How my fall from grace gave me hope for the next pope and beyond

We must believe and act from that place.

By the time this is published, the conclave may be upon us (7 May 2025) or already underway.

I write from a place of deep reflection. Recently, I’ve walked through a valley—a fall from grace, as I shared in my previous post, and decided to take a break. This micro-Sabbatical has been one of soul-searching, repentance, and reconciliation—with God and with others.

In that process, I made the deliberate decision to step away from the Catholic media world. A strange choice, perhaps, given that this is the first conclave since my conversion to Catholicism. But I knew I needed silence. The noise of Catholic social media—especially the toxic elements that had taken root in my own heart—was more of a hindrance than a help. I longed to hear God’s voice again. And so I unplugged, fasted from commentary, and turned inward and upward.

It required more self-discipline than I imagined, but it was the right call. And what I can say now, on the other side, is simply this: God is good. He dealt with me gently, lovingly. He brought forth fruit from this trial that I could not have foreseen.

But this article is about more than just personal healing. It’s about the conclave. Sort of. And the next pope. Sort of.

During my hiatus, I decided not to participate in the usual speculation—no handicapping the papabili, no live-tweeting the drama, no guessing games. I planned to re-enter the conversation only once the new pontiff emerged.

But then came a quiet epiphany.

One evening, after a powerful conversation with a man I consider my spiritual mentor, I was recounting the discussion to my beloved. As is often the case, I was jumping from thought to thought, struggling to articulate the fullness of what I had experienced. But then I paused and said something with clarity and conviction:

“This has been a terrible, dark time… but I am deeply grateful. It has been the single greatest season of growth in my Catholic journey. The way God has drawn me closer through this turmoil—it’s truly beautiful.”

That’s the insight I want to bring to bear on the conclave and on the Church. That God brings good out of bad (Genesis 50:20). That Christ is in charge. Until the very end.

In the short time I’ve been developing Radical Fidelity, I’ve noticed a pattern. Articles that criticize the Church hierarchy, that expose scandal, or lament doctrinal confusion tend to gain the most traction. The more “catechetical” pieces—the ones rooted in formation or charity—often receive far less attention.

Among Traditionalists, there is a marked tendency toward pessimism, even despair. Some expect the worst from this conclave. Others, like my Sedevacantist friends, deny we’ve had a legitimate pope since 1958 and therefor hardly have a dog in the fight.

So I’m aware that my current sentiment may not be popular. It’s not fiery, not apocalyptic, not clickbait.

But there it is, we do win in the end. God promised so. And we must believe and act from that place.

I don’t want to play the role expected of me—some doomsayer issuing thunderbolts from a digital pulpit. What I want to do, what I feel called to do, is something far simpler, but far more difficult.

Pray. More than anything else.

My mentor recently shared his experience trying to guide a Protestant colleague toward the Catholic faith. The man, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty and depth of Catholic teaching, entered a kind of spiritual crisis. My friend’s advice? Step back. Stop studying for a time. Just pray. Just be silent.

That struck a chord deep within me. It was, I believe, a whisper from the Holy Ghost.

So I’ve made a resolution: in my Catholic writing, commentary, and creative work, I will devote more time to prayer and silence than to research or rhetoric. When my heart becomes agitated or my mind spirals in turmoil, I’ll take it as a sign—not that I need more information, but that I need more communion with God.

And this I believe we need to apply to this conclave and its outcome as well. Do we desire a good traditional pope? Yes. Should we pray for one? More than ever. But, whatever pope we get, we should continue to pray for him. Fervently. The same goes for those in the hierarchy who has strayed from the Catholic faith and who are trying to destroy it.

This brings me to my next point.

Accepting my limits

For too long, I allowed ecclesial controversies—matters far beyond my control—to disrupt my peace and distort my focus. But I’m learning to surrender. I cannot fix the Church. Christ can. I can, however, offer intercession, reparation, and love.

May God give me grace to pray—for the Church, her enemies, her shepherds, her betrayers, and all those lost in confusion. And may this prayer conform me more closely to Christ, who is truth and mercy incarnate.

See, we cannot put a good pope in the seat of Peter or remove a bad pope from it. At least not by ranting and raving on social media, arguing with brothers and sisters or by our ‘righteous anger’ which often is thinly veiled toxicity anyway.

