(P.S. I believe my creepy feeling about Vance’s proximity to the pontiff in a papal audience just hours before Francis’ death is shared by others – including my sister -- and Bowen Yang on “The View” this AM calling the Veep a “pope killer”, causing Whoopi to near-collapse.)
Today the world mourns Pope Francis. People across the globe grieve for the beloved Pontiff, whose great mercy and humility made him the revered Holy Father of refugees and millions living in poverty and pain – as well as the target of critics who found his Christ-like behavior too “progressive.”
Still, the pope’s own deep compassion did not extend to everyone. Francis lobbed a hard ball into the court of his living antithesis (who once quoted “Corinthians 2” holding an upside- down bible for a photo op, as peaceful demonstrators behind him were attacked on his orders). Francis’ slam was meant for Trump and his policed borders, making it clear that “A person who thinks only about building walls, wherever they may be, and not building bridges, is not Christian.”
The Holy Father died hours after “Not Christian’s” Veep showed up for a private papal audience, looking, as usual, to me – as if guilty of some behind-the-scenes nastiness (beyond his public nastiness) – as if he had, for example, somehow secretly keyed the parked Pope Mobile?
Vance’s face, as one of the last mortal images Francis looked upon, I found disturbing enough to occasion a half-awake nightmare near dawn the following day about his hovering so close to the very ill Pope.
I dreamed the Veep had had a mission in appearing before the pontiff, like a messenger/jester from his king, Don Rex. The news of Francis’ death that morning made it feel like sacrilege, but my unconscious joking id served up a ghastly scenario: Don’s real estate scheme to “update” the Vatican – similar to the way he imagined “developing” Gaza.
The dream was in flashes –images of a Trumpian remodel, from St. Peter’s Basilica to the early Christian catacombs – all covered over with gold shag “wall to wall” – not to mention the Sistine Chapel ceiling, with a “re-draw” over Michelangelo’s fierce face of God -- with a familiar set of garish orange features.
The Don’s “taste” was everywhere. Not beachfront Gaza – more Las Vegas Vatican: Kid Rock heavy metal instead of Gregorian chant - with kaleidoscope-colored strobe lighting on the Bernini baroque sculptures. And in one gallery, sequential portraits of Don’s Stations of the Cross, depicting his “stolen” election, his trials and convictions, his Maga mob’s insurrection, his final triumph: a bat-winged demonic Cabinet cackling at his throne.
That’s what I retained, as I woke up, my phone buzzing with news of Pope Francis’ death. As a lapsed Catholic, I’m aware of the old saying about “Once a Catholic, always -- ”
Bless me father, for my nightmare transgression – wondering at Michelangelo’s Last Judgment - coming for us all. But perhaps a “bigly” historical re-write for would-be emperors with Ozymandias as model. (What’s left? “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone.”)
Pope Francis is gone, but his legacy of love remains. It will last beyond these grisly fantasized “make-overs” -- in Gaza, Ukraine, Greenland, Canada -- and the U.S.
Vatican treasure will outlast all the fakery - because its most priceless treasure is the simple wooden coffin of a great and holy man. And God’s face, high up in the Sistine Chapel gazing down on the sleazy display of those who pretend to kingly thrones - that are, in fact, solid gold toilets.
- Carol Muske-Dukes
Beautiful, touching, and also funny