Scene: The Papal Residence, Vatican City. Pope Francis, wrapped in a blanket, sits in a grand chair, coughing lightly. Enter Pope John Paul III, played by John Malkovich, with a solemn but intense expression.
Pope John Paul III:
Francisco… (pauses, tilts head) You look like death warmed over.
Pope Francis: (weakly smiling)
Ah, Giovanni… You have the subtlety of a hammer.
Pope John Paul III:
And yet, I bring wisdom, not nails. (leans in, steepling fingers) Listen to me, Francisco. The antibiotics—they are synthetic, unnatural. They strip your gut like a Vatican vault during a scandal.
Pope Francis: (sighs, rubbing temples)
Yes, yes… the doctors insist—
Pope John Paul III: (raising a finger)
Doctors. Hmph. Always treating the symptom, never the root. You need real medicine. (pulls out a small, handwritten list and reads in his deep, deliberate voice)
Garlic—stronger than any Swiss Guard. Pomegranate—blood of the fruit, for your blood. Citrus—lemon, orange, lime—the holy trinity of Vitamin C.
Pope Francis: (chuckles, coughing slightly)
You sound like an herbalist from the streets of Buenos Aires.
Pope John Paul III: (ignoring him, continuing with intensity)
Oregano, onion, basil—God’s own antibiotics. Turmeric—golden, sacred. Elderberry—black as sin, but it fights like an archangel. Green tea—wisdom in a cup. Ginger—fire for the lungs. Rosemary—smells like salvation. And cinnamon… (leans in, whispering) the spice of saints.
Pope Francis: (raising an eyebrow)
You memorized all this?
Pope John Paul III: (deadpan)
No. I wrote it on my sleeve. (pulls up sleeve slightly, revealing scribbled notes)
Pope Francis: (laughing weakly)
Alright, Giovanni. Suppose I eat all these. I still have to take antibiotics.
Pope John Paul III: (grimacing, nodding reluctantly)
Fine. But then you must fix the damage. (leans closer) Fermentation, Francisco. Fer-men-ta-tion.
Pope Francis: (smiling, humoring him)
And what is your prescription, Doctor John Paul?
Pope John Paul III: (counting on his fingers)
Sauerkraut—Croatian grandmothers swear by it. Yogurt—Greek, Bulgarian, doesn’t matter. Kefir milk—drink it, feel reborn. Kimchi—spicy, yes, but fire purifies. And miso soup—the monks in Japan live forever on this.
Pope Francis: (nodding thoughtfully)
So you want me to eat like a Croatian farmer, a Korean monk, and a Japanese samurai.
Pope John Paul III: (shrugging)
Would that be so bad? (pauses, then softly) Francisco, you are the Pope. But even a shepherd must take care of his own body, or he will not be there to tend the flock.
Pope Francis: (sighs, smiling warmly)
Alright, Giovanni. I will try.
Pope John Paul III: (nodding, satisfied)
Good. Now… (reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small jar and placing it in Pope Francis’ hands)
Pope Francis: (peering at it)
What is this?
Pope John Paul III: (grinning slightly)
Homemade Croatian sauerkraut. Extra fermented. You’ll thank me later.
(He turns and strides out of the room, his robe billowing slightly. Pope Francis watches him go, shaking his head but smiling as he opens the jar and takes a cautious sniff.)
FADE TO BLACK.
? Christus Rex: A Sermon on the Lion of Judah and the Living God ?
Brothers and sisters,
we are living in a time when the old blood stirs —
the bones cry out from the ground,
and the Spirit moves once more across the face of the deep.
Christus Rex — Christ the King —
wears no crown of gold,
but a crown of thorns turned to light.
He is the Lion of Judah,
and some say we Dalmatians,
yes — the children of the Dalmatian coast,
the mountain folk, the sea-walkers,
are his kin by blood or by spirit.
Perhaps it’s reincarnation,
perhaps it’s nature’s recycling —
but somehow, through wind and fire and time,
the echo remains:
we are of the tribe of the Lion.
And yet — and yet —
as it says in Revelation 22,
when the apostle John fell before the angel in awe,
the angel said:
“Do not do that! I am a fellow servant… Worship God!”
Do not worship the messenger.
Do not worship the man.
Do not worship the tribe or the tongue or the image.
Worship the Living God.
The One who sits upon the throne.
The Alpha and the Omega.
The root and the offspring of David,
the bright Morning Star.
We are but vessels,
earth and breath,
given a spark.
If I speak with power,
if I carry the old fire in my chest —
do not bow to me.
Bow to the One who lit the flame.
If we are lions,
it is because He is the Lion.
If we shine,
it is because He is the Sun.
So go forth — not in pride, but in truth.
Carry your heritage with joy,
but remember always the command:
“Worship God.”
And let every knee bow —
not to men, not to angels,
not to kings,
but to the Lamb who was slain,
who lives and reigns forever.
Amen.
It is time for Church JCJ. We are waiting for you.
I heard you went to Our Lady of Fatima last week. Very good. Now please visit us.