Title, Juana Tabor Volume 3 of Bibliotheca Homo Legens. Author, Hugo Wast. Publisher, Homo Legens, ISBN, , ; Juana Tabor by Hugo Wast, , available at Book Depository with free delivery worldwide. – Buy Juana Tabor – book online at best prices in India on Read Juana Tabor – book reviews & author details and more at.
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Here is the beginning of a book written in by a very devout Catholic from Argentina. It is a novel about the end times, and, although he does not get everything correct, it is amazingly accurate in many respects. Do you know of any famous apostate antipopes from Argentina? Anyway, here are the first few pages.
The wooden board upon which, in keeping with the holy rule, he lay fully dressed must have seemed to him deliciously comfortable and the smoothened piece of wood that served as a pillow, soft as down. He was, however, at the age at which sleep is a stranger and insomnia is a habitual companion.
He had been born the first day of the XX century having reached, therefore, the age of 78 years. His day usually began before midnight. The praying of his breviary and some devotions required three long hours to complete; the Mass half an hour; time in the confessional, sometimes one hour, sometimes four or five or more, if many penitents came who spoke Latin or Spanish, the only languages that he knew, since he was never able to, nor did he desire, to learn Esperanto, the universal language since At midmorning, he would receive the visitors who needed his advice or his help, followed by the frugal lunch of the Gregorians, who followed the Trappist rule; afterwards, a brief period of spiritual reading which frequently turned into a brief siesta; and all of the other duties of the community.
He rarely, if ever, went out of that very old mansion that was his monastery.
666 ; Juana Tabor
That day, he had to preach a ttabor panegyric of St. Gregory celebrating the tabkr in their church of six young priests celebrating their first Mass. There would not be many in the crowd that filled the three naves that understood his sermon because he gave it in Latin.
If he had given it is Spanish, there would have been even taboe that understood it. After having had hundreds of houses in the world, populated by thousands of friars, there were no longer more than three or four monasteries in their last agony. As an immense fig tree, worn out by the centuries, its branches, which had borne tremendous fruit in ages past, was now drying out, without any new shoots coming up from the ancient root. One would think that the world had entered into the epoch of religious tepidity, that rabor precede the last days or the Second Coming of Christ, in fulfillment of the words of Jesus Himself: They sacrificed their youth; they left behind the imperfect liberty rabor the world and purchased the liberty of Christ that consisted in submitting themselves forever to the will of another.
But it was to enter into other religious orders: One after another, like aged oxen, the friars were falling in the furrows of their unfinished task, dying peaceful and edifying deaths, the Angels taking their souls to heaven.
His companions, singing the Office of the Dead, carried the body on the same wooden board that, during so many years, was his bed and as the Rule mandated, they nailed the habit down around the form of the body and without further adornment, they placed him in a recently dug grave in the moist soil of the consecrated ground so that, under the shade of the pious cypresses he would return to dust awaiting the resurrection of the flesh.
Los friars did not pull up its immense, useless trunk because, in its sterile branches dwelled the doves of the bell tower and because they believed the ancient tradition that that tree would bloom again in the spring in which the last Pope would die, that is, on the very eve of the Second Coming of Christ.
The burial ceremony having ended, each friar returned to his work, a little sadder and somewhat more alone as well because no novice would replace the one that had died and his cell would be turned into a refuge for vermin and bats.
Ten years, twenty years more and there would be nobody else in the world who would vest himself with that white linen habit that the founder prescribed, inspired by what was described by the Prophet Daniel in his visions: After many painful occasions in which the monastery of Buenos Aires was close to being closed, on that 30 th of May,six new priests offered their first Mass and among them one already famous for his austerity and his talent. The rigorous Gregorian Rule did not extinguish his spirit.
Despite the tonsure that insulted his arrogant head, when he mounted the pulpit, the people were left astonished and captivated by intense emotion. You are now a priest of the Most High. The young man responded with the words of Samuel, because he knew how pleasing were the words of the biblical texts to his superior: Fray Simon listened to his superior with his eyes fixed on the stone floor and with his hands folded into the loose sleeves of his beautiful habit.
John the Baptist on his vigil: The superior looked at him intensely as if he had discovered the chink in that magnificent armour and he told him: The superior looked at him through the corner of his eye and continued: Hold it as certain that the Lord will permit the most oppressive temptations, in order that you learn how little we are worth without His Grace.
It was not the proper time to explain himself in too much detail, and the old friar prefered to continue speaking in general terms. How can one renounce virtue? The virtues produce pleasure, a delight. Perfection lies in the renunciation of such spiritual pleasures that produce virtue because, sooner or later, they capture the will, and make one believe that anything that goes against such spiritual pleasure is evil, and all that gives such pleasure is good.
Catherine of Genoa that we should flee spiritual pleasure more than the devil himself because they entangle men and from them is born spiritual self-love with the appearance of good infinitely more dangerous than the carnal love, due to its being the root of all evils that can aflict us in this world and in the next. The rebellion of Lucifer and his angels had not other cause than spiritual self-love. All that you do in virtue of holy obedience to your rule or to the orders of your superiors is good.
