I have been blessed to be in this event in person and Banderas’ speech is not only an celebration of religion, but a celebration of its intimate relationship with the arts and its power to transform humanity. I believe this speech is a powerful testimony on art’s place in humanity in this AI dominated age and having found no available English translation of the speech online (as of writing and publishing this), I have decided to translate it myself and make it available to the English reader (you can read the original Spanish here).

Antonio Banderas’ Full Speech Before the Pope

Authorities,

Dear friends,

There are encounters that are not only measured in time but in their meaning.

Holy Father, your presence today in Madrid is not just a visit. It’s a gesture. A gesture of listening, of closeness, of dialogue with civil society which, without doubt, thanks you for it.

That dialogue, sometimes, should be reinforced using a common language. That language is, and has been on many occasions throughout history, art.

The relationship between the Catholic Church and art has not only been fruitful: it has been decisive. We are not afraid to be wrong when we say that the church has been the greatest art producer in the history of humanity.

At the heart of that creative impulse is the one who crosses the centuries, styles, and cultures, and who has certainly been the most represented figure in the history of art: Jesus Christ. The great protagonist of the movie of life. In all the arts Christ is a constant presence. Not as a repeated image, but as an icon of peace, love, and sacrifice, surrounded by an inexhaustible mystery.

I could reduce my speech simply to listing the great artists who with their works have magnified the message coming from the word of Jesus.

I could also limit myself to giving a series of data that illustrate the path traveled between the Church, artists, intellectuals, philosophers… but today, Holy Father, I feel a certain obligation to offer a little reflection out loud about my own experience.

For this I have to go back in time to the Holy Week celebrations in my beloved Malaga back in the 60’s of the last century. Those popular manifestations that take over the streets enveloping them with a majestic ritual of art and faith, of roots, and devotion. A multicolored polyhedron of elegant beauty, of theatrical liturgy that every year transforms the city into a space where the artistic and the spiritual merge.

And it was there, Holy Father, in that frame of anonymous popular art, when at only 4 or 5 years old, a question was born in me that only contained one word: God? Little by little I found answers, some as simple as the one I recognized in my mother’s eyes while she fixed her gaze and her devoted heart to the Virgin of Hope who passed on her throne in front of us in those distant years. Or through the voice that broke the clear spring air of the singers of saetas. Or among the humble and good people of my city who go out every year, and they take to the street with their neighborhood in tow, carrying their images that help them look for themselves while they look for God. And they do it leaving behind them the self, to cling to the we… from we they pass to them, from them to everyone, from everyone to the world, from the world to the universe, from the universe to God, and then they land again intuiting that God can be in every particle, in every molecule of every drop of water, of every sea, of every rose petal, of every heartbeat, of every sigh.

But art is not just beauty.

Art is a question.

It’s a reflection.

It’s a contrast.

It’s a revolution.

It’s a tension between what we know and what we intuit.

Art has been–and must continue to be–the mirror that reflects lives that pass by the wounded neighbor. It is also the denunciation of empty creeds that forgot love. It is the voice to alert societies that have become accustomed to injustice.

Art must be an alternative to violence

Art must be an alternative to violence. All violence. Just as Christ himself did, the artist must act with courage and not abandon being a critical instance to society, art itself, and religion itself.

Holy Father… we have to share an obligation. We are obliged to look, and to see, and to try to understand the complexities of the human soul.

All human beings face the great questions of our existence:

Who are we?

What is the meaning of life, and the pain?

What does it mean to love… really… your neighbor… like yourself?

What’s there beyond?

And in this search, we all approach, perhaps without knowing it, the transcendent.

Holy Father,

In a world that runs, that is fragmented, that is sometimes oversimplified, art helps us recover the depth and soul that is trying to be stolen by artificial intelligences that must be at the service of the human being and not the other way around.

A soul that whispers to us that there is something more. The constant whisper of hope for that something else. This meeting between the Church and civil society is not only timely: it is necessary.

We need to keep creating and sharing.

Keep asking.

Keep looking for beauty, yes… but also Truth.

Because where we dare to ask in depth, always, always, a path begins, a path that can lead us to the spiritual, which is nothing more than the fraternity that beats in the heart of every human being and in the mysterious heart of God.

“You say that times are bad. Be better yourselves and times will be better. You are the time,” Saint Augustine said.

Holy Father, I’m here for Godspell. Godspell is a musical play created in your country of origin. Godspell’s Spanish translation is “The Spell of God” (“El hechizo de Dios”). I am here today confessing to having been a victim of God’s spell.

Thank you very much.

The post Antonio Banderas’ Full Discourse on Art and the Church Given in the Presence of Pope Leo XIV [Full English Translation] appeared first on Tamang Usapan Podcast.

I decided to share with you the text of the Pope’s address in English as this address is not just directed to Spain but, in the words of the President of the Community of Madrid, Isabel Díaz Ayuso, the Pope spoke in Madrid to Europe and to the World.

First, the context

Before proceeding to the full text, the current political context of the Kingdom of Spain must be reviewed.

The current government is the coalition of the Socialists (PSOE) and a conglomerate of extreme left wing parties called Sumar. Both parties were not the most voted parties. The conservative Partido Popular won the election, but failed to get a majority. After the Socialists, the anti-immigration right wing party Vox comes next. Sumar is fourth.

PSOE and Sumar does not have a majority, their government is sustained by the votes of the right wing Catalan nationalist party Junts whose party president called for people to boo the Pope because he was not speaking ONLY in Catalan in Barcelona, but in Catalan and Spanish.

The current government has been very aggressive towards the Church. While the Pope was in Madrid, they have quietly started the desecration of the Basilica of the Valley of the Fallen. Just a few days after the Pope left for Barcelona, they have tabled Euthanasia in the Parliament. They are also trying to modify the Constitution to make abortion a “fundamental” right.

In fact, the Prime Minister (Presidente del Gobierno), Pedro Sánchez, never attended any religious event not even funeral masses offered for the the victims of Covid, the flooding in Valencia, or the volcanic eruption in the Canary Islands. He preferred a “lay funeral”, something that most people criticize as a “masonic tone deaf invention”. Sánchez’s first public appearance in a religious event is the Mass and Blessing of the Tower of Jesus Christ in the Basilica of Sagrada Famìlia in Barcelona (Catalonia being a Socialist bastion might be influential in his decision).

With this context, I think we can now go to the full text of the address and understand why mainstream media will just highlight whatever suits best to the political narratives of their owners.

Address of the Holy Father to the Spanish Cortes (8 June 2026) – Full text

Mr Prime Minister,
Madam President of the Congress of Deputies,
Mr President of the Senate,
Mr President of the Constitutional Court,
Madam President of the Supreme Court and the General Council of the Judiciary,
Members of the Congress of Deputies and the Senate,
Ladies and gentlemen,

I thank the President [*of the Congress of Deputies] for her kind words, as well as for the invitation the Apostolic See received on the occasion of my visit to this country. I am also grateful for the courtesy of welcoming me to this historic Palace of the Congress of Deputies, a prominent center of the institutional, legal and democratic life of the Kingdom of Spain. I come before you as the Bishop of Rome and Shepherd of the Catholic Church, aware that the mission entrusted to the Successor of the Apostle Peter, as the principle and foundation of the unity of the Bishops and the faithful (cf. Lumen Gentium, 23), places the Holy See, in a special way, in dialogue with peoples and with States.

My presence among you is intended as a gesture of closeness to Spain, within the framework of mutual cooperation, and as a message offered in the spirit of service to the human person. The Church “walks alongside humanity,” shares its hopes and its wounds, listens to the questions of every age and allows herself to be challenged by “everything concerning the lives of contemporary men and women.” For this reason, when the Church addresses anything concerning public life, she does so while respecting the proper mission of institutions and the legitimate responsibility of those who have received the mandate to legislate. She recognizes “the autonomy of earthly realities” and “the distinction between the ecclesial community and the political community”; and, precisely from this awareness, the Church offers a reflection born of the desire to serve the common good and to recall what makes human coexistence truly human (cf. Magnifica Humanitas, 18, 19, 22).

In this chamber, social coexistence takes legal form. Here, differences are heard, sorted out, and, when possible, transformed into shared decisions. For this reason, beyond the legitimate diversity of positions, every legislative task ultimately confronts a decisive question: what conception of the human person inspires laws, and what kind of society do those laws build?

In this regard, Spain has a particularly rich heritage. Its geographical and political identity is intertwined with a history in which faith and reason, art and law, tradition and thought have come together in a fruitful manner. In its cathedrals and universities, its immortal literature, its legal institutions and the very spirit of its people, endures a heritage that has shaped its way of living out freedom, practicing justice and organizing communal life.

From the timeless pages of Don Quixote, where Cervantes proclaimed that “freedom… is one of the most precious gifts that heaven has bestowed upon men” (Don Quixote de la Mancha, II, 58), to the spiritual depth of Saint Teresa of Ávila, and from the great Spanish legal tradition to the metaphysical restlessness of Unamuno, who recalled that man “was not resigned to die utterly” (The Tragic Sense of Life, I), Spain has known how to view the human being as more than just a cog in the social, economic or political order. It has recognized the human being as a creature open to truth, endowed with freedom, and driven by a thirst for eternity that no temporal reality can quench — in a word, as someone whose dignity takes precedence over all utility and to whose service legislative action is subject.

