@Duran
You wear your scorn like a badge of honor, and yet it betrays you. You masquerade as some disillusioned prophet above all religion, but your rhetoric reeks of something older, smaller, and far more predictable: bitterness dressed up as boldness, cruelty packaged as clarity, and a confused theology you inherited and never transcended. You say you're not mocking the Pope, not mocking the dead, not mocking grief — and yet your words twist and turn with a smug satisfaction that speaks for itself. You can’t hide behind semantic gymnastics. Your shirt idea, your tone, your selective outrage — they don’t reveal some daring insight. They reveal a man sneering at sorrow while calling it “truth.”
You claim you “embrace death.” No, you trivialize it. There’s a difference between hope and mockery, between eternal perspective and cheap provocation. The shirt comment wasn’t a theological inquiry; it was an emotional grenade — lobbed at Catholics because you despise not only their Church but their very right to mourn. You didn’t ask, “Why do Catholics mourn if they believe in heaven?” You laughed, smirked, and prepared your T-shirt punchline in a grotesque attempt to paint yourself as profound. But it wasn’t profound — it was petty. And now, caught in the backlash of your own tastelessness, you’re scrambling to rewrite the narrative. You weren’t mocking? Please. Every word drips with condescension, not conviction.
You’re fixated on the false dichotomy: if someone believes in heaven, mourning is hypocrisy. What nonsense. Christ Himself, who knew better than anyone the reality of resurrection, wept at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35). Was Jesus confused? Emotionally inconsistent? Or are you just unable to grasp that love still aches even when hope endures? Mourning is not unbelief. It is the soul’s cry in the space between time and eternity. And to weaponize that moment with sarcasm and mockery isn’t spiritual clarity — it’s spiritual callousness.
Then you ask why Pope Francis didn’t say, “Don’t mourn me.” That’s not a serious question. It’s a snide jab, rooted in your inability to comprehend Catholic theology or human dignity. A funeral is not “wasting money” — it’s honoring a life, a soul, a body that was fearfully and wonderfully made. We are not Gnostics who discard the body like trash. We believe in the resurrection of the flesh — that the same body will rise again. Cremation, burial, vigils, rites — they all testify to the Christian hope that death does not have the final word. What you see as pomp, we see as proclamation: “I believe in the resurrection of the body and life everlasting.”
And your jab at “Karol watching with Jorge” as some kind of postmortem vanity contest? That’s not clever. That’s cheap. It doesn’t even rise to the level of satire. It’s the kind of adolescent snark you’d expect in a YouTube comment section, not from someone claiming to represent truth.
You quote Revelation like it’s your personal sword, yet you mutilate the text through Watchtower-style atomization — yanking verses out of context, flattening apocalyptic literature into literal checklists, as though the Book of Revelation is a procedural manual for judging popes. Your entire theology is a patchwork of proof-texts and paranoia. You reject the papacy, the communion of saints, the visible Church — and yet you presume to speak with authority about the resurrection, the elect, and the eschaton. What is your authority? Who sent you? Where is your Church? Christ never promised private visions to anonymous internet critics. He built a Church — a visible, historical, apostolic Church (Matthew 16:18) — and whether you admit it or not, that Church still stands, and you are raging against it in vain.
Your theology of the soul and death is a pale imitation of ancient errors. Ecclesiastes 9:5 doesn’t mean what you think it means. It’s poetic wisdom literature, not a treatise on the afterlife. The same book says, “Better is a live dog than a dead lion” — shall we build our entire eschatology on that too? You cite Genesis and Luke like they collapse into your materialist view of the soul, yet ignore the very passages that obliterate your claims. Did you read Luke 23:43? “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” Or Philippians 1:23, where Paul desires “to depart and be with Christ”? Or 2 Corinthians 5:8 — “to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord”? Your theology can’t handle these. So you dodge, dilute, or dismiss.
You demand to know if Jorge is thinking, feeling, remembering — as if you could comprehend the mystery of glorification or reduce heaven to your checklist. Are the saints disembodied? Yes — for now. Are they conscious? Absolutely. The Transfiguration wasn’t Jesus talking to corpses. The souls under the altar in Revelation speak and cry out. The rich man in Luke 16 sees, feels, pleads. These aren’t poetic illusions — they’re divine glimpses into a reality you mock because it doesn’t fit your framework. You scoff at the very hope that gives the martyrs their courage.
You ask whether saints in heaven think, feel, remember, and speak—and you assume the answer must be no, because “dead people” can’t do these things. But you’ve already made your first and fatal mistake: you confuse the death of the body with the extinction of the person. This is pure materialism with religious makeup—a reheated Watchtower doctrine dressed up in biblical citations taken out of context. The Catholic Church, in fidelity to Scripture and the earliest Christian witness, utterly rejects this annihilationist myth.
You demand to know if the saints are “alive” in heaven. The answer is a resounding yes—just as Jesus Himself says: “God is not the God of the dead, but of the living, for to Him all are alive” (Luke 20:38). That includes Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and yes—every saint and martyr who has departed this life in friendship with God. Your appeal to Ecclesiastes 9:5 falls flat, because it reflects the limited Old Covenant understanding of death before the full revelation of the afterlife in Christ. The progressive unfolding of Scripture means that isolated Old Testament verses must be interpreted in light of the New, not weaponized against it.
