roman TV — our daily online apostolate of worship and devotions — is there to sustain you when distance, illness, or circumstances prevent physical attendance at Mass or public devotions.¹³

Let me be clear: the livestreamed Mass does not fulfil your Sunday obligation when attendance is possible, and it can never replace the grace of sacramental Communion. But for the sick, the housebound, those too far from an Old Roman chapel, or those impeded on weekdays, the daily broadcast of the Holy Sacrifice, the Rosary, and other devotions can be a real consolation and a strong aid to prayer. Unite yourselves spiritually to the altar; make acts of spiritual communion; let the prayers and readings penetrate your heart.

I therefore encourage you: bookmark Nuntiatoria and consult it regularly for catechetical and news content; subscribe to our channels and share material judiciously with those who may benefit; when you cannot attend physically, join the streamed Mass or devotions with recollection, avoiding the temptation to treat holy things as background noise.

If we are to rebuild Christian civilisation from the altar outward, we must also rebuild a Catholic mind and imagination. Nuntiatoria and Old Roman TV are offered to you precisely for that purpose: to help you pray, to help you understand, and to help you stand.

IX. Hope That Does Not Lie: Looking to 2026 and Beyond

It would be easy, surveying the past year, to become paralysed. Abortion to birth, assisted dying, experimental treatments on children, open blasphemy, institutional cowardice before Islamism, false ecumenism that trades dogma for vague unity, the slow criminalisation of Christian speech — all these things are real, and we must not pretend otherwise.¹⁴

Yet despair is a sin because it denies either God’s power or His goodness.¹⁰ Christ remains the same yesterday, today, and forever. Grace is not weaker in the twenty-first century than it was in the first. The Holy Ghost has not retired. Divine Providence has chosen you to live in this time, with these particular challenges, because there are acts of faith, hope, and love that only you can perform: in your family, your workplace, your parish, your nation.

Our task is not to guarantee visible success. Our task is to be found faithful. If we adore Christ as King in the liturgy, if we confess our sins and strive for holiness, if we raise children who know that they are made male or female in the image of God and called to chastity and charity, if we refuse to lie on command, if we build small strongholds of Christian life, if we suffer rather than betray the truth — then we have already begun to reverse the tide, whether or not we live to see the full fruits.

Dearly beloved, I ask you this year to stop saying “someone ought to” and to begin asking, “Lord, what do You want me to do?” Then do that thing with all your heart, all your mind, all your strength, and all your love. Heaven does not measure the size of our sphere, but the depth of our fidelity within it.

May the Blessed Virgin Mary, who kept the faith beneath the Cross when all seemed lost, obtain for you the grace of persevering courage. May St Joseph guard your homes. May the martyrs and confessors of every age strengthen you to choose the hard right over the easy wrong. And may Christ, our King and High Priest, bless you, your families, and our whole Apostolate in this new year, and bring us at last to that Kingdom where no error can mislead, no sin can wound, and no tear remains un-wiped.

Given at the beginning of the year of Our Lord 2026,
in the Octave of the Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ,

Haec est via.

I.X.

Primus, Old Roman Apostolate

Brichtelmestunensis
S. Silvestri Papæ et Confessoris A.D. MMXXV

Oremus

Deus, qui in commotione temporum fideles tuos non deseris: præsta, quæsumus, ut in huius sæculi concussionibus et ventilationibus
in veritate tuæ doctrinæ radicati et in caritate Christi firmati, in confessione sancti Nominis tui usque ad finem perseveremus. Per Dominum nostrum Iesum Christum Filium tuum, qui tecum vivit et regnat in unitate Spiritus Sancti Deus, per omnia sæcula sæculorum. Amen.

O God, who in times of turmoil dost not forsake Thy faithful: grant, we beseech Thee, that amid the shakings and siftings of this age, being rooted in the truth of Thy doctrine and strengthened in the charity of Christ, we may persevere unto the end in the confession of Thy holy Name. Through our Lord Jesus Christ Thy Son, who liveth and reigneth with Thee in the unity of the Holy Ghost, God, world without end. Amen.