But we can pray. We can practice the Catholic faith as it has been handed down by the Apostles and their successors. To the best of our ability and as circumstance, location and state of life allows us.

And we can be ambassadors for traditional Catholicism, but this must be tempered with charity. We can follow the traditional faith to the proverbial tee, attend Traditional Latin Masses until we are blue in the face, and quote encyclicals until the cows come home, but if this is not part of a Catholicism that also includes charity and the Beatitudes, we are not going to bring anyone back to practice the faith the way Christ intended it. Period.

Firm, but charitable

Let me be clear: this doesn’t mean I will turn a blind eye to error. I will still speak truth, still defend the faith, still call out what needs calling out. But I hope to do so now with more love, more humility, and less self-importance.

After all, silence is complicity, and I would not be loving fellow Catholics and non-Catholics if I do not speak the truth, practice the truth and share the truth. Firmly but with charity.

The purity of our faith is non-negotiable, but we want to imitate Christ and co-operate with Him to also bring the other sheep into the One True Fold.

But never, ever at the expense of the unchanging and unchangeable Truths of Catholicism.

Back to the Basics

When the noise gets too loud and the future feels uncertain, the only truly safe path is to return to the basics: to the promises of Christ, the foundation of our hope, and the source of our peace.

At the heart of our Catholic faith is not a conclave, a pontiff, or a hierarchy—it is Jesus Christ, who is “the same yesterday, today, and forever” (Hebrews 13:8). He is the Good Shepherd who never abandons His flock, even when we, the sheep, scatter or stumble.

Christ promised: “I will build my Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” (Matthew 16:18). That wasn’t a vague hope—it was a divine guarantee. He did not say the Church would be free from trials, betrayals, or scandal. But He did promise that hell itself would not overcome her.

He also promised that “Where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20). Even in our smallest communities, even in moments of discouragement and disillusionment, He is present—working, sanctifying, guiding.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus assures us: “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand” (John 10:27–28). This is not blind optimism—it’s grounded confidence in the power and fidelity of the One who conquered death.

And to those of us who feel weary, especially in this time of ecclesial confusion, the Lord speaks gently but firmly:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

When we focus too much on Vatican politics, theological chaos, or apocalyptic forecasts, we risk forgetting the essential truth: that God is in control. He is not passive. He is not distant. He is near, and He is always at work, even—perhaps especially—when we cannot see it.

The early Church faced divisions, persecutions, and heresies. Yet through all of it, Christ reigned. The same is true now.

So in this moment, I choose to rest not in speculation, but in His promises. I choose to remember that “all things work together for good for those who love God” (Romans 8:28). I choose to believe that “He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6).

I choose to remember that He said, “behold I am with you all days, even to the consummation of the world.” (Matthew 28:20) and “I will not leave thee, neither will I forsake thee” (Hebrew 13:4).

I choose to remember He promised “My counsel shall stand, and all my will shall be done” and “whatsoever the Lord pleased He hath done” (Psalm 135:6, Douay Rheims) and that He “worketh all things according to His Good will” (Ephesians 1:11).

The basics are not simple-minded. They are solid ground. And in uncertain times, the most radical act of fidelity might just be to plant ourselves again on that ground and not be moved.

As the cardinals gather and the Church once again turns her eyes to the smoke rising from the Sistine Chapel, I find myself looking not to Rome, but to Calvary.

There, the Church was born from the pierced side of Christ—blood and water pouring out in sacrifice and mercy. There, the only throne that mattered was a Cross. And there, amidst confusion and apparent defeat, our redemption was secured.

It is this mystery I want to live from now on—not the shifting winds of ecclesial politics, but the unchanging reality of Christ crucified, risen, and reigning.

So I will pray, wait, and hope. Not as one who ignores the storm, but as one who knows who calms it.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on us.

Protect and purify Your Church.

Strengthen Your holy priests.

Convert the hearts of the wayward.

Encourage the faithful.

And give us the grace to be humble, courageous, and joyfully obedient witnesses to Your truth.

You have not left us orphans. You are with us always, even to the end of the age.

Come, Lord Jesus. Lead Your Church. And let us be found faithful.

I want to leave you with one last promise from the mouth of Our Lord and God, Jesus Christ:

“These things I have spoken to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you shall have distress: but have confidence, I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

In short. In the simple terms of a layman like me.

We do win in the end.

Ave Christus Rex!

Recognise & Resist!

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