You try to bury Revelation 6 under speculation and chronology games, as if this vision of the martyrs “under the altar” crying out to God isn’t a clear affirmation of their conscious existence. They speak, they remember, they desire justice. That’s not poetic corpse-language—it’s a vivid depiction of the souls of the righteous in heaven before the resurrection. They are already “with Christ,” as Paul confidently expected to be when he said, “I desire to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better” (Phil 1:23). You ignore this verse. You ignore 2 Corinthians 5:8, where Paul says he would “prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” The disembodied soul is with Christ—not extinguished, not unconscious.
You obsess over Revelation 20 and try to reduce the “first resurrection” to a hyperliteral, future-only event that excludes anyone not martyred by the Beast. But this is flat-footed exegesis. The Church Fathers understood the “first resurrection” in multiple senses—baptism, martyrdom, and the entrance of the soul into glory before the bodily resurrection. Your framework is artificial, arbitrary, and completely ignores how symbolic apocalyptic literature functions.
And your mocking of Catholic saints and popes is as misplaced as it is bitter. You demand to know whether the popes are “in heaven” and whether they’re thinking or feeling. But you conveniently forget that Christ’s mercy is not restricted to those who suffer martyrdom under some 8th king. Revelation is not a checklist for Watchtower-style gatekeeping—it is a vision of God’s ultimate triumph through the Lamb who was slain. Your entire argument collapses when you realize that the Church never taught what you pretend to refute. Martyrdom is one way into glory. So is dying in sanctifying grace. You dismiss the entire sacramental economy of Christ and then pretend we are the ones inventing doctrines.
Then there’s the grotesque twisting of Genesis and Luke to prove your annihilationist thesis. Rachel breathes her last and dies. Of course. So did Jesus. But death in the flesh is not the end of the soul. Christ’s own words to the penitent thief—"Today you will be with me in paradise"—demolish your position. And don’t pretend that "today" just means "I’m saying this now." That’s a pathetic dodge, and you know it. Jesus didn’t go to Gehenna; He descended to Sheol, Hades—not the grave, but the realm of the dead, where the righteous awaited redemption. That’s why 1 Peter 3:19 says He preached to the spirits in prison. That’s why Ephesians 4 says He descended into “the lower parts of the earth” before ascending. He harrowed hell—not the hell of the damned, but the Limbus Patrum, Abraham’s Bosom, where the faithful of the Old Covenant waited for the gates of heaven to open.
And yes, “He led captivity captive” (Eph 4:8). He brought the righteous into heaven—bodyless souls, awaiting the resurrection. Paradise is now heaven. But before Christ’s victory, it was the resting place of the just. So when you ask, “Do the saints think, feel, remember, and speak?”—the answer is yes, because they are alive in Christ. As Jesus said: “Everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die” (John 11:26).
You’ve exchanged the glory of the Gospel for a religion of silence and sleep. You treat the soul as an engine that shuts down at death rather than a spirit that returns to God (Ecclesiastes 12:7). You reduce the promise of eternal life to a kind of suspended animation, pretending that this fits the full witness of Scripture. But Scripture itself says otherwise.
You’re not following Christ. You’re following the leftovers of a failed apocalyptic sect that taught 1914 as Gospel and couldn’t decide if the anointed were in heaven or asleep. And now you recycle its ruins into a new theology of oblivion, and call it “biblical.”
It’s not. It’s impoverished. And it’s wrong.
You sneer at the papacy, rattling off death dates like they disprove something — as if the mortality of popes invalidates their office. So what? Even Peter died. So did Paul. So did every apostle except John. Are they disqualified too? No — they are glorified. That’s the scandal of your theology: you believe in annihilation, in soul sleep, in some cold void where the saints are mute and the Church is dead. But the Catholic Church, despite all the hatred hurled at her, stands and sings: “I believe in the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come.”
Your vision is small, cold, dead. Ours is living, full, and cosmic. You mock our mourning because you cannot understand our hope. You dismiss the papacy because you fear the Church Christ founded. You toss out Scripture when it rebukes you and cling to it when it suits your polemic. You quote the Word of God while rejecting the Body of Christ.
And now, when confronted, you call names. You mock grief. You redefine insults as inquiries. But we see through it. All of it.
You call the Bible your weapon. But the Word is not a tool of contempt — it is a sword of the Spirit, which cuts the heart and brings life. You wield it like Cain with a stone — not to proclaim truth, but to bludgeon brothers.
You’re not defending truth. You’re attacking love.
You’re not a prophet. You’re a parody.
And until you learn that truth without charity is a lie in disguise, and that holiness without love is just hatred in robes, you will remain trapped in the very darkness you claim to condemn.
The light has come into the world. But you have shut your eyes — and then laugh at those who weep.
Christ wept.
And that tells me more about who He is — and who you are not — than anything you’ve written.