1. Jn 16:33.

2. Council of Trent, Session XXII, Doctrina de sanctissimo Missæ sacrificio, ch. 1–2.

3. Council of Trent, Session XIV, Doctrina de sacramento Pœnitentiæ, ch. 1–2.

4. Pope John Paul II, Familiaris Consortio, 22, 36–40, on the family as “domestic Church” and parents as first educators.

5. Catechismus ex decreto Concilii Tridentini (Roman Catechism), Part II, Baptism; The Baltimore Catechism, esp. Q. 585–606 on parents’ duties.

6. Pope John Paul II, Veritatis Splendor, 80; 95–99, on intrinsically evil acts and the duty not to cooperate in moral error.

7. Pope Pius XI, Mortalium Animos, on false irenicism and unity without conversion.

8. Pope Pius XI, Quas Primas, esp. 11–19, on the social Kingship of Christ and the consequences of excluding Him from public life.

9. Acts 2:42–47; Heb 10:24–25, on the early Christian community, common life, and persevering assembly.

10. St Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiæ II–II, q.20, a.1–4; Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2091–2092, on despair as a sin against hope.

11. Old Roman Apostolate, foundational declarations and statements on ecclesial position and mission (cf. selsey.org; brightonoratory.org).

12. Nuntiatoria: Old Roman online periodical for doctrine, culture, and commentary (nuntiatoria.org).

13. Old Roman TV: daily online apostolate of the Old Roman Apostolate, broadcasting Mass and devotions since 2008 across digital platforms.

14. Independent Review of Gender Identity Services for Children and Young People (Cass Review), Final Report; relevant UK parliamentary debates on abortion decriminalisation and assisted dying (2025).

Beloved in Christ,

A child is born to us, a son is given to us — and the government is upon His shoulder. In this single sentence, Holy Scripture gathers together what the world insists on separating: humility and authority, weakness and rule, infancy and sovereignty. Christmas opens not with sentiment but with ontology. It does not begin by asking how we feel, but by declaring what is. Before consolation, before peace, before even hope as the world understands it, the Church proclaims a fact about reality itself: Christ is King.

Subscribe now

This Kingship is not symbolic, not postponed, and not dependent upon recognition. It is rooted in who Christ is. The Child born at Bethlehem is King not because He will later acquire power, but because He is the eternal Son through whom all things were made. The Incarnation does not suspend His sovereignty; it reveals the manner in which divine sovereignty truly operates. The government rests upon His shoulder because all authority in heaven and on earth already belongs to Him — not by concession, but by nature.

The year now drawing to its close has made this truth unavoidable, precisely by attempting to deny it. Again and again, we have witnessed authority exercised as though it were self-grounding: law severed from truth, power detached from reason, and moral language emptied of objective content. Institutions have demanded obedience without accountability, compliance without coherence, and trust without truth. Compassion has been invoked not as a moral virtue ordered to the good, but as a rhetorical solvent dissolving moral distinction. As Nuntiatoria has documented throughout the year, this inversion has not yielded peace or justice, but anxiety, coercion, and fragmentation.² Christmas responds not by proposing an alternative ideology, but by reasserting the metaphysical ground of authority itself: the principatus belongs to Christ.

Nowhere has this been more evident than in the collapse of trust in institutions charged with justice and protection. Policing, courts, and safeguarding bodies have too often functioned as instruments of ideological enforcement rather than guardians of truth.³ Speech has been regulated while falsehood has been protected; narratives have been curated while facts have been obscured. In such circumstances, law ceases to be a participation in the eternal law and becomes merely an exercise of will. The result is not order, but fear. Christmas stands as a quiet rebuke to this deformation of authority. The Child who governs does not coerce. He illumines.

The suffering of children this year exposes the same theological failure in its most tragic form. When safeguarding becomes procedural rather than moral, when responsibility is displaced by policy, and when reputations are valued more than lives, authority has already abdicated its purpose.⁴ The Incarnation judges this failure with terrifying gentleness. God enters history not as one who dominates, but as one who must be protected. In doing so, He reveals that the measure of any authority is its willingness to suffer for the innocent. Systems that sacrifice the vulnerable in order to preserve narratives or maintain ideological coherence stand condemned by the manger.