For this reason, when speaking today of the human person, this reflection naturally leads to Salamanca and the thought that matured there. The symbolic presence in this hall of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella recalls the moment when Spain found itself facing historic responsibilities of universal scope. A few years later, Salamanca would undertake, with particular clarity, the moral and legal reflection that the situation demanded. At that university, five hundred years ago, when new worlds and immense possibilities were opening up in relations among peoples, some teachers understood that reason could not be invoked to legitimize whatever force or self-interest that seemed convenient. They thus introduced into historical discernment the question of the irreducible value of every human being and the moral limits of power. It must be acknowledged that society and the Church herself did not always live up to these insights found in their own Christian tradition.

However, that question opened up an intellectual and moral horizon that transcended its historical moment. The intuition of the totus orbis — of a human community broader than any particular power — made it possible to affirm the existence of legal and moral bonds among peoples. From Spain, the reflections of the School of Salamanca — and in particular those of Fray Francisco de Vitoria, along with other Dominicans and Jesuits — helped to shape a legal and moral consciousness capable of remembering that authority always entails responsibility and that every human being must be recognized as a subject of rights and duties. That aspiration continues to resonate today: that dignity, justice and the common good should be the measure of social relations, both at the national and international levels.

This is one of Spain’s great legacies: having united historical action with the clarity of moral reason. That contribution, born on the banks of the Tormes, transcended classrooms and libraries, and became part of a broader consciousness, shared by the international community, which continues to ask itself how to build peace on the recognition of the person and not on the imposition of force. That legacy also lives on in this Parliament, every time lawmakers ask themselves how to ensure that what is possible is just, that what is legal is truly humane, and that the will of the majority safeguards those goods that belong to all and respects that which no majority can legitimately violate.

The “Salamanca Question” continues to guide the work of those who serve in public life. Today, the new worlds opening up before us are no longer marked on maps: they unfold in technology, the economy, biomedicine, and the digital realm, where human power reaches into increasingly sensitive areas of personal and social life.

Progress offers admirable possibilities, and today we see this in a unique way in the development of artificial intelligence and new technologies. As I recalled in my recent Encyclical, technology in itself is not neutral because it takes on the face of those who conceive, finance, regulate and use it (cf. Magnifica Humanitas, 9); therefore, in the face of the transformations of our time, our discernment must focus on the place of the human person in our decision making and on how the dignity of work, solidarity, social policy and the common good are today being addressed in new ways.

This discernment begins with a fundamental affirmation: every truly just society is built upon the recognition of the inviolable dignity of the human person. Such dignity precedes any concession by the State and cannot be subordinated to shifting social consensus or the whims of the majority at any given moment (cf. Benedict XVI, Address to the German Federal Parliament, 22 September 2011). It belongs to every human being by the very fact of their existence, and for this reason, it must guide every positive legal system. The Christian faith proclaims it on the basis of Revelation; human reason can recognize it as a requirement inscribed in the truth of man (cf. ibid.). When this conviction remains alive, the law becomes a safeguard for all and a guarantee against the imposition of particular interests and agendas.

On this basis, it falls to me today to speak a calm and firm word to those who bear the grave responsibility of legally ordering social coexistence. This coexistence can be threatened by the throwaway culture, as Pope Francis so often warned (cf. Address to the Plenary Assembly of the Pontifical Academy for Life, 27 September 2021). In this sense, if life ceases to be recognized as a fundamental value, what future can our societies have? Can a community that casts into the shadows the unborn child, the elderly, the sick, those who suffer in silence, or those who depend entirely on the care of others be called fully just? The defense of human life is neither a partisan issue nor a confessional interest: it is a goal of civilization. Every human life must be recognized and safeguarded from conception to its natural end, in every circumstance of its existence. When this certainty is obscured, the most vulnerable are the first victims, and the law loses its deepest meaning: to serve and protect every person. For this reason, the moral greatness of a nation is manifested, above all, in its capacity to accompany, protect and love those lives that are most fragile.

If life ceases to be recognized as a fundamental value, what future can our societies have?

The common good is, in a certain sense, the “social expression of the dignity recognized in every person” (Magnifica Humanitas, 59). It does not consist in the mere sum of particular interests, but rather in “the sum of those conditions of social life which allow social groups and their individual members relatively thorough and ready access to their own fulfillment” (Gaudium et Spes, 26). When the common good ceases to be a shared horizon, public action runs the risk of fragmenting into partial interests, incapable of safeguarding what belongs to all.

In this context, the family — the primary human reality and the natural foundation of the community — takes on particular importance. In the home, generations intertwine and a living memory is passed on, giving inner continuity to society. Where the family is upheld, the spiritual and social stability of nations is also strengthened. The family will always be the first school of humanity, where one learns, before anywhere else, the basic grammar of living together: welcoming life, caring for others, forgiving, serving and belonging.

Educational institutions also play a decisive role in this task. In them, new generations can learn to seek and love the truth, to reflect on the meaning of life and the dignity of every person. For this reason, many parents who wish for their children to learn to relate to others, to think critically, and to acquire solid values place great hope in these institutions, seeing them as valuable allies in their children’s education. This collaboration must always respect the “primary and inalienable right” of parents to “choose the kind of education and formation for their children, in a manner consistent with their moral, cultural and religious convictions” (cf. Magnifica Humanitas, 143; cf. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, art. 18.4).

The affirmation of human dignity cannot remain abstract when so many people are forced to leave everything behind in search of peace, security, and a future. The tragic drama of migration also challenges the conscience of nations and the ethical foundation of the international order today. Numerous men, women, and children are forced, by often dramatic circumstances, to leave their communities and leave behind loved ones, histories, and ties. This reality goes beyond any purely demographic or economic analysis: it constitutes an eminently moral and legal issue. Wherever people are discriminated against because of their national, ethnic, religious or linguistic origin, or because of their economic or social status, the universal principle of the equal dignity of all human beings is seriously violated.

The situation of migrants and refugees calls for a response that focuses on people, addresses the root causes that force them to leave, and goes beyond the mere management of migration flows. This gives rise to a twofold demand for social justice: to offer safe and legal pathways, a respectful welcome and real opportunities for integration; and, at the same time, to promote the right to remain in one’s own land, working to ensure that no one has to leave their home due to a lack of peace, security or decent living conditions, including economic inequalities and the effects of the climate crisis (cf. Magnifica Humanitas, 81).

In recent years, increasingly dangerous routes have highlighted the extremely high cost of this reality, so often hidden or ignored. Many people remain prey to traffickers and smugglers who take advantage of their desperation. It is necessary to strengthen prevention, rescue and assistance for victims, especially within the framework of regional and multilateral cooperation.

No nation can face a challenge of this magnitude on its own. Therefore, a coordinated, supportive, and effective response is indispensable, one capable of guaranteeing protection, welcome, and real opportunities for integration to those who migrate. When the institutional response is accessible, just and coordinated, borders cease to be places of abandonment and can become spaces for the responsible protection of human dignity.

Ladies and gentlemen:

The world is undergoing a profound spiritual and cultural crisis, which manifests in multiple forms of violence, polarization and mutual distrust. In this context, peace emerges as a political aspiration and, even more so, as a true moral imperative. It calls for public discourse that respects those who think differently, institutions dedicated to fostering dialogue, a historical memory that seeks truth and reconciliation and a social life capable of sustaining civic friendship and mutual respect amid disagreement.

On the international level, peace demands diplomatic courage, ethical responsibility and a vision for the future grounded in respect for the identity of every people and in the obligation of States to resolve their disputes through the peaceful means offered by international law. Every war constitutes, ultimately, a painful defeat of the capacity to negotiate and also of that common human consciousness that recognizes bonds of justice among nations. Weapons may impose a temporary silence; but they can never build a genuine and lasting peace.

It is therefore a cause for concern that, in various parts of the world — and in Europe as well — rearmament is once again being presented as an almost inevitable response to the fragility of the international situation. True security, however, stems from justice, patient dialogue, respect for international law, and a policy capable of placing the lives of peoples above the interests that profit from war. The development of new technologies and artificial intelligence in the military sphere also demands rigorous ethical oversight, so that decisions regarding life and death are never left to automated systems nor removed from the moral responsibility of the human person (cf. Address at the University of La Sapienza, 14 May 2026).

The international community is called to rediscover the indispensable value of dialogue as a patient path toward just and lasting agreements, founded on respect for treaties, on the transparency of diplomatic action and on the sincere will to prioritize peace over the use of force. From this spring confidence and hope.

As the motto of the European Union, In varietate concordia, reminds us, true unity does not standardize, but rather unites in diversity, making cultures, sensibilities, and traditions an opportunity for mutual enrichment.

Likewise, within societies themselves, it is urgent to build a culture of reciprocity. Political pluralism should not degenerate into the constant disparagement of one’s adversary. In a mature society, even conflict can become a path to peace, when differences are softened by listening and directed toward recognizing the needs, aspirations and capabilities of all.

But peace is not merely a political or institutional reality. It is also the fruit of conscience, where resentment, indifference, and hatred give way to reconciliation. For this reason, it is also established and protected through language. Words can open paths or close them; they can illuminate reality or distort it to the point of making encounter impossible. Those who hold public office therefore have a special obligation to be mindful of their words in order to disarm language (cf. Message for Lent 2026, 13 February 2026). Firmness does not require contempt; disagreement does not entail humiliation.

From this respect for others also arises the duty to safeguard the space where their convictions, their conscience, and their relationship with God mature. Attention to this inner realm allows for a better understanding of a decisive issue for every truly democratic society: freedom of thought, conscience and religion, a fundamental right that protects the most intimate sphere of the person. The freedom upon which the contemporary state is built, if it is authentic, recognizes the religious dimension of the human person, respects it and protects it legally; and it ensures that faith is not a reason for which a person has to forfeit his or her contribution to society.

Without confusing the legal sphere with the moral one, it is also worth recalling that freedom must be understood in its fullness. Being free does not simply mean being free from coercion or having many choices; it means being able to recognize the good and commit to it responsibly. For this reason, every truly free society also requires a proper limitation of public power, so that the freedom of individuals, communities and associations is not unduly restricted (cf. Dignitatis Humanae, 1). From this perspective, the legitimate autonomy of the temporal order must never see itself as hostile to religion. Faith does not seek to impose itself through privileges or coercion; yet neither can it be silenced as if it were irrelevant to public life.

In this context, the sacramental seal of confession holds special importance for the Catholic Church. It is part of the broader sphere of religious freedom, which guarantees believing communities their own space for life, organization and internal discipline (cf. Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe, The Helsinki Final Act, 1 August 1975, Principle VII). To protect it legally, as is done in a similar way in some professions, means preserving a sacred space of inner freedom, where the believer can open his or her soul to God without fear of external pressures, as international norms also recognize (cf. International Criminal Court, Rules of Procedure and Evidence, Rule 73.3).

Ladies and Gentlemen:

Allow me to pause for a moment to reflect on some of the images that adorn this Chamber. In this Chamber, natural light streams in through the skylight that crowns the room. That light coming from above may remind us that politics, too, must acknowledge a force that precedes and transcends it.

Likewise, the paintings on the upper part of the main wall, depicting the reception of the Gospel and the Decalogue, remind us of something essential. Without confusing the political order with the religious one, these symbols invite us to recognize that modern freedom has also been shaped by a long education of conscience, deeply marked by the Christian tradition. In that inner school, people learned that law must serve the good, that justice sets limits on force, that power requires legitimacy, that the poor belong fully to the community, that the foreigner must be welcomed in accordance with his dignity, and that human life can never be treated as a commodity.

A law does not attain its true greatness merely by having been formally enacted; it attains it when, in addition to being valid in form, it can stand before the dignity of the person and pass that test without shame.

I invite you, then, to lift your gaze to the world around you, not to turn away from reality, but to remember that every decision by public authorities affects real people, especially those who have less power to make their voices heard. The expanse of one’s vision consists precisely in looking more deeply at what is at stake in every public decision. This is why, alongside technical solutions and legal reforms, a moral renewal is also needed.

Spain has much to offer on this journey. It possesses a language that bridges continents; a cultural, legal and spiritual tradition that has successfully fostered a dialogue between faith and reason, law and conscience, unity and plurality. This historical experience also reminds us of the value of harmony and of the patient effort to build a peaceful and just society.

May this noble nation never lose sight of its roots nor the courage to look to the future. May Spain continue to be a land of encounter, of culture, of solidarity and of hope. And may its public life always know how to unite the firmness of convictions with the nobility of dialogue and the greatness of service.

May God grant peace to all nations of the earth, harmony to families and serenity to consciences. And may days of prosperity, justice and lasting peace descend upon the Kingdom of Spain, marked by the apostolic footprint of Saint James and by the maternal presence of Our Lady of the Pillar. Thank you very much.

*The official translation is from the Vatican Website.

The post Pope Leo XIV’s Address to the Spanish Parliament [Full English Translation] appeared first on Tamang Usapan Podcast.

One year on, the Supreme Pontiff is quietly repairing divisions and wounds–a move that media outlets do not like since they are accustomed to being pampered with headlines and misquotable quotes, but is also not liked by some loud traditionalists who can only sit quiet if the Pope kisses their feet.

So, in honor of these 12 months of the Pope’s reign, let us reflect upon the quiet changes and careful steps of the 266th Successor of Saint Peter (267th Pope).

Genuine humility

A few days before the Conclave, a Peruvian archbishop stayed with us in the community for a few days. We asked him who he thinks will be elected. Like a prophecy, he said, “I am confident that it will be Prevost. He’s American, but he served many years in Peru”. The same archbishop was co-consecrator in the episcopal consecration of then Bishop Robert Prevost.

For many traditional Catholics such as myself (as opposed to “traditionalists” who view Tradition akin to an ideology), the moment when the Pope goes out in the loggia for the very first time was a pivotal moment. Some might think of it as insignificant, but the question of whether he will follow the “new tradition” of Pope Francis of not wearing the mozzetta or will he follow in humility centuries of tradition is a big question.

I have to be honest, just like one priest said in private, “The moment I saw him with the mozzetta, I loved him already.”

The question at hand here is not just the “fashion sense” of the Popes, rather the way humility is being presented and practiced. The media had obsessed itself with the comparison of Pope Francis and Pope Benedict XVI because of their choice of dress, accusing the latter of pomp and without saying it directly, insinuates that the great theologian of the modern world is anti-poor or “backward” while Pope Francis was the “people’s Pope” just because he did not wear the mozzetta.

But, that is not the point.

Pope Francis’ choice of how he presented himself (the way he dressed, the way spoke, the way he governed) reflects his own understanding of the Petrine ministry as a personal ministry characterized by his witty language and popular charisma.

On the other hand, Pope Leo XIV’s choice of wearing the mozzetta, reviving the coat of arms in the fascia, and other small acts of “returning” to normal also reflects his understanding of the Petrine ministry as a ministry of the Church not characterized by his own personality but rather enriched by it.

Both are humble acts. The “revival” of these small traditions is not a “betrayal” of Francis’ pontificate as some disenfranchised journalists and pseudo-theologians would say. Rather, it is a testament to Pope Leo XIV’s consciousness of his Office as something he received from the Church in the service of the Lord rather than a personal style.

Quiet strides, giant leaps

While some traditional Catholics were joyful of these actions, some more radical, or at least the more skeptical ones, traditionalists are saying that the Pope is not doing enough. I can understand some who are genuinely just traumatized by years of apparent disgust and marginalization shown to them by the “new Roman establishment”. But, one should also take care not to fall into the temptation of cryptosedevacantism, that is, when you say you are in communion with the Pope because you acknowledge him, but treat him as the anti-Christ. 

We are still in the first year of this pontificate, so expecting things to just magically change overnight is actually problematic. The Church is not democratic state where the politician must enact his policies immediately just so he does not disenfranchise his voters. No. The Church is Mater et Magistra, Mother and Teacher who contemplates and discerns first every action and decision.

This is best seen in how the Pope is dealing with things. He discerns and then acts quietly, little by little.

Maybe we have been too accustomed to Pope Francis’ spontaneity or maybe some  “traditionalists” may unconsciously have become modernists in the sense that they want things immediately, but that is not how Pope Leo XIV works.

Yes, it would be good if tomorrow morning Traditiones custodes is lifted since it caused, and is still causing, deep wounds in the Church. Yes, it would be good and courageous if next week the entire German episcopacy is excommunicated because of their obstinacy in forcing their own political agenda in the doctrine of the Church. Yes, it would be ideal if all the “Old guards” are dismissed tomorrow and replaced by competent and orthodox bishops.

But, that will not be Catholic. That is Marxist, almost dictatorial “reform.” We’ve already seen it already how changing things without discernment and doing things rapidly has damaged the Church. In fact, we are still suffering from its after-shocks.

The Catholic way is a reform of the reform that is organic, pedagogical, systematic, discerned. We can already see it in the Pope’s small actions mostly not reported in the news.

For example, the Curia and the College of Cardinals are once again entrusted with the assistance of the Pope in matters of governance of the Church. The cartel of the “C9” cardinals is now a forgotten mafia. There are changes in the different Roman Dicasteries, albeit only in the plantilla level and not yet in the prefectural level, and in the Pontifical Household.

For my traditional friends, give the Holy Father time and remember that in the Catholic world time is precious and as such moves solemnly unlike in the modern world.

The challenge of AI for humanity

As we celebrate the First Anniversary of the Pontificate of Pope Leo XIV, we are also waiting for the publication of his first encyclical rumored to be titled Magnifica humanitas (Magnificent humanity) and to be published this coming 15th of May 2026.

