“The stone the builders have rejected has become the cornerstone.”
Psalm 118: 22
One of the most famous of all Shakespeare quotes — “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players,” (As You Like It) — would be made more relevant to modern times by replacing “stage” with “screen.” Few people today attend the theater, but everyone is fixated on screens, from dwindling cinemas and TV sets to the omnipresent smartphones. Last Saturday, I watched Pope Francis’ funeral and burial procession. Being a dramatist myself, unworthy of Shakespeare though with a longer historical perspective, I saw more than a glorious religious ceremony. I saw the opening scenes in a mental film I would entitle The Cornerstone.
“And upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it.” And, Amen, they have not.
Fittingly, the above quote from Psalm 118 was featured in last Sunday’s Mass reading. Many theologists interpret the cornerstone line as prophesying the Messiah. Jesus Christ would be rejected and crucified by the people so He could become the Light of the World. In a similar way, Christianity, specifically Catholicism, has long been the main object of derision if not outright vilification for the secular Left. Its depreciating messenger, Hollywood, has slammed and mocked believers over the past 50 years.
To the low point that Mel Gibson, who’d earned his industry a billion dollars just on Lethal Weapon 1-4, was rejected by every major studio on his little Christian passion project. Gibson had to raise the money himself. He made The Passion of the Christ for a measly $30 million in 2005, and reaped the earthly reward of $620 million worldwide. He embarrassed Hollywood in the worst way — showcasing both its anti-Christian zealotry and contempt for the traditionalist audiences it was supposed to entertain. Consequently, when he later debased himself in an ugly drunken rage, Hollywood pounced and banished Gibson.
And it has continued to bash Christians, in particular white Christians. The hateful message hit the jackpot this weekend. The number one movie in America is the anti-Christian vampire film Sinners. Set in early-30s Mississippi, the movie of course highlights white racism as fueled by Christian oppression of blacks. Naturally, crucifixes are ineffective against the vampires, and in one scene a vampire mockingly recites the Lord’s Prayer. The cross has cinematically lost all holy force in the half century since The Exorcist wielded it (“The power of Christ compels you!”).
But the filmmakers got away with their sacrilege. Sinners has grossed $160 million worldwide, although on a budget of $90 million, excluding promotion costs. On the other hand, Angel Studios animated tale of the Christ, The King of Kings, has earned close to $60 million on a $20-million budget. Its $20-million opening weekend set the record for the biggest debut of a faith-based animated film. Its Message will outlast the temporarily higher and mightier, as it did the Roman Empire, the Ottoman Empire, and the British Empire.
And the proof of this was on my TV screen showing the sacred celebrations inside and outside the Vatican honoring Pope Francis. Like other conservative Catholics, I’d made my criticisms of the late Holy Father, some in this magazine. But they’re those of a man crying in the wilderness compared to what unveiled on screen Saturday. And I’m not responsible for shepherding the oldest institution on the Earth and half a million clergy like Pope Francis was.
No amount of Sinners patronage could approach the 400,000 people gathered in St. Peter’s Square on Saturday, 250,000 for the funeral Mass. These included 250 cardinals, 400 bishops, and 4,000 priests from around the world, with the rest of the crowd non-clergy worshippers.
Every major leader attended, among them U.S. president Donald Trump, Ukrainian resident Volodymyr Zelenskyy, French president Emmanuel Macron, British prime minister Keir Starmer (who doubtless hated to be there honoring Christianity other than to flatter Trump), Argentinian president Javier Milei (who’d called his countryman Pope Francis “a communist son of a bitch” but revered him on this day), and Italian prime minister Giorgia Meloni, a more conservative Catholic leader than Pope Francis, especially on immigration.
The Mass reflected the full glory and tradition of the Church’s two thousand years, dating back to Jesus Himself, as bestowed to St. Peter. “Thou art Peter,” Jesus said. “And upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it.” And, Amen, they have not. And all the magnificent classical art and beauty and architecture of St. Peter’s Church seemed to whiteout every CGI image ever put on screen.
After the Mass, Pope Francis’s coffin was reverently loaded into a white car. Which drove out of the Vatican gate into the not so eternal city of Rome, the first papal funeral car to do so since 1903 for the burial of Pope Leo XIII. Around 150,000 people lined the streets en route to Francis’ burial site, the beautiful Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore.
Then followed what will be a key scene in my mental film, The Cornerstone. The Pope’s coffin-bearing car drove past the Roman Colosseum, where 2,000 years ago, Christians were fed to the lions. Impressive as it architecturally is, the Colosseum is also a crumbling pagan structure, a shadow of the sacred magnificence the car had just left. The contrast couldn’t be more stark or significant.
“I am the way and the truth and the life,” said Jesus. “No one comes to the Father except through Me.” The next Pope literally has a true cross to bear.
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