Within the Church herself, the year has revealed a crisis not primarily of discipline or numbers, but of Christological confidence. Episcopal authority has too often been justified in managerial terms, as though governance were a technical skill rather than a participation in Christ’s own pastoral Kingship.⁵ Unity has been pursued by restriction rather than truth, by control rather than conversion.⁶ The priesthood has been flattened into a function, and the liturgy instrumentalised as a means to pastoral ends rather than received as the Church’s supreme act of worship.⁷ These developments are not merely administrative misjudgements; they reflect a deeper uncertainty about how Christ actually reigns in His Church.

Christmas answers that uncertainty decisively. Christ reigns not through bureaucratic neutrality, but through sacramental reality. He governs His Church through truth taught, sins absolved, sacrifices offered, and souls sanctified. Authority in the Church is not creative; it is ministerial. It does not invent the faith, but hands it on. Where this is forgotten, governance becomes anxious and defensive. Where it is remembered, authority becomes luminous and life-giving.

The disorders we have witnessed are not confined to one nation or communion. Across the Western world, the same moral grammar has asserted itself: emotion elevated over reason, inclusion over truth, process over substance.⁸ Yet alongside this decay, signs of grace have been quietly at work. Families have sought tradition not as an aesthetic preference, but as a school of reality. Young men have rediscovered discipline and vocation in a culture that has offered them neither meaning nor responsibility. Faithful souls have chosen reverence over novelty because they have intuited that worship shapes belief, and belief shapes life.⁹ These are not marginal developments. They are the beginnings of renewal.

The Son is given. This is the grammar of divine rule. Christ does not seize His throne; He receives it through obedience unto death. His Kingship is cruciform before it is glorious. That is why it endures when all others collapse. Earthly regimes rule by force or manipulation; Christ rules by truth and love ordered by justice. A Church that forgets this seeks relevance through accommodation and becomes indistinguishable from the age. A Church that remembers it becomes a sign of contradiction — and therefore a sign of hope.¹⁰

To our priests, this year has clarified your vocation with particular urgency. You are not managers of decline, nor facilitators of consensus, nor curators of institutional calm. You are configured sacramentally to Christ the King, the Priest, and the Judge. This configuration is not metaphorical, but ontological. By the character impressed upon your soul, you stand at the intersection of heaven and earth, charged not with inventing the Church’s mission, but with faithfully mediating Christ’s own authority to His people.

In a time when law collapses into power, when language is emptied of meaning, and when truth is negotiated rather than proclaimed, the priest is tempted either to retreat into silence or to seek safety in accommodation. Resist both temptations. Your fidelity to the altar is not ritualism; it is an act of governance, for Christ reigns first and foremost through His Sacrifice. Your fidelity to the confessional is not optional pastoral provision; it is the restoration of divine justice through mercy, the place where shattered consciences are healed and moral reality is re-established. Your fidelity to the full truth of the faith — taught without distortion, apology, or reduction — is not rigidity, but charity. Souls cannot be healed by half-truths.

Many of you have laboured this year under discouragement, isolation, or misunderstanding. Some have been pressured to soften what must be spoken plainly; others have been sidelined for refusing to confuse compassion with indulgence. Know this: Christ governs His Church not through managerial success, but through priestly fidelity. When you celebrate Mass reverently, preach the truth in season and out of season, and remain available to souls even when gratitude is scarce, you are exercising real authority — the authority of Christ Himself. It is through such hidden faithfulness that Christ continues to rule His people, even when His reign is denied in public discourse.¹¹

To our faithful, the implications of this year are no less serious. Neutrality is no longer a viable posture, nor is a private faith content to remain unseen. To raise children in the Catholic faith in a culture hostile to moral formation; to pray publicly when prayer is dismissed as eccentric or threatening; to speak truthfully when silence is rewarded and falsehood protected; to order one’s life according to Christ’s law rather than the shifting norms of the age — these are no longer culturally supported actions. They are acts of allegiance.

