Why JAMES J MARTIN, SJ is the Beast of the Apocalypse

As Revelation 13:18 records:

Here is wisdom. He that hath understanding, let him count the number of the beast. For it is the number of a man: and the number of him is six hundred sixty-six.

Many attempts have been made to identify the beast. Could St John have meant Nero? Or was it a prediction of Napoleon? Or Hitler? Now, at last I have found the answer.

Eccles's assistant help with the hard sums.

One of the standard codings of the alphabet is the following:

A=1, B=2, C=3, ..., I=9,
J=10, K=20, L=30, ..., R=90,
S=100, T=200, U=300, ..., Z=800.

So we tried putting in various names such as FATHER (310), JAMES (156), MARTIN (390), LGBT (239), JESUIT (624), but nothing seemd to work. But then, Divine Inspiration! Fr James Martin actually has a middle initial, as is documented in several places, and it is J! (Nobody seems to know what it stands for, but my guess is Judas.)

Thus we have:

JAMES J MARTIN SJ = 156 + 10 + 390 + 110 = 666.

Well, who else could it be? When the man isn't promoting his "Mary Magdalene was the Church" heresy, or attacking traditional worship, he decides to get people talking about him by tweeting stuff like this:

About homosexuality (inevitably). Heretical views (inevitably).

I suspect that James J. Martin SJ has known about the apocalyptic interpretation of his name for some time - why else would he stop using the second initial?

So where do we go from there? Do we get an interview, with, say Steve Colbert?

Colbert: Jim, I understand that, in addition to being a best-selling author, fashion expert, and part-time priest, you are also the Beast of the Apocalypse?

Martin: Heh heh heh, yes, that's right. From now on I'm going to put "BOTA" as well as "SJ" and "LGBT" after my name when I sell myself for speeches, fashion shows, gay pride marches etc.

Colbert: Jim, you're the sort of Catholic I can really go with!

Apparently he's very fond of country music too.

Pope Francis joins the Climate Strike

After a fruitful meeting with 10-year-old activist Greta Thunberg, Pope Francis has eagerly agreed to take part in the Climate Strike.

Although he refuses to speak to his own cardinals, such as Burke and Brandmüller, the Holy Father has joined the Gretamania Cult, which has seen the 9-year-old superhero meet such eminent people as John Bercow, Jeremy Corbyn, and Donald Trump. No, not Donald Trump, although Joe Biden has offered to stroke her hair.

Curiously, 8-year-old Greta is not the shortest person from whom Pope Francis has ever taken advice - that honour goes to Austen Ivereigh.

"Climate science is so simple a 7-year-old child could understand it. Fetch me a 7-year-old child, as I can't make head nor tail of it."

So what results shall we see from the Pope's conversion to the movement? He has already vowed to glue himself to the High Altar of St Peter's, unless the Vatican reduces its carbon emissions to zero with immediate effect (it should still be possible to offer masses without treading on him). Moreover, Francis will no longer be working on Fridays, but will spend them sitting in a pink boat in St Peter's Square with distinguished scientist Emma Thompson (who is on her way in a private jet plane). Nobody is sure why.

"The Holy Father is backing me!"

Sadly, there are other unfortunate side-effects of the Pope's Laudato Si' ad absurdum approach. The Swiss Guard will be asked to jettison their new plastic helmets (which turned out to be ineffective against battle-axes, as the late Sergeant Emmenthal and Corporal Gruyère discovered to their cost when they tried sparring), in favour of low-carbon steel helmets.

Likely to get into the oceans and trap the heads of dolphins.

As 6-year-old Greta continues her world tour, we learn that she is soon to star in a remake of the Sound of Music, singing classic songs such as "Raindrops on roses cause acid rain damage" and "Ray, a drop of golden sun burning up the planet" to new settings by Marty Haugen. We wish her well.

5-year-old Greta in rehearsals.

Almost thou persuadest me to be an Easter Worshipper

As recorded in Acts 11, Saul and Barnabas came to Antioch, and hung around for a year, teaching. And, as Luke records, the disciples were called Easter Worshippers first in Antioch.

