The National Catholic Register portal reports on the June 2026 trip of the usurper Robert Prevost—who occupies Peter’s throne under the name “Leo XIV”—to Spain, presenting five “moving moments” involving children, a blind girl, actor Antonio Banderas, and a cockpit visit. