The Pontiff Has Fallen—And He Will Not Rise Again
The pontiff is dead. And no, the bells aren’t ringing in triumph—they’re tolling like a funeral dirge for a man whose soul now quakes before the throne of Almighty God. Pope Francis—Rome’s darling, the media’s mascot, the Church of Nice’s poster boy—is gone.
And what lies ahead for him isn’t a harp or a halo, but the thundering words of the Risen Christ: “Depart from me, you worker of lawlessness.”
This wasn’t just another cog in the Catholic contraption. Francis was the chief mechanic of a machine that has, for centuries, cranked out damnation with papal precision—each pope stamping out a counterfeit gospel like a Vatican assembly line.
And Francis? He didn’t just passively operate it. He was its jazzed-up marketing department, its rebranding consultant, its smiling salesman of soul poison in biodegradable packaging.
He didn’t lead sheep beside still waters. He tossed them headlong into the gorge.
Rome’s gospel has always been a treadmill for the damned—an exhausting, ritualistic hamster wheel of penance, indulgences, and sacramental charades dressed in robes and incense. Grace? They don’t even like the word unless it’s buried under five layers of Latin and bureaucracy.
But Francis? He looked at that spiritual deathtrap and thought, “You know what this needs? A little communism, some gay affirmation, and a touch of interfaith karaoke.”
He was the pope of plastic smiles and poisoned wells. The pontiff of “Who am I to judge?” and “Let’s dialogue with devils.” A man so morally pliable he could bend orthodoxy into origami swans to hand out at climate summits and pride parades.
And I’ve written about this madness before over at disntr.com—repeatedly warning that this man was not just confused or misguided, but an open insurgent against the gospel of Jesus Christ. Back in 2020, Francis gave his blessing to same-sex civil unions in a documentary like it was just another PR stop on the “Be Kind” tour. “Homosexual people have the right to be in a family,” he mewled, as if the Bible hadn’t already spoken with clarity. And the world applauded. Of course it did. The world loves a leader who blesses its rebellion.
What kind of love celebrates what God condemns? What kind of shepherd leads his sheep into the wolf’s den and calls it compassion? Francis’s entire papacy was a velvet trap—a soft-spoken spiral staircase leading to hell, complete with jazz music and eco-theology.