Luke omits the details, but it is clear that these Easter Worshippers were devoted to a sacred rabbit, and lived mostly on chocolate eggs. At other times of the year they were known as "Xmas Worshippers", indulging in strange rituals involving shopping, mince pies, and fat men in red coats and white beards sitting in "grottos".

Saul and Barnabas hit on the name "Easter Worshippers".

But Easter Worshippers has been the traditional name, ever since the first century. As Agrippa said to Paul, "Almost thou persuadest me to be an Easter Worshipper". Even St Peter got in on the act, with his "Yet if any man suffer as an Easter Worshipper, let him not be ashamed; but let him glorify God on this behalf."

How Leeds City Council celebrated Easter. (H/T C.H.)

The name occurs in many hymns, such as the militant "Onward, Easter Worshipper soldiers," the rather soppy "They'll know we are Easter Worshippers by our love", and the stirring "Easter Worshippers awake, salute the Happy Morn!"

Then again, it has also become a first name (what old fashioned people call an "Easter Worshipper name" as opposed to a "surname"). Hans Easter-Worshipper Andersen, Dr Easter-Worshippeer Barnard, Easter-Worshipper Dior, ...

A male model shows off a shirt by Easter-Worshipper Dior.

So, can we PLEASE stop hearing people whining just because Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, and the rest of George Soros's sockpuppets referred to the Christians massacred by Islamists in Sri Lanka as "Easter Worshippers"? That is what they called themselves, and that is what we should call them.

The secrets of Notre Dame

Apologies for a third post on Notre Dame this week (plug1, plug2), but news is just breaking from the investigative journalists of Associated Press that, besides being a tourist Mecca, Notre Dame is also revered as a place of worship (by Muslims, presumably).

Mecca.

We asked some of our religious friends to comment:

Jew: Well, it's certainly a place that I find very kosher.

Hindu: For me, it's something of a sacred cow.

Anglican: It's been a centre for the Church of England since A.D. 597. (Oops, that last one's almost genuine. See below.)

An entry for the David Lammy prize for religious knowledge.

Buddhist: I go there to listen to the sound of one hand clapping.

Muslim: Well, if the mountain will not come to Mahomet, then we have to go there ourselves.

Whatever else goes on there, it is rumoured that Catholics are also interested in Notre Dame. However, the New York Times is still a little hazy about the "body of Christ".

Journalism at its finest.

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By the way, for those who missed the reference above to David Lammy MP, here it is again.

If Notre Dame's smoke is anything to go by, the next pope will have grey skin.

Cardinal Tobin rewrites the catechism

Uncle Joe Tobin has complained that Catholic teaching on homosexual acts is "unfortunate", specifically CCC2357 with its Basing itself on Sacred Scripture, which presents homosexual acts as acts of grave depravity, tradition has always declared that homosexual acts are intrinsically disordered (together with a lot more on the same theme).

Accordingly, he has produced a more helpful rewriting of the catechism, to take into account the fact that sacred scripture and and traditional teaching need to take a back seat to accommodating people's own desires.

"My lodger helped me write it."

The new passage reads as follows:

2357. Basing itself on the sacred writings of Martin, Cupich, and Tobin, the Catholic Church teaches that homosexual acts are perfectly normal, and no impediment to advancement in the priesthood.

2358. Indeed, it is not good for priests to be alone, and they are encouraged to welcome actors and male models (known as "babies") into their houses.

2359. If a priest is separated from his baby, then the correct way to wish him a blessed and holy night is by tweeting "Nighty-night, baby. I love you." However, this form of address may also be used for the priest's sister, his cousin or his aunt.

2360. Similarly, LGBT pilgrimages are to be encouraged and welcomed. And no more talk of "grave depravity" and "being called to chastity", please!

This is not expected to be controversial.

Bring your "babies" with you!

Holy Smoke

The Catholic world was stunned today by the news that Liverpool Cathedral, or "Paddy's Wigwam", generally regarded as the ugliest cathedral ever constructed in Britain, has burned to the ground.

As Catholics sang hymns of thanksgiving, and danced in the streets, firemen were out all night desperately spraying petrol onto the flames and adding wood.

The Holy Tent of St Patrick (to give it the official name).

One altar server (who wished to remain anonymous) explains: "We have been trying for years to make something of this place - preferably a heap of ashes - and this included replacing the holy oils with paraffin, sabotaging the thurible, and using wooden candlesticks. But it is hard to burn down a building that is made mostly of concrete."

"Of course we did hold some interesting religious events in the cathedral, including indoor barbecues, bonfires, and firework displays, but nothing went wrong."

Smoke pours from the tower of Liverpool Cathedral.

Luckily, all the sacred relics kept in Liverpool Cathedral have been saved. These include the holey socks of Warlock with special Vatican II loopholes, and the blindfold worn by Archbishop McMahon during the Alfie Evans case.

Fortunately, the replacement cathedral has already been designed by a Mr Lutyens of Holborn, and we know what it will look like.

Not as a lovely as Paddy's Wigwam, but nearly as good.

A prayer for Notre Dame

O Lord, not Notre Dame. I've been there many times, and I can't bear this news. Take something else instead.

Take all the mosques in France. Take all the 20th century churches.

Take the Pompidou Centre. Take that rusty over-rated tower of Monsieur Eiffel.

A rusty over-rated tower.

Oh, all right, take the Louvre. The Mona Lisa isn't so great, and nobody would miss that silly bint with no arms.

A silly bint with no arms.

I can see I'm going to have to up the bidding. Take Emmanuel Macron. Take all the politicians, police and gilets jaunes.

All right, I know, take all the first-born under the age of 21 (they're all foreigners anyway). Just give us back Notre Dame.

St Denis puts a brave face on it.

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Messages have been flowing in from all round the world. They basically come in two types:

1. The Obama/Clinton/May/celebrity tribute. We stand with France (as we do whenever a bit of virtue-signalling is needed)! Notre Dame looked so cool! What a great loss to the world of culture! (What a pity that it's been used by Catholics, whose views on abortion, marriage, same-sex relations, transvestitism, etc. are directly in opposition to our own.)

2. The more balanced tribute. Look, this has been a centre for religious worship since the Hundred Years War and beyond. It's a blessed and sacred place. Anyway, thank God nobody is badly hurt (so far), and the relics, such as the Crown of Thorns, were saved.

But it's still a disaster, whichever point of view you take.

Designs for a new Notre Dame go on display.

The curse of St Gallen

There's not much spiritual nourishment in this post, I'm afraid. At the beginning of April I was rushed to hospital in an ambulance - I was throwing up even when I hadn't just been reading something by Ivereigh, Martin, or Faggioli - and it turned out to be the Curse of St Gallen, or gall stones (Cormacus Murphius Oconnus, as doctors call them).

Number 1: choose the next pope.

It was all very exciting, as I hadn't spent a night in hospital since childhood - when they took out my appendix by traditional methods involving a bottle of rum as anaesthetic, and lots of leeches. This time I had one of those modern MRI scans, which is a bit like sitting in a nuclear reactor being bombarded with intense magnetic fields; these are supposed to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow, or at least tell them where every proton in my body is. So they had to operate.

Hospitals are very noisy places - don't expect any peace and quiet there. Apart from being woken up at 3 a.m. for readings of temperature and blood pressure, I had to put up with neighbouring patients playing their radios at full volume, until the nurses pointed out that this was worsening the death rate.

Worst of all was a mad Pole who shut himself behind his curtains and started screaming at his mobile phone, obviously unaware that these things are amplified, and you don't need to be directly audible in Krakow. What can a peaceful saved person do? Well, I scribbled "Quiet please!" on a napkin and chucked it over the curtain. Probably I got a direct hit, as he came rushing out looking very angry, while I seraphically pretended to be half asleep.

The dawn of keyhole surgery.

Anyway, no rum and leeches this time, it was all going to be done by keyhole surgery. The idea is that they make four little keyholes in your stomach, insert the keys, and then turn them, as you might wind up an old clock. Fantastic.

So now I am at home, convalescing. Has anything spiritually nourishing happened in the last week or two? I gather that Pope Benedict managed to upset all the right people, that Pope Francis has been kissing the feet of infidels, and that the Dubia still haven't been answered. Business as usual, then.

N.B. Without a gall bladder, I should be producing less bile directed at atheists, heretics, modernists, LGBT activists, etc. So from now on it's fluffy bunnies and rose petals...

The new gall-free Eccles blog.