All that you do contrary to obedience, even to the suffering of martyrdom, is bad. Sometimes we are moved by passion and we think that it is zeal. That will, or rather, that feeling, because the young Levite must be transformed into the flesh of his flesh, in a sort of instinct, which at the beginning of his career could be nothing more than a cold obedience, that adherence to Rome is what makes him a living member of the Mystical Body of Christ.
Three evangelists, Matthew, Mark and Luke say it with identical words: After a short, embarrased silence, the old man took up his thoughts once more. The vocation of a priest rests upon two pillars. When one of them is weakened, the other does not delay in weakening and everything collapses.
For me, those two pillars are liturgical prayer and devotion to the Pope, or, in other words: Then he knelt and kissed the sandled feet of the old man.
The superior left and he remained alone in his cell, whose whitewashed walls seemed tinted with purple, because through its windows, that looked out upon the garden, streamed the rosy glow of a marvelous sunset. He opened the window and breathed to the depths of his lungs the golden breeze of the evening. I have the sense that I bear within myself all the energies of a new belief.
My mission is to bring up to date religions in the fields of dogma, politics and society. I feel myself a priest unto the marrow of my bones, but I have received from the Lord a divine secret: The Church of today is only the seed of the Church of the future, that will have three circles: The bell calling the friars to choir shook him from his trance. In the choir were six friars. Later, in the refectory, they gathered again, twelve in all including the professed friars and novices, and since it was a great feast day, the cook added to the boiled tails and the lettuce with oil, that were their ordinary fare, a piece of grilled anchovy and a jug of beer.
He pleaded with God that the little stream that bubbled up in the sanctuary would be transformed into a mighty river like that in the vision of Ezekiel. In order to rest his tired head, that night in his cell, he began to read a book in which was told in detail of the death of Voltaire, foolish and unfortunate man, who, in the frightening trance was more interested in the destiny of his old skeleton, already rotting, than in that of his immortal soul.
He read of the tricks by which he attempted to arrange it so that an ecclesiastical burial would not be denied him, which he desired only for the most inexplicable and contradictory vanity. In order to attain his goal, his called his confesor and he consented to sign a document retracting his false doctrines. But since he recovered from his illness and returned to health, he repented of his retraction and fearing that he would repeat it if he became ill once more, he declared in the presence of a notary a statement against another such retraction in articulo mortis if another confessor were able to obtain it from him.
No less than thirty-five years passed. God awaited him with infinite patience. He found himself again in the grip of death and worried always about the destiny of his cadaver, he accepted the help of M.
Sulpice, his parish, and offered to him the rite of retraction, without which no priest had the faculties to absolve him. But, the priest submitted the case to the archbishop, who did not accept the document written with too much cunning, he demanded something more categorical.
Voltaire, taking advantage of a sudden improvement, began to boast. Suddenly, death truly arrived and the philosopher died, not surrounded by flowers and friends and chatting and smiling philosphically, as his admirers imagined, rather blaspheming and naked, because his inflamed gut could not bear even a thread of clothing and yelling for a chunk of ice to slake his thirst. He paused on noting a date: Voltaire had died on the 30 th of May,tabir that night marked the second centenary of his death.
What a mystery, O Lord, that of those souls to whom you gave more light than to others and have blasphemed Thee more! What hidden delight there is in the pride that inebriated and caused the fall of the third part of the angels! With these thoughts, he began to pray, until, overcome with weariness, he fell fast asleep. He must have slept barely two hours.
A loud noise made him open his eyes and he saw through the window that the moon had not yet risen. The garden was wrapped in complete darkness, and in his cell, a strange light appeared together with an insufferable stench.
He sat up in the bed and stretched his hand out toward his bottle of holy water when he was paralyzed by the sound of a voice of one in infinite sorrow, that came from the farthest corner of his cell.
Do not pronounce exorcisms if you want me to share with you hidden secrets about what the future holds. I am the unfortunate philosopher of whose death you have just read; a wise-man in the eyes of fools and now an eternal fool in my own eyes… Will you hear me?
Do you not know that when that Name sounds, all the inhabitants of Heaven and Hell must kneel? You cannot even imagine the torture that this causes me, who only refer to Him as The Infamous One, to adore Him each time that others call Him by His true Name. I have laughed at men so that they would not believe in the divinity of The Infamous One.
I believed and trembled, knowing that one day we would meet face to face. I knew myself to have been blessed with a tremendous intelligence, greater than that of all other men, after Solomon, and I had to choose between serving God or rise up with it against Him and make myself His eternal enemy.
And He gave me, in return, long life so that I would have time to jiana. To repent is to humble oneself, a thing utterly impossible in the miserable condition in which my soul finds itself. Poets, philosophers, princes, women, fainted in admiration at the most trivial of my mockeries.
But if I was nauseated by the fetid odor of my mouth, the hedonism of my thoughts was incomparably worse.
Seiscientos sesenta y seis – Hugo Wast – Google Books
For eighty-four years that flesh that was dissolving was my only defense against the Infamous One. As long as I, that is to say, my will, subsisted entrenched in that flesh, I was able to cry out my call to war: Oh, the misery and contradiction of my pride!
When I would think about death it terrified me and I would have given my fortune, my fame and my books in exchange for one tiny grain of humility, the seed of repentance.
But huana is not natural, but supernatural. A man without eyes could see more easily than a proud man and say: But to repent without humility is against the supernatural law, and is infinitely beyond the strength of man.