You should not be surprised if such fidelity costs you comfort, reputation, or ease. The Kingdom to which you belong is not an abstraction. It makes claims upon time, conduct, and conscience. You are not spectators to history, nor passive observers of cultural decline. You are subjects of a Kingdom that is real, demanding, and ultimately victorious. Your daily choices — often unnoticed and unrewarded — participate in that victory. The quiet perseverance of Christian families, the steady witness of moral integrity, and the refusal to surrender truth for acceptance are themselves signs that Christ’s reign has not been extinguished.¹²

Christmas does not promise that the coming year will be easier. It promises something far more bracing and far more consoling: that history is governed. The Incarnation is not a sentimental interruption of a tragic story; it is the decisive claim of God upon His creation. The manger already casts the shadow of the Cross, and the Cross already bears the title of the King. The Child who lies in straw already reigns from the Tree. His Kingship is not delayed until the end of time; it is exercised now — patiently, mysteriously, and often beneath the surface of events.

This truth steadies us when appearances suggest otherwise. History is not drifting toward chaos, nor surrendered to the will of the powerful. It is being judged, purified, and claimed. What seems like disorder is often the exposure of false authorities; what feels like loss may be the stripping away of illusions. Christ reigns even when His reign is denied, and He governs even when His governance is contested.

As we commend the year past to God’s mercy and entrust the year ahead to His providence, we do so without illusion. Trials will continue. Confusion will persist. Authority will be contested. But the government remains where it has always been: upon His shoulder. No court can revoke it. No synod can redefine it. No ideology can erase it.

The Nativity of Our Lord is not merely the revelation of divine humility; it is the manifestation of divine authority. As Pope Pius XI taught in Quas Primas, Christ’s Kingship is intrinsic to His Person and therefore extends beyond private devotion to laws, institutions, and public life itself.¹³ To separate Christmas from this doctrine is to sentimentalise the Incarnation and render it harmless. The Child laid in the manger already claims the nations. To deny Him that claim is not neutrality, but rebellion. To acknowledge it is not extremism, but obedience.

Christ reigns. Christ judges. Christ will triumph.

May the peace of Christ the King rule in your hearts and homes. May Our Lady, who first acknowledged His reign in her fiat and bore Him into history, intercede for us all. And may the blessing of Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, descend upon you and remain with you always.

Given at Christmas 2025,

✠Jerome Seleisi
Titular Archbishop of Selsey

Share

Footnotes

¹ Isaias 9:6 (Vulgate).
² “Police Fabrication and the New Double Standard: The Maccabi Ban, Sectarian Politics, and the Moral Collapse of British Institutions,” Nuntiatoria, 23 November 2025.
³ Ibid.; see also “The Failure of the Via Media: How the ‘Reformed but Catholic’ Motif Collapsed in Anglicanism,” Nuntiatoria, 7 November 2025.
⁴ “The Invisible Child: The Death of Sara Sharif and the Culture that Failed Her,” Nuntiatoria, 14 November 2025.
⁵ “New Archbishop of Westminster: Biography, Context, and the Crisis of Episcopal Confidence,” Nuntiatoria, 19 December 2025.
⁶ “The Leaked CDF Assessment and the Fiction of Liturgical Unity,” Nuntiatoria, 10 July 2025.
⁷ “The Forgotten Disposition: The Crisis of Priesthood and the Loss of Sacramental Culture,” Nuntiatoria, 7 December 2025.
⁸ “The Illusion of Restoration: Christianity Without Christ, the Church Without Authority,” Nuntiatoria, 19 July 2025.
⁹ “Generational Shift in the Priesthood: Young Clergy, Tradition, and the Collapse of Synodal Enthusiasm,” Nuntiatoria, 24 October 2025.
¹⁰ Ibid.; cf. “The Orphaned Altar: On the Crisis of Episcopal Fatherhood,” Nuntiatoria, 17 October 2025.
¹¹ “The Holiness of Priests Contributes to Make the Faithful Holy,” Nuntiatoria, 16 December 2025.
¹² “The Apathy of Apostasy: False Compassion and the Collapse of Faith,” Nuntiatoria, 24 July 2025.
¹³ Pius XI, Quas Primas (11 December 1925), §§17–18.