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Pope Francis To Pray at the Tomb of
a Herald of Revolution in the Church

by Christopher A. Ferrara
April 25, 2017

As John Allen reports, on June 20 Francis will travel to the town of Bozzolo, in northern Italy, where he will visit the tomb of one Don Primo Mazzolari, a progressivist priest who died in 1959 and who was, as Allen puts it, “Pope Francis before Francis was cool.”

Mazzolari, Allen writes, was “a classic product of the liberal Italian Catholicism that flourished in northern Italy in his day. He grew up with a Risorgimento-era faith in democracy, meaning the optimism born of the push for Italian unification in the late 19th century.”  In other words, Mazzolari exemplified the “optimism” born of the Masonic revolutionary violence that drenched Italy in blood and resulted in Italy’s “unification” into one manufactured “Kingdom of Italy,” imposed by force, and the consequent destruction of the once-flourishing papal states during the reign of Blessed Pope Pius IX.

No one embodied this “optimism” more perfectly than the Masonic hero Camillo Benso, conte di Cavour, known to history simply as Cavour. Cavour is most famous for the phrase “a free church in a free State.” But for Cavour — as for all the partisans of so-called Liberty — the slogan meant a shackled Church subordinated to a “free” State.  As Owen Chadwick observes in his history of the papacy during this period, Cavour would allow the Church to “have its place in the state” while making certain that “the State had sufficient power to prevent the Church from being an obstacle to state policy.” (Chadwick, A History of the Popes, p. 136.) 

In short, Cavour was a paladin of the great Masonic cause of the total destruction of Catholic social order.  And Mazzolari was a harbinger of the truly fatuous “optimism” concerning the “modern world” that would erupt like lava from Mount Vesuvius during and after the Second Vatican Council — which John XXIII announced in the very year of Mazzolari’s death — burying the memory of the Church’s teaching on the right ordering of political society according to the law of the Gospel and the perennial alliance between Church and State.

Following World War II, Mazzolari, Allen notes with satisfaction, “turned his energies to the cause of Church reform,” meaning the usual progressivist nonsense about “a simplification of Catholic life, empowerment of the laity, religious freedom, ‘dialogue with those who are far away,’ non-violence, and a distinction between theological error and the concrete human beings who hold those errors…”  These notions, Allen observes, were “all topics that would eventually come to flower in the Second Vatican Council (1962-65), but which, at the time, marked him as something of a rebel.”

Indeed, as Allen admits, during the reign of Pius XII, Mazzolari, whose thinking typified precisely the Modernist insurrectionism that finally triumphed after Vatican II, “was ordered to close his newspaper, and was also banned from speaking outside the diocese or publishing articles without prior ecclesiastical approval. In 1954, he was banned from speaking outside his parish and from publishing any articles on social themes.”

Not surprisingly, however, none other than Giovanni Battista Montini of Milan, the future Pope Paul VI, “invited Mazzolari to preach in his diocese, and in 1959, Pope John XXIII, who called Vatican II, received Mazzolari in audience and called him the ‘trumpet of the Holy Spirit in the land of Mantova,’ referring to Mazzolari’s region of Lombardy.” Here we have one of the many signs of the self-inflicted ecclesial crisis that would be triggered by the disastrous blunders of the conciliar popes.

Yet, as Allen is pleased to report: “When Pope Francis goes to Bozzolo on June 20, therefore, he’s doing far more than recalling the past. He’s also charting a course for the future, one informed and shaped by the legacy of Don Primo.”

One can only laugh at Allen’s blindness.  The “legacy of Don Primo” is no “course for the future” but rather the failed course of the Sixties progressivism of which “Don Primo” was a herald and whose final ruinous consequences we now witness under Pope Bergoglio, a font of division and confusion in the Church. That “legacy” was lamented — too little and too late — by Paul VI himself in the Council’s chaotic aftermath:

“By some fissure there has entered into the temple of God the smoke of Satan: there is doubt, uncertainty, problems, unrest. Doubt has entered our consciences, and it has entered through the windows which were meant to have been opened to the light. This state of uncertainty reigns even in the Church. It was hoped that after the Council there would be a day of sunlight in the history of the Church. Instead, there came a day of clouds, of darkness, of groping, of uncertainty. How did this happen? We will confide Our thoughts to you: there has been interference from an adverse power: his name is the devil, that mysterious being to whom frequent allusion is made even in the Epistle of St. Peter” (Paul VI, Insegnamenti, Ed Vaticana, vol. X, 1972, p. 707).