The chapel was dim, candles flickering against the cold stone walls. The children sat quietly, scarred by silence, scarred by memories too heavy for their years.
Pope Pius XIII stood before them, his white cassock still, his face grave. He did not offer easy words of comfort. Instead, his voice rang with the weight of prophecy:
“There will be a reckoning. The Judge will sit, and nothing hidden will remain in shadow. Every secret will be revealed. And nothing—nothing—will go unpunished.”
He raised his hand, and with solemn cadence recited the ancient chant of judgment:
“Judex ergo cum sedebit,
quid latet apparebit,
nil inultum remanebit.”
(“When therefore the Judge shall sit,
whatever is hidden shall appear,
and nothing shall remain unavenged.”)
The words hung in the air like a sword. For the children, it was not a hymn of fear but a promise—that the darkness done to them would one day face the light, that the silence of their suffering would one day roar like thunder before the throne of justice.
His voice softened, but the gravity deepened, as though he were speaking not only to the children before him, but to all of history:
“The prophet Daniel saw it long ago.
He saw a day when ‘many who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake—some to everlasting life, others to shame and everlasting contempt.’
The innocents, the ones who wept in secret, who bore their wounds in silence, will rise like stars. The Lord Himself will wipe the tears from their faces. They shall be clothed in white garments, and their dignity will never again be stolen. Their names will be remembered forever in the Book of Life.
But as for those who raised their hands against you, who mocked your pain, who turned the holy into a place of horror—they will awake too, but not to glory. They will rise to eternal disgrace. Their shame will cling to them like a garment of fire. No authority, no wealth, no power will cover their naked guilt when the Judge opens the scrolls.
Children, know this:
Heaven has heard your cries. The earth has kept the record of every wound. Nothing has been forgotten. And the prophecy of Daniel assures us—the day is coming when truth will rise from the dust, and justice shall be eternal.”
He paused, and his eyes, filled with both sorrow and fire, swept across their faces.
“This is the reckoning. Eternal life for the righteous, eternal disgrace for the wicked. So has God spoken, so shall it be.”
G.I. Joe:
Pope, open your eyes. Your priests are full of lust because of this unnatural celibacy. You lock them in chains God never gave them. And when lust festers in darkness, it devours the innocent. Marriage is the only way out.
Young Pope (Lenny Belardo):
You dare accuse the holy celibate priesthood?
G.I. Joe:
I don’t accuse, I testify. Malachi said the priests profane the covenant. And I say this: a man without a wife is half a man, and a priest without a family becomes prey to his own fire. You want purity? Then give them love, give them marriage.
Young Pope:
And where do you find such a sign?
G.I. Joe:
Medjugorje. The place of vision, where heaven speaks. You’ve ignored it, but there the Spirit is moving. Nuns and priests walking hand in hand, wed as God intended, no longer bound by Rome’s man-made rule. The Mother of God herself calls for it.
Young Pope (shaken):
Medjugorje… you would make it the heart of the Church?
G.I. Joe:
I would recognize it as the new beginning. The Vatican is Babylon, weighed down with gold and secrets. But Medjugorje is Bethlehem—a place where priests and nuns can become fathers and mothers, living the gospel in truth, not hypocrisy.
Young Pope (voice breaking):
And if I refuse?
G.I. Joe:
Then Malachi’s fire will fall, and Rome will be ash. But if you obey, if you bless marriage for your priests, the curse will lift, and the Church will live again.