Author: Pope Pius XIII

We are all guilty; we are all guilty of war and death. Always. In the same way, we can all be guilty of peace.
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Christian Socialism

TITLE: The Tenets of Sharing

INT. VATICAN – NIGHT

The grand hall of the Vatican is quiet, the stone walls echoing with a sense of history. Pope Pius XIII, dressed in his white robes, stands at a large wooden podium, addressing a small group of trusted advisors and leaders. His gaze is intense, his voice calm but commanding.

POPE PIUS XIII
(softly but firmly)
“Democracy is not simply a system of government. It is a moral imperative. And Christian socialism, the kind of socialism that bears the teachings of Christ, is not about taking away from the rich or punishing the powerful—it is about sharing. Sharing everything. Sharing the fruits of labor, the wealth of the land, and most importantly, sharing power.”

He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. His eyes scan the room, looking each advisor in the eye.

POPE PIUS XIII
“Jesus Himself taught us that to be great in the Kingdom of God, one must be the servant of all. What does that mean, if not to serve the people? To share power, not hoard it? To lift up those who are weak, poor, and oppressed, so that all may have an equal chance at the riches of life—whether they be material or spiritual.”

The advisors shift uncomfortably, some nodding in agreement, others skeptical. Pope Pius XIII’s tone grows more impassioned.

POPE PIUS XIII
“We have failed if we allow power to remain concentrated in the hands of the few. We have failed if the wealth of the world, the resources that God has provided, are hoarded by the privileged while the many suffer. It is not enough to give charity. Charity is not justice. Justice demands that we redistribute—not just wealth, but the very power that governs us.”

He steps away from the podium, walking slowly toward a large map of the world on the wall. His finger traces the continents, the countries, the boundaries.

POPE PIUS XIII
“We must create a world where power is not a tool for oppression, but a means of lifting others. Where the powerful do not rule over the weak, but share in the burden of governance. A world where the decisions made in the halls of power are not about maintaining the status quo, but about creating a society that is just, equitable, and loving.”

He turns back to the group, his eyes fierce, his voice steady.

POPE PIUS XIII
“This is the vision of democratic Christian socialism. It is not a utopia. It is a call to action. A call to share, to serve, to give. To ensure that all, no matter their station in life, have access to the blessings of this earth. And that power, the most dangerous and corrupting force, is shared equally among all.”

He pauses, letting the silence fill the room.

POPE PIUS XIII
“Do not let the world tell you that power is meant to be hoarded. Do not let the systems of wealth and privilege convince you that some are born to rule while others are born to serve. In the eyes of God, we are all His children, and we are all meant to share in the blessings He has given us.”

The advisors sit in stunned silence, some visibly moved, others deep in thought. Pope Pius XIII’s gaze softens, his voice quieter but no less resolute.

POPE PIUS XIII
“It is time for us to lead by example. To show the world that true power lies in service, in sharing, in love.”

He turns and walks toward the door, his robes flowing behind him. The room remains still, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

FADE OUT.

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Oluja/Storm 91 – 99

“Dear brothers and sisters, today I speak not only as the shepherd of this Church but as a son of a land that has known the pain of war. I speak as a Croatian, born from a soil soaked in tears and resilience. And I speak as one who remembers.

The war in my homeland was not a distant conflict; it was the air we breathed, the ground we walked upon, the songs that were silenced. Operation Storm—Oluja, as we call it—was a turning point, a storm that swept through the land, bringing both liberation and loss. It was a moment of triumph for some, and a wound that remains unhealed for others.

War, my friends, is a crucible of the human soul. It reveals the depths of our brokenness, the ease with which we can turn against one another. But it also reveals the strength of the human spirit, the capacity to endure, to rebuild, to forgive. In the midst of devastation, I saw neighbors sharing their last loaf of bread, soldiers laying down their weapons to carry children to safety, prayers whispered in bomb shelters. These moments of grace remind us that even in the darkest night, the light of Christ shines.

But let us not romanticize war. Let us not glorify its violence or justify its destruction. As a Croatian, I know too well the cost of freedom. I know the names of the villages that no longer exist, the faces of the children who never grew up, the silence of the churches that once rang with hymns. These are the scars my homeland bears, and they are the scars I carry in my heart.

Yet, as a Christian, I also know the power of resurrection. The story of Croatia, like the story of our faith, is not one of despair but of hope. From the ruins of war, we have rebuilt homes and lives. From the ashes of division, we have begun to sow the seeds of reconciliation. This is the work of God’s Spirit, moving among us, calling us to be peacemakers, to be healers, to be builders of a new future.

The Gospel calls us to love our enemies, to pray for those who persecute us. This is not an easy command. It is not a command that erases the pain of the past or denies the reality of injustice. But it is a command that frees us from the cycle of hatred, that opens the door to a peace that is not of this world.

Today, I call on all nations, all peoples, to learn from the wounds of my homeland. Let us not repeat the mistakes of the past. Let us not allow pride, greed, or fear to lead us into conflict. Instead, let us be instruments of peace, guided by the love of Christ.

And to my fellow Croatians, wherever you may be, I say this: Remember the storm, but do not let it define you. Remember the pain, but do not let it consume you. Remember the loss, but do not let it rob you of hope. For we are a people of the resurrection, and our story is not over. The God who brought us through the storm will bring us to a place of peace.

May God bless Croatia, may God bless all nations, and may His peace reign in every heart.”

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Riders on the Storm

The Young Pope’s Monologue:

“Brothers and sisters, let us speak of war—not as a distant shadow of history, but as a mirror reflecting the desires of men. In 1991, the world watched as the powerful descended upon the sands of Babylon. A coalition forged not by love, but by fear. They called it Desert Shield, a name that evokes protection, yet beneath its polished surface, it was a sword poised to strike.

George Herbert Walker Bush—history will call him a liberator. But I wonder, what does heaven call him? For in the guise of justice, he unleashed a storm upon a nation already burdened by its ancient sins and modern despots. Did he pray, I wonder, as the bombs fell like hailstones? Did he whisper the words of Psalm 91? ‘A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it shall not come near you.’ Did he believe that he was the hand of God, striking down the wicked?

And yet, Psalm 92 follows. ‘The righteous shall flourish like a palm tree.’ But what of the unrighteous? What of those who covet the treasures of the earth—the oil, the black gold hidden beneath the cradle of civilization? The palm tree flourishes, but its roots drink deeply of the land. Did they see the oil not as a gift of creation, but as a prize to be claimed? Babylon, Iraq, a land of empires and exiles, became once more a battleground for ambition.

But here is the paradox, my friends: the rich oil they took cannot anoint them. It cannot consecrate their actions or cleanse their sins. It stains their hands and their hearts. Babylon has always been a lesson, a warning written in the ruins of ziggurats and the cries of the exiled. A kingdom built on pride, a tower reaching to heaven, and a people scattered by the weight of their arrogance.

So, I ask you, who are we in this story? Are we the righteous flourishing in the courts of the Lord? Or are we the architects of Babel, convinced of our invincibility, blind to the judgment that looms over us?

Pray for those who wield power, for they walk a narrow path. Pray for those who suffer, for they bear the weight of sins not their own. And pray for yourselves, that you may see the world not as men do, but as God does. For in the end, it is not shields or swords, nor oil or empires, that will endure. Only love remains. Only love.”