This will be very important since the first encyclical of a Pope can be said to be a sort of “pontifical agenda” of the pontificate. The Pope had already published Apostolic exhortations and other juridical and pastoral letters, but this Encyclical Letter is important as we can see here Pope Leo XIV’s “project for the Church.”

It is said to focus on theological anthropology, that is the place of man as Imago Dei, via-à-vis the challenges that Artificial Intelligence pose and will continue to pose to humanity. In this regard, commentators are comparing it already to how monumental Leo XIII’s Rerum novarum was as the Church’s response to the social challenge of the time which is the threat of Communism and Capitalism.

In preparation to this Encyclical, the Roman Dicasteries of the Doctrine of the Faith and of Culture and Education published in 2025, under the pontificate of Pope Francis, the Doctrinal note Antiqua et nova (Note about  the relationship between Artificial Intelligence and Human Intelligence). More recently, the International Theological Commission published on 4 March 2026, the document Quo vadis, humanitas? (Christian anthropology vis-à-vis the future challenges to humanity).

We are all aware of the philosophical and ethical challenges of AI and also its supposed benefits to humanity. We’ve even recorded an episode and published our own “AI responsibility” article here.

It is, therefore, important to see how the Church, shepherded by the Pope, will lead us in this new page in human history’s book.

A Shepherd, not a Politician

As the world saw a very public spat between the Pope and the US President (mostly attacks from the President) after the US/Israel-Iran War of 2026, the Pope said a fundamental reality that reflects the understanding of the Petrine ministry: “I am not a politician, I speak of the Gospel.”

“I am not a politician, I speak of the Gospel”

The sad reality is that without wanting to himself, Pope Francis was used by political and mediatic forces for their own agenda. That is not something new. Since becoming politically independent as the Western Roman Empire fell and the barbaric kingdoms of Europe emerged, the Holy See has become both the spiritual seat of Christianity and another political player in the chessboard of Europe.

However, this changed when the Kingdom of Italy invaded Rome in 1870 and the Lateran Treaty was signed between the Holy See and the Kingdom in 1929. The Pope, while still technically a Sovereign Prince who exercises temporal power, is now free of the shackles of temporal politics.

This, however, should not be interpreted as if the Church should no longer comment on socio-political affairs. In fact, it makes her comments more potent as she now stands not as a player with vested interest, but a Mother that guides her children.

We remember here the theory of the Two Swords. Now that the Pope is no longer another politician in the chessboard, the Spiritual Sword of the Church can now be wielded better to guide the conscience of those who wield the Temporal Sword of Kings. 

This is why we should be on guard from ideological appropriation of the Pope and the Church. Both the Left and the Right know that “having the Pope on their side” is a political plus. That is why Pope Leo’s affirmation that he is not a politician is important. He is neither conservative nor liberal, he is a successor of the Apostles whose mission is simply to proclaim the Gospel to all nations (cf. Mk 16:15).

A hope for the future

We are still in the first year of this pontificate. Many things will happen. The Pope will have to face many challenges along the way.

The wounds of division and politicization in the Church are still fresh and hurting. Some Catholics are still drinking the manna of hatred of the Other (the “traditionalist”, the “liberal-modernist”, the “conservative” and other such simple categorizations). 

We may be tempted by the modern desire for instant changes and as such criticize Pope Leo XIV’s apparent “slowness”.

The World will be facing more and more challenges from wars, political greed, ideological machinations, technological dilemmas.

As Catholics, we have to pray steadfastly for the Pope so he may guide us in these trying times. And, very important: we must not lose hope that even if times are bleak, the Holy Spirit guides and protects the Church and will never fail us.

The post On the First Anniversary of the Pontificate appeared first on Tamang Usapan Podcast.

Coincidentally or not, today, as I am writing this (25 November), is the memorial of Saint Catherine of Alexandria, who–together with St. Justin Martyr–is honored as the patron saint of philosophers. So, just like modern academics who offer a festschrift to a great thinker, allow me to share this small tribute to the great Alexandrian philosopher-saint.

Catherine: a life disputed

The historicity of Saint Catherine’s life is disputed in modern scholarship. Some argue that she never existed in the way her hagiographies describe. This modern preference for strict historical verifiability is what led the post–Vatican II liturgical engineers to remove her feast from the General Roman Calendar—not a “demotion,” but a cautious adjustment. Later, in 2002, Pope St. John Paul II reinstated her as an optional memorial.

What can be said with certainty is that establishing historical accuracy (using modern methods) for saints from the 4th century is incredibly difficult. Hagiographies evolve over time, and classical writers cared less about micrometric precision than about the impact and meaning of a story.

As Beatie notes: 

“There seems every likelihood, …, that a real woman connected with Alexandria, whose name may have been Katharine, made some gesture during the period of the martyrdoms which caught the folk imagination and lived orally among Greek-speaking Christian congregations in the Near East and Southern Italy, her story taking on more and more the “einfache Form” of Legende toward the eighth century”

(B. Beatie. “Saint Katherine of Alexandria: Traditional Themes and the Development of a Medieval German Hagiographic Narrative” in Speculum, vol. 52, n. 4, Oct. 1977)

Perhaps there was indeed an Alexandrian woman martyred under Diocletian whose story inspired generations. Maybe her name wasn’t Catherine. But that is beside the point. Some modern “historical purists” were more concerned with academic neatness than spiritual enrichment, but I digress.

Now, let us turn to what the hagiographers actually tell us.

The young philosopher

According to tradition, Catherine (or Katherina) was a “princess”, a daughter of a “king” in Alexandria (Egypt). This might be a medieval adaptation, because Egypt by this time was directly under the Roman Empire as such we can surmise that she is indeed of noble birth, patrician, and may be the daughter of the Roman governor of the imperial province of Aegyptus.

Alexandria—home of the Great Library—had long been a city of scholars. Unlike many other Roman provinces, Alexandrian society did not bar women from intellectual pursuits. A century after Catherine, another Alexandrian woman, Hypatia, would become famous for her learning.

Thus, imagining young Catherine arranging her hair while reading Plato’s Republic is not far-fetched. Beautiful, eloquent, intelligent, she was a rising star in Alexandria’s elite. 

However, when she was around 14 years old, she met a hermit named Adrian who guided her to the faith leading to her conversion and eventual baptism.

The young mystic

Shortly afterwards, the young philosopher became a young mystic. She had a vision in which the Virgin Mary offered her a choice of male saints to become his spouse. Having rejected all of them, the Infant Jesus himself appeared and placed a ring to her finger thus making her his own.

This is a typical experience of mystics: the mystical union or wedding. St. Teresa of Ávila had it. Her tocayo, Catherine of Sienna had it. 

This is another problem for the scientific purist of religion, because mystical experience cannot be proven to be merely a hagiographer’s coloring of the story since it is a very intimate religious experience. 

The young evangelizer

Strengthened by both philosophical training and mystical union with Christ, Catherine began converting those she met. By this time, there are already many Christians in the Empire, but most of them are from the plebeians and slaves. Just like St. Justin, Catherine’s “targets” were the rich and famous, the elites.

Charmed by Catherine’s beauty and eloquence, the co-emperor Maximian (co-emperor with Diocletian and father of Constantine the Great’s archrival, Maxentius) sought to make her his concubine (in some versions, he wanted her for his son, Maxentius). However, Catherine, already married to the Son of God, refused the Emperor who styles himself “son of the gods.” Fuming, Maximian ordered her arrested. But the cold prison bars cannot prevent the flame of Catherine’s wisdom and faith.

There, she converted to Christianity everyone who visited her: soldiers, imperial officials, the captain of the imperial guards, and even the empress herself, the wife of Maximian.

The debate 50 v. 1

This really angered the Emperor. So, he sent 50 pagan philosophers to engage Catherine in debate and so persuade her to leave Christ and this foolishness called Christianity and offer sacrifices to the gods. 

We don’t know how long the debate went on, but we can just imagine. I mean, have you seen a philosopher easily capitulating to his opponent in a debate? And there are 51 philosophers here! Anyways, Catherine stood her ground, breaking arguments and counterarguments with cold logic and her ever-burning faith. According to the hagiographers, the result was 1-0 in favor of Catherine. At the end all 50 philosophers converted to Christianity which really really angered Maximian.

The young martyr and the Catherine Wheel

The Emperor then ordered that everyone who converted–even his own wife–be tortured and killed. For Catherine, he reserved an original and cruel torture: the “Catherine wheel,” a contraption made of wheels into which knives or spikes had been driven. The idea was to roll this over her over and over again, thus inflicting excruciating pain and prolonging it until death comes.

Here, the hagiographers may have really colored the story, but who knows? Well, according to them, the angels assisted Catherine by sending a storm that showered rocks and lightning on the wheels and killed some of the soldiers. What we can be sure of is that the wheel might not really be effective or it might have taken too long for the patience of a man as patient as Maximian that in the end, he ordered her decapitated (the only death sentence for a Roman).

