Rome blinks

A familiar trope in courtroom dramas is when the prosecutor asks a witness a damaging question about the defendant. The prosecutor knows that his question will be overruled. 

The defense attorney leaps out of his seat: "Objection!" The judge says "Objection sustained." The prosecutor says "I withdraw my question."

The defense attorney requests that the judge have the offending question stricken from the record. The judge directs the court reporter to strike the offending question from the record. The defense attorney requests that the judge admonish the jury to disregard the offending question. The judge directs the jury to disregard the question.

This is all in vain. The prosecutor never posed the question to receive an answer. He didn't expect an answer. He knew in advance that he'd be cut off.

Rather, he posed the question to plant an idea in the minds of the jurors. Once the question is asked, once the jury hears the question, it can't be taken back. The bell can't be unrung. They will remember the question.

Technically, the prosecutor can withdraw his question, but that doesn't cost him anything. It was the question, not the answer, that did irreparable damage to the defendant. A question that lingers and festers. 

And the subsequent effort to erase the offending question is counterproductive. That highlights in the minds of the jurors that this must be a pretty important question. They will never look at the defendant in quite the same way. They will now view him in light of that question. 

That's what happened in Rome this week. Pope Francis tipped his hand for all the world to see. The subsequent damage control is futile. For what we saw is unforgettable. We know the goal. We know his intentions. 

This is like Vatican II in miniature. An expedited version of Vatican II.

When Rome takes a hard left turn, it leaves many followers behind. Ironically, it's the most loyal Catholics who are stranded. 

Many pre-Vatican II Catholics never made the adjustment. They felt betrayed. They were more loyal to Rome than Rome was to them. 

They were taught one thing growing up. That's what they were taught to defend. That's what made Catholicism special. Set it apart from the sects, schismatics, and heretics. 

When Rome suddenly hands them a new script, when it crosses out the old lines which they dutifully memorized and recited, they no longer know who to trust or what to believe. 

Now, Catholic apologists have standard loopholes they can resort to. It wasn't "official" and all that. 

But it's too late. We've been given a preview of how the story ends. 

It's like when the battle plans of the enemy are intercepted. The element of surprise is lost. There is no fallback plan. That was it.

This week, we saw Rome blink. This is supposedly the one denomination that's held the line, unlike all those compromising Protestant denominations. But it's just like the mainline denominations.