Crusader and helper

Her remains were then transported (either by angels, as the Orthodox tell us, or by other Christians of her time) and buried near Mt. Sinai later to be found by monks of the Monastery of the Theotokos that Justinian founded. Being so much associated with St. Catherine, the monastery changed its name to the Monastery of St. Catherine, the oldest continuously inhabited monastery in the world (although latest reports have said that Egyptian authorities are now evicting the monks from this famous site). 

St. Catherine, as one can easily imagine, was greatly venerated in the East. Her cult spread to the West when the crusaders reached the Holy Land and as far as the Sinai peninsula. By the High Medieval Age, it was common to see images of her in parish churches and she was considered one of the “Fourteen Holy Helpers,” a group of saints invoked in daily necessities and petitions (e.g. St. Christopher for those who will travel, etc.). 

A girl in Sienna was born in 1347 was named after her and she will live her life identifying herself with our Alexandrian philosopher. She would also in her own turn become a saint: St. Catherine of Sienna.

A victim of modernity

Catherine was so widely venerated that even after the Reformation, many protestant (High Church) denominations continued their veneration of her such as the Anglicans and the Swedish. Sadly, in the Roman tradition, despite her popularity, St. Catherine became a casualty of the 20th-century obsession with historical-critical methods.

As we have already discussed in our Vatican II miniseries, the 20th century was dominated by the desire to “return to the sources,” a ressourcement in theology, liturgy, etc. That is why the earlier gothic style vestments went back in fashion (and is still today) and the roman style fiddleback chasuble became rarer as the time went by. This ressourcement coupled with St. John XXIII’s aggiornamento inspired the Conciliar years to review everything in christianity, as in EVERYTHING. This includes martyrology, or the list of saints.

Some theologians and liturgists by this time were so impacted by the historico-critical method that originated in protestant biblical scholarship that they also wanted to apply it to their field. So began the dismissing of everything “mythical” or “carolingian, medieval additions.” When the Consilium reformed the General Roman Calendar, they took off the feasts of many saints who are no longer in their favor because their wisdom does not allow it. One of them was St. Catherine of Alexandria.

This, however, does not mean that Catherine suddenly became a “not-saint.” Even the modern liberal theologian knows that he cannot do it. But by striking her out of the General Calendar, a statement was made.

But, veneration to this great woman continued in the East and in our Protestant brothers and sisters. It also persisted in France, Russia, Germany, and even in the Philippines there are old parishes dedicated to her. So, when St. John Paul II revised the Paul VI’s Missal in 2002, he restored St. Catherine in the General Calendar, albeit only as an optional memorial.

Catherine: a woman of valor; a woman that is our model

Because of this “roman snub,” I did not have any idea before who Catherine of Alexandria was until this morning when I celebrated Mass. Whenever I can, I choose to celebrate the optional memorials because: a) they are just once a year so just give them to that saint; and b) repeating the whole week the propers of Sunday is just too lazy for my preference. That is how I came across Catherine of Alexandria.

What struck me about Catherine was not merely her philosophical skill but her movement from intellectual curiosity to mystical depth.

Karl Rahner famously said:

“The Christian of the future will be a mystic or he will not exist at all.”

We do not believe because we grasp dogma perfectly. We believe because we have encountered a Person—Jesus Christ. We accept the dogma and doctrines of the Church even if we do not understand them fully because of him. We accept the Church’s social and moral teaching because we have encountered Jesus Christ. Doctrine becomes intelligible only through relationship.

As Hans Urs von Balthasar teaches: we first encounter Beauty, not abstract Truth. Beauty draws us in—through liturgy, art, holiness—and only then do we grasp the Good, and finally the True. 

We come across this mystical experience of Beauty that tells us that there is something beyond what we see. That is why, there are so many converts coming from churches that celebrate the liturgy well. Then from Beauty we go and engage our life’s moral choices in accordance with this Beauty. Only in having immersed ourselves in this divine Beauty and Good can we accept the Truth behind it, that is doctrine.

Christ is the One, the Beautiful, the Good, and the True—the Way, Truth, and Life.

Anyways, I digress. St. Catherine, patroness of philosophy, please intercede for us.

The post Saint Catherine of Alexandria: Philosopher, Mystic, and Martyr appeared first on Tamang Usapan Podcast.

For the Solemnity of Christ the King, the Church gives us Luke 23:35–43. Not a scene of glory, but of a bruised and silent Jesus hanging on the Cross. And yet, sa mismong eksenang ‘yon, a particular detail stood out in a way that felt both personal and theologically rich.

Holy silence

What strikes me first is His silence.

Throughout His Passion, Jesus refused to defend Himself. He remains quiet before the accusations of the elders, the mockery of the crowd, and the violence of the soldiers. And in a world where power usually means loudness, dominance, and proving yourself right, Christ reveals a different kind of kingship: one grounded in humility, obedience, and surrender to the Father’s will. His silence is not a void; may bigat at may saysay ito.

But what interrupts this silence is even more revealing.

The one who broke the silence

There is only one person Jesus chose to speak to: not a ruler, not a disciple, not a Pharisee, but a condemned criminal hanging beside Him.

The Good Thief, si St. Dismas, doesn’t even do anything grand. He does not justify himself. He does not bargain. He does not demand a miracle. He simply turns to Jesus and says:

“Remember me when You come into Your kingdom” (Lk 23:42).

And what does Jesus do?

For the first and only time in the Passion narrative, He breaks His silence to address an individual sinner. Not with an explanation, not with condemnation, but with a direct, audible act of mercy:

“Today you will be with Me in Paradise” (Lk 23:43).

Here’s where something deepens: Jesus didn’t have to respond verbally.

He could have acknowledged the thief with a glance, a nod, even interior compassion. But He didn’t. He chose to speak.

Today you will be with Me in Paradise

(Lk 23:43)

And it reveals something about how divine mercy works.

How Divine mercy works

Then something clicked in my mind, and I immediately thought of the Sacrament of Confession.

Forgiveness in Christianity is not meant to remain internal or ambiguous. It is meant to be heard. It is relational. It is spoken into the open. Christ’s response to the Good Thief becomes, in a way, a model for sacramental confession.

Because what happens in confession?

A sinner speaks honestly, out loud.

And Christ, through His priest, responds, out loud.

The Church teaches that when the priest says the words of absolution, it is Christ Himself who speaks.

The same Christ who spoke to the thief.

The same Christ who breaks His silence for the one heart that turns back to Him.

There’s something profoundly human and profoundly divine in this.

Hindi lang tayo basta “feeling forgiven.”
We hear it.
We receive it.
We are assured of it objectively, audibly, sacramentally.

Christ’s kingship

Today, on the Feast of Christ the King, the Gospel invites us to see that Christ’s kingship is not shown in domination but in mercy; not in asserting power, but in the willingness to speak salvation to a sinner at the edge of death.

And perhaps this is the heart of today’s celebration: that the King we worship is a King who reigns from a Cross, who speaks forgiveness in the middle of suffering, and who chooses to break His silence for those who dare to turn toward Him kahit gaano sila ka-wasak o ka-late dumating sa piling Niya.

If the Good Thief teaches us anything, it’s this: it is never too late to call out to Christ, and it is always in His nature to answer.

Mercifully.
Personally.
And aloud.

Ang daldal, no? Skl naman kasi.
Sige, scroll up ka na. Hehe.
Happy Feast of Christ the King, everyone! 👑

The post Understanding Christ’s Kingship: Mercy Over Power appeared first on Tamang Usapan Podcast.

Bakit Kaakit-akit ang Paniniwalang “Gawa-gawa lang ni Constantine ang Simbahan”

Simple: kung faith is just a human invention, wala tayong kailangang sundin.
No Church. No moral authority. No accountability.

Parang ang dali tuloy i-reject. Kung gawa-gawa lang pala ng tao ang pananampalataya, then it becomes just another opinion—parang self-help lang: kung may sense sa’yo, sundin mo; kung wala, skip mo. Walang binding truth. Walang obligasyon. Everything becomes relative: “Live your truth,” “Follow your heart,” “As long as you’re not hurting anyone, okay na.”

At kung tutuusin, that sounds comforting. Wala kang pananagutan. Wala kang kailangang baguhin sa sarili mo. You get to be your own god—your own judge of what’s good, what’s true, and what’s right.Kaya appealing talaga ang ideya na “gawa-gawa lang ’yan ni Constantine.” It gives people a reason to detach—emotionally at morally—from the Church. Kung hindi totoo, hindi na kailangan seryosohin. Hindi mo kailangang sumunod sa turo tungkol sa kasalanan, kabanalan, o sakripisyo. Hindi mo kailangang magbago, magpatawad, o magmahal nang mahirap.

Pero Totoo Ba?

Kasi kung totoo ang pananampalataya—kung totoo na may Diyos at si Kristo ang nagtatag ng Simbahan—then we can’t just walk away without consequence.

Then we are accountable.

Then we need to listen, to obey, to convert.

At doon nagiging mahirap. Kasi truth demands something from us. Love demands sacrifice. And faith, if it’s real, will always call us out of comfort and into commitment.

Kaya maraming umaayaw. Mas madali ang “gawa-gawa lang ’yan” kaysa “baka totoo nga ’yan at ako ang kailangang magbago.”

Ang Lure ng Conspiracy Theories

Let’s be honest—conspiracy theories sell.
“Ah, kasi power grab lang ’yan.”
“Sinira ni Constantine ang ‘true Christianity.’”

’Yan ang kwento ng ilang ex-Catholics o anti-Catholic influencers online. Emotional. Sensational.
Pero, sadly—not historical.

Habang binabasa ko ang When the Church Was Young ni Marcellino D’Ambrosio, napaisip ako: alam ko ba talagang ganito kalalim ang roots ng Simbahang Katoliko?

Ang Katotohanang Madalas Nakakalimutan: Bago pa si Constantine, Katoliko na

Madalas nating marinig: “Hindi naman ’yan ’yung original. Si Constantine lang ang nagpauso n’yan.” Pero the more I read the early Church Fathers, the more I realized—hindi sila nahuhuli sa panahon… tayo ang minsang nahuhuli sa pagkaunawa.

We rarely study Church history in school. Kaya kapag may narinig tayong bold claim na “the Church was invented in the 300s,” wala tayong maipang-refute. Kaya tuloy parang believable.

Pero kung babasahin mo ang totoong sources—like the writings of the early Christians bago pa si Constantine—you’ll realize: they were already Catholic.They wrote about the Eucharist. About bishops. About apostolic tradition and the visible Church.
At hindi ito basta opinion lang—mga sulat at testimonya ito ng mga taong naturuan mismo ng mga apostol. Firsthand sources. Kung baga sa chismis, sila ang mga “unang nakarinig.”

St. Ignatius of Antioch: Catholic na Bago pa ang 300 AD

Isa sa mga pinaka-nakakabilib ay si St. Ignatius of Antioch.

Nagsusulat na siya as early as 100 AD at ginamit na niya ang term na Catholic Church—hindi para mag-imbento ng bago, kundi para ilarawan ang Simbahang matagal nang umiiral.

Ipinakita niya ang:

• Obedience to bishops
  
• Real presence of Jesus in the Eucharist
  
• Unity in the body of Christ
  

He didn’t sound “Protestant.” He sounded Catholic.

Hindi si Constantine ang Founder—Siya ang Nag-legalize

Kaya mahirap paniwalaan na ang Catholic Church ay “inimbento lang ni Constantine.”
Kung tutuusin, Constantine just legalized something that was already alive, growing, and deeply rooted.

Hindi niya ito pinanganak—parang nakisakay lang siya sa barkong matagal nang lumalayag kahit binabato ng alon.

Nakakalungkot na tayo mismong mga Katoliko, hindi natin kilala ang ating spiritual lolo at lola. We forget their sacrifices—their letters, and their blood spilled in arenas—hindi para sa religion of comfort, kundi para sa katotohanang ipinagkatiwala ni Jesus sa Kanyang Simbahan.

Sino ang Tunay na Founder ng Catholic Church?

Kaya kapag tinatanong ako, “Si Constantine ba ang founder ng Catholic Church?”
I no longer just answer with logic. I answer from the heart:

Hindi siya, kundi ay si Jesus.
Ang mga apostol.
At ang mga unang Kristiyano—mga simpleng tao, inuusig, ngunit tapat na nag-ipasa ng pananampalataya sa luha, sa dugo, at sa pag-ibig.

At the end of the day, ang Constantine theory ay isang convenient excuse para umiwas sa bagay na hindi pa natin lubusang nauunawaan.Pero kung maglalakas-loob kang maghukay nang mas malalim, makikita mo—ang Simbahan ay hindi nagsimula sa kapangyarihan kundi sa pag-uusig; hindi sa palasyo kundi sa kulungan.

Kilalanin ang Pinag-ugatan ng Pananampalataya

Kung mas kilala lang natin ang pinag-ugatan ng ating pananampalataya, baka mas maipagmamalaki pa natin ito—hindi dahil perfect tayo, kundi dahil totoo ang pinaniniwalaan natin.

The post Emperor Constantine and the Catholic Church Myth: A Historical Fact-Check appeared first on Tamang Usapan Podcast.

Familiar Scenes of Devotion

Imagine this, dear brothers and sisters: Biyernes Santo ng hapon. Katatapos lamang ng liturhiya sa loob ng simbahan. Lalabas ang prusisyon. Anong imahen ang hindi pwedeng absent sa lahat ng mga simbahan tuwing Good Friday kasama ng Santo Entierro? Si Magdalena ba? Ang Pinatawad na Magnanakaw? Si San Pedro? Ang Nazareno? Wherever and whenever there is a Good Friday procession, you will always find the second most important character next to Christ: his sorrowful Mother.

The Image of the Virgen Dolorosa

Whenever one looks at the image of the Virgen Dolorosa during the Viernes Dolores (Friday before Good Friday) procession, the Viernes Santo Prusisyon ng Paglilibing sa Panginoon and the nighttime procession of the Soledad de la Virgen, it is impossible not to notice her unique figure and painful facial expression—her clothing, no matter how beautifully embroidered or adorned, is dark and gloomy, representing her own suffering as a mother; her eyes, filled with unspeakable sorrow and grief, with tears abundantly flowing on her face; her hands, usually clutched tightly in front of her; the semi-closed or slightly open mouth that seems to be breathing heavily or sighing, or even moaning in pain; her chest, usually adorned with a metal heart pierced by seven swords representing the sorrows she endured.

This depiction of the Blessed Virgin Mary has always been familiar to most if not all of us. But, surely, may isang bagay na baka taken for granted natin at hindi man lang natin masyadong napapansin at napagninilayan sa imahen ng Mahal na Birhen Dolorosa. What is her position or posture? What is the significance of such a posture?

The Gospel Foundation: Mary Standing by the Cross

Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his home. (John 19:25-27)

The Context of Crucifixion

The Significance of Mary’s Posture

First, let us look at the CONTEXT surrounding the Gospel passage we have just mentioned. The Passion narrative according to St. John mentions the significant posture of the mother of Jesus: STANDING. The evangelist did not surely write it down simply to tell a story and assign an action to a character of the drama. Although minimally stated by the evangelist as it appears in the narrative text, her being situated “by the cross” speaks volumes of her maternal nature, her compassion and above all, her faith in her own Son—she who is his first disciple and most loyal follower.

The Reality of Public Execution

The scenario of the Crucifixion should be clear to us by this time. The cross where Jesus is crucified is already standing above the hill called Golgotha. It also translates to the “Place of the Skull”. The cross displays him in the sight of the crowds. Scenes of human tragedy have always attracted and involved the presence of curious onlookers. That time, the Jews were celebrating the Feast of Passover, hence the presence of vast crowds coming into and bustling around the city and its outskirts.

The Brutality of Crucifixion

The mother of Jesus is described as standing by the cross. To understand the gravity of the circumstances the mother has involved herself in, let us first look at the history and context of Roman execution by means of crucifixion wherein the victim is made to endure long hours of agonizing physical torments, as well as humiliation and loss of honor. Kung napanood po ninyo ang “Passion of the Christ” by Mel Gibson, you already have a clear idea of what I am talking about. During the time of Jesus, death sentence by crucifixion was among the most brutal, and the worst among the capital punishments of the Roman empire.

Mary’s Presence Under the Cross

The Risk of Being There

Now let us go back to the Mother of Jesus under the cross. Why was she there? Bakit siya nandoon? While the answer may seem obvious to us, the situation surrounding public executions such as that of Jesus is not the best scenario to involve oneself into.

The Danger of Identification

According to some scholars, records indicate that the (immediate) families of crucifixion victims could stand near them during their deaths. (As long as they do not create a riot or disturbance while the execution is being carried out. The Roman soldiers were alert and particular about this. Any indication of rebellion or riot could spell disaster and demise on the part of the instigators.]

To identify oneself publicly as related to and standing with the condemned puts one at the menace of persecution and humiliation. We can only speculate on what can possibly happen to Mary as she stood there beneath the cross of Jesus. Maaring pagbabatuhin o bastusin siya ng mga kapwa niya Hudyo, dahil siya ang “Nanay ng rebelde at kriminal na pinarurusahan ng pagpapako.” She could also be insulted, laughed at and harassed by the Roman soldiers, who are known for their brutality and inhumaneness in such situations. In spite of it all, Mary persisted to be with her son despite looming threats and possibilities of suffering with him there.

The Posture of Mary and Its Significance

The Meaning of Standing

Secondly, let us turn our attention to the POSTURE of Mary, the meaning and the significance of such posture. Why is her posture and presence significant? Posture, especially standing, can simply refer to the bodily position. When joined to the idea of symbol, standing becomes an action that embodies a conviction because it transcends bodily capacity and goes as far as expressive of faith, adherence and solidarity.

Women in the Time of Jesus

In Jewish society and culture, most especially during the time of Jesus, women (together with children) were considered simply as second class citizens, hence they are powerless and voiceless. In the case of Mary, standing at the foot of the cross is the only thing she can do.

Mary’s Silent but Strong Message

Among the many reflections on Mary’s posture of standing as she watched her suffering son slowly and agonizingly dying, what stands out as relevant to us today, more than ever, is her unspoken yet strong message:

Sa mundong ito na puspos ng kawalan ng hustisya, may kaya pa akong gawin. Ang tumayo, makiisa at makiramay sa nagdurusa. At hinding-hindi ito kayang agawin o ilayo ninuman sa akin.

Mary and the Kingship of Christ

The Inscription on the Cross

Only a handful of verses before the mentioning of Mary at the crucifixion scene, the inscription ordered by Pontius Pilate to be written and attached to the cross spoke of the controversial title of Jesus (cf. Jn 19:19), which triggered the Jews since the trial as if provoking them even more hence their demand for Pilate to change the contents (cf. Jn 19:21) of the said inscription. Ano ang nakalagay doon? Naaalala pa ba ninyo ang binabasang Pasyon tuwing Viernes Santo?

The inscription ay nasusulat sa tatlong mayor na mga linggwaheng aktibong ginagamit noong panahon ni Hesus: Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. The Latin is the basis of the famous “INRI” inscribed on the upper portion of the vertical beam of our crucifixes: Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum (Jesus the Nazorean, King of the Jews).

Mary’s Identification with Her Son

The presence of the mother near the cross is an obvious statement in itself: she identifies herself with the crucified—and everything about him, including his kingship—because he is her son and she is his mother. If the son is king, what would that make his mother? Kung ang anak ay hari, ano ang magiging tawag at estado sa nanay ng hari?

Mary’s presence at the foot of the cross is her own response to what Christ declared in the earlier chapters and verses of the Gospel of John: “Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be.” (cf. Jn 12:26).

The Compassion of Motherhood

Mary as First Tabernacle

Mary’s actual physical presence is driven by the natural tendency of motherhood. At the same time, of all people, she had a higher awareness of the divinity of this Divine Word made flesh. She gave birth to him. To the Living Bread from heaven—Jesus—she is his first tabernacle, his home. She is the closest witness of his human development from the womb, his first believer, his first disciple, and servant.

The Comfort of Her Presence

By her presence, even without involving the use of soothing words, the Blessed mother gives comfort and consolation to Jesus suffering on the cross. Her active presence is that of immeasurable compassion that characterizes the uniqueness of motherhood.

Sa ating pang-unawa bilang tao, maaaring dito natin maididiin ang isang kasabihan, but with a twist: “Hindi kayang tiisin ng isang magulang ang kaniyang anak.” In the case of Jesus and Mary right then and there at the crucifixion scene, we can only infer na parehas nilang hindi matiis ang isa’t isa.

The Pain of Mother and Son

Aside from the physical pains brutally inflicted upon him by the temple guards and the Roman soldiers, what most probably adds to the pain of Jesus was the sight of his own grieving mother under his cross. He was all that she had. Si Kristo na nga lang ang mayroon siya, ngayon ay mawawala pa sa kanya. He was everything to her.

The Challenge and Invitation

Mary as Model of Solidarity

Mary, standing at the foot of the cross, shows us that solidarity with the suffering is not passive resignation but an act of faith and courage. Her presence is a prophetic stance against injustice.

A Marian Lens on Social Justice

In a world marked by inequality, oppression, and violence, Mary’s silent but firm standing tells us that there is always something we can do: to stand, to be present, to accompany, to show compassion.

Conclusion and Prayer

Final Reflection

The Blessed Virgin Mary did not speak many words under the cross. But by standing there, she taught us the meaning of Christian discipleship, motherhood, solidarity, and faith.

A Prayer

Allow me, as a conclusion, to share to you the Ave Maria or Hail Mary to Our Lady of Sorrows, attributed to St. Bonaventure:

May the Blessed Virgin Mary, Our Lady of Sorrows, protect us and guide us on the way of life.

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“Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead. Tradition refuses to submit to that arrogant oligarchy who merely happen to be walking around.”
— G.K. Chesterton

On September 3, 2025, Cardinal Blase Cupich published an essay in the Chicago Catholic (read here) attempting to distinguish between Tradition and traditionalism. He began with Jaroslav Pelikan’s well-worn aphorism: “Tradition is the living faith of the dead, traditionalism is the dead faith of the living.” Allow me, then, to begin with Chesterton’s.

The Cardinal is a bishop of the Church, with the fullness of the priesthood. I know his formation at the Università Pontificia Gregoriana and the Catholic University of America is impeccable. I, on the other hand, am but a neophyte priest, without his breadth of pastoral experience or theological depth. Yet the philosopher in me (or, perhaps the pretentious part of me) cannot resist responding to his pastoral “clarification.” (Note: my editor told me to take this paragraph down as it risks a “reverse appeal to authority,” but this is my style so please allow me some break with this).

Let us then break down the Archbishop’s essay into its theses, expressed syllogistically, and evaluate them.

Thesis 1: Tradition is Dynamic Development, Not Static Preservation

Major Premise: True tradition preserves identity while allowing authentic growth and maturation.

Minor Premise: Doctrines such as the Trinity and Christology developed organically without losing their original essence, while St. Vincent of Lérins compared doctrine’s growth to the natural development of the human body.

Conclusion: Therefore, Catholic tradition must be understood as a living, developing reality, not static repetition.

Response

Cupich’s syllogism here is valid and, on the surface, sound. But throughout the essay he employs “Tradition” equivocally—sometimes meaning doctrinal development (Newman’s sense), sometimes liturgy, other times fidelity to the Gospel. This shifting usage risks the fallacy of equivocation. Can the average Catholic easily parse these nuances?

And this equivocation matters. If “Tradition” is always “living, developing reality,” then doctrinal contents themselves could be relativized. If liturgical customs may be superseded, why not moral norms—or even Christ’s divinity? The liberal Catholic may answer, “yes.” But this was not Newman’s intent. For Newman, development meant continuity, not rupture. Growth like that of a body: always the same identity, never mutation into another species.

As the great composer Gustav Mahler said: “Tradition is not the worship of ashes but the preservation of fire.” Faith is alive and develops, but it builds upon what came before; it does not negate it. This crucial nuance is missing in the Cardinal’s framing.

Thesis 2: Vatican II’s Teaching on Development Builds on Newman

Major Premise: The Church’s magisterium recognizes growth in understanding revelation through contemplation, study, experience, and preaching.

Minor Premise: Vatican II (Dei Verbum §8) explicitly articulated this principle, influenced by Newman.

Conclusion: Therefore, Vatican II’s teaching continues the Church’s authentic tradition by formally affirming development.

Response

This thesis, taken alone, is strong. Dei Verbum does indeed affirm Newman’s insight. The difficulty arises when it is yoked to the next thesis.

Thesis 3: The Liturgical Reforms of Vatican II Exemplify Authentic Development

Major Premise: Authentic reform restores the original essence of tradition when it has been obscured by distortions.

Minor Premise: Historical influences (Carolingian and Baroque) transformed the liturgy into clerical spectacle, obscuring its communal essence.

Conclusion: Therefore, Vatican II’s liturgical reform (Sacrosanctum Concilium) was authentic, restoring noble simplicity and participation.

Response

Here, several problems emerge.

First, Cupich risks a hasty generalization. To portray Carolingian and Baroque developments as mere distortions is an oversimplification. These eras certainly brought cultural influences, but also theological richness, chant, hymnody, and profound expressions of transcendence. Were all adaptations corrupt? Hardly. By the same logic, ultratraditionalists could accuse Vatican II reforms of being corrupted by secular or Protestant influences.

Second, a strawman fallacy creeps in. By caricaturing the pre-conciliar liturgy as universally clerical and grotesque, he misrepresents traditionalist claims. Many loved the old rite precisely for its reverence and theocentricity, not as “spectacle.”

Third, there is historical cherry-picking. One cannot isolate distortions while ignoring genuine fruits. Again, Cupich claims wholesale that the pre-Vatican II liturgy is plagued by corruption from Carolingian and baroque influences. These eras span several decades, and even centuries, are we to assume that all of them corrupted the liturgy? 

Furthermore, to claim Vatican II reforms as mere “restorations” ignores that many changes (the almost exclusive use of the vernacular, Eucharistic prayers, versus populum orientation) were not mandated by SC and in fact went beyond it.

Finally, and most seriously, there is circular reasoning. Cupich argues that the reforms were authentic because they recovered the true tradition. But this assumes what must be proved: that they are the true tradition. Independent criteria, such as Newman’s notes of authentic development, must be applied.

Thesis 4: To Reject Authentic Liturgical Reform is to Misunderstand Tradition

Major Premise: Refusal to allow the Church to develop is regression into traditionalism, not fidelity.

Minor Premise: Pope Francis warns that resisting reform by clinging to the past is “going backward.”

Conclusion: Therefore, rejecting Vatican II’s reforms is misunderstanding tradition.

Response

Here, Cupich introduces a false dilemma: either embrace reform or regress. But history shows a third option—faithful preservation alongside reform. The Roman Rite has long coexisted with others (Ambrosian, Mozarabic, Dominican, etc.). Benedict XVI’s Summorum Pontificum recognized precisely this possibility: one can affirm Vatican II and yet worship in the older rite.

There is also an appeal to authority. Pelikan, Sts. Newman and Lérins, Vatican II, Pope Francis are invoked. These are weighty voices, but their authority often substitutes for demonstration. Pope Francis’ claim that traditionalists are “backward” is rhetoric, not proof. And Cupich’s essay leans heavily on rhetorical terms like “spectacle,” “grotesque,” “dead faith” which generate emotional bias rather than rational demonstration.

The pastoral implication is also problematic: equating attraction to the traditional liturgy with rejection of Vatican II unfairly homogenizes a diverse group. Traditional Catholics range from sedevacantists to ordinary lay faithful who simply find spiritual nourishment in the old rite. To reduce them all to “backward” is another strawman.

Furthermore, what about Eastern Rite Catholics? Do we hold them to a different standard? Are they “backward” because they maintain their liturgical patrimony rather than adopting versus populum and vernacular exclusivity? If not, then why treat Roman Rite Catholics who love the older form as retrograde?

Thesis 5: True Reform Means Moving Forward by Going Deeper into Tradition

Major Premise: Authentic tradition allows the Gospel to be proclaimed anew by rediscovering its essence.

Minor Premise: Tradition is the “living faith of the dead,” traditionalism the “dead faith of the living.”

Conclusion: Therefore, true reform requires going deeper into tradition so the Church can move forward.

Response

Here I agree with the Cardinal in principle. True reform is rediscovery of essence so that the Church may proclaim Christ anew in each age. Yet two problems arise:

• The Pelikan quote, while striking, does not prove the meanings Cupich ascribes to Tradition and traditionalism. What is “living faith”? What is “dead faith”? For many, the preservation of the older liturgy is precisely the fire, not ashes.
  
• A hidden assumption underlies his reasoning: that Vatican II’s reforms represent a pure return to the “sources.” Yet it is impossible to reconstruct the primitive liturgy with certainty. Moreover, if the liturgy must necessarily develop (as Newman teaches), then “going back” to a hypothetical archaic form risks contradicting the very principle of development.
  

The Grand (Unstated) Conclusion

All of Cupich’s theses lean toward an implicit conclusion: Catholics attached to the older rite misunderstand tradition and are trapped in traditionalism. But this conclusion oversimplifies. Traditionalist Catholics are not a monolith:

• Some indeed reject Vatican II outright (sedevacantists and schismatics). These are often the loudest ones online.
  
• Others question aspects of the reform but remain within the Church (what I call, “softie-sedes”). The danger with them is that they may say that they reject the sedevacantists, but, in principle, they coincide with some, if not most, of their talking points. They are also the loudest voices online.
  
• Still others see no contradiction between Vatican II and the old rite, and even hope the older form can enrich the newer one. (You might want to listen to our Sacrosanctum concilium episode with Doc Luke Brofar here).
  
• And many are simply Catholics who find themselves spiritually nourished by the Extraordinary Form without rejecting the Ordinary (most of the “traditionalists”). (You might want to listen to our TLM episode with Doc Luke Brofar here).
  

What’s the problem?

By categorizing all of these under “traditionalism,” the Cardinal misrepresents the heterogeneity of the faithful. Thus, this conclusion rests on equivocation, hasty generalizations, false dilemmas, appeals to authority, and circular reasoning.

Worse, his reasoning risks begging the question. He asserts: “The reforms are authentic because they recovered true tradition.” But this presumes what is in dispute: that Vatican II reforms are the authentic tradition. To prove this, one would need independent evidence of continuity, not the mere assertion of it.

Conclusion: Tradition as Continuity, Not Rupture

Cardinal Cupich is right to warn against sterile repetition. Tradition is not a museum. Yet, in conflating tradition with adaptability, his essay risks collapsing continuity into rupture.

The real task is not to choose between the “dead faith of the living” and a “living faith of the dead,” but to preserve the fire across the centuries. That fire is preserved not by abandoning what came before, but by building upon it in continuity. 

Should we, then, affirm that “what earlier generations held sacred” is no longer sacred today? Should we say that we are better than most saints spiritually because our Mass today is “purer” than the Mass where their souls were nourished? 

Perhaps the Cardinal should revisit Newman, who insisted that the sensus fidelium—the lived faith of the whole Church—guides authentic development. Why, then, do so many Catholics, especially the young, continue to be drawn to the old Mass decades after the Council? (Read Ann Mare’s experience here). Why did Summorum Pontificum bring peace, while Traditionis custodes reopened wounds?

History warns against declaring one’s own moment the “end of history.” Hegel did it; Fukuyama did it. If we apply Cupich’s reasoning, Vatican II would be the final liturgical synthesis, never to be reformed again. But by Newman’s principle, development continues. Perhaps the older liturgy still has a role in that future development—just as the “archaic sources” inspired the reforms of Vatican II.

Tradition is not ashes or spectacle, nor is it regression or novelty. It is continuity in the faith once delivered, living and growing, yet always the same flame.

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Cheesy intro, I know—but really. Last Sunday, I attended the Traditional Latin Mass (TLM) for the very first time. Russel had invited me several times before, but it never worked out—until now. And the experience? Deeply moving and unforgettable. I had just stepped into the oldest form of the Catholic Mass, a living connection to centuries of Catholic worship.

In many ways, it felt like entering something timeless, sacred, and untouched by modern trends.

A Sacred Encounter with the Latin Mass

The Latin prayers were hauntingly beautiful, especially the Kyrie—the only part in Greek. Nakakapanindig balahibo. There’s a weight and depth in those words that bypass the intellect and go straight to the soul.

I had some idea about the Traditional Latin Mass from podcasts and social media, but never imagined actually attending one. I came with expectations, sure, but tried not to let them color the experience.

The Traditional Latin Mass—also known as the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite—is how the Catholic Mass was celebrated for centuries, prior to the liturgical reforms of the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s. It’s called “Latin” because nearly everything—from the prayers to the hymns—is in Latin, the Church’s ancient sacred language.

Facing God Together

One of the most striking features of the TLM is that the priest faces the altar—not the people. This isn’t about turning his back; it symbolizes that both the priest and congregation are facing God together. The atmosphere is quieter, more solemn, and rich with gestures, silences, and sacred symbols that express deep reverence for the Eucharist.

There was incense, Gregorian chant, and a powerful sense that something eternal was unfolding.

As the Mass began, the priest walked toward the altar and began praying quietly in Latin. These are known as the Prayers at the Foot of the Altar. Assisted by a sacristan, the priest donned a flowing vestment called a chasuble, symbolizing charity and sacrifice. Every motion, every silence, felt rich with meaning—even if I didn’t understand it all. I just knew I was witnessing something holy.

Overwhelmed, Yet Drawn In

Throughout the Mass, I found myself just watching the priest. Most of it was in Latin, except for the homily and a few hymns. I was amazed—and, honestly, a bit overwhelmed. It was so different from the Novus Ordo Mass I’m used to.

I missed most of the readings because they were in Latin, and the structure was unfamiliar. There was no visible Offertory—no laypeople bringing up the gifts, no offertory song, no collection baskets. It felt like something was missing… but it wasn’t. After the Credo, the priest quietly began the Offertory Prayers. It was subtle and almost silent—but profoundly solemn. Not performative, just pure worship.

A Different Kind of Reverence

Later, I realized the Our Father—the Pater Noster—was already being prayed. Only the priest recited it, except for the final line: Sed libera nos a malo (“But deliver us from evil”). It was deeply solemn. No holding hands, no distractions. Just quiet reverence. I could feel the priest truly interceding for us before God, while I tried to silently follow along—overwhelmed, but respectful.

Another thing I noticed: nearly all the women wore veils—white, black, embroidered, simple. These veils seemed to say, “I am here not to be seen, but to worship.” I didn’t bring one, but some kind and beautiful regulars had extra and offered me one to borrow.

I didn’t fully understand the meaning behind the tradition, but it felt humbling—as if the veil helped veil my ego, too. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt it deeply: this place is different, and something sacred is happening here.

Holy Communion in the Traditional Latin Mass

Then came Communion. No one was standing. Everyone knelt—and received Christ on the tongue. A server held a golden paten under each person’s chin to catch any possible crumb of the Sacred Host. Only the priest distributed Communion; no lay ministers. The reverence was palpable.

There was no rush, no noise. Just stillness, awe, and sacred silence.

Final Thoughts

Attending the Traditional Latin Mass for the first time was a profound experience—one I’ll never forget. It’s not about nostalgia or being “more Catholic.” It’s about encountering a form of worship that is rich, reverent, and rooted in centuries of faith.

If you’re curious about Latin Mass, or have only heard about it online, I encourage you to witness it for yourself. Don’t worry about understanding everything. Just be present—and let the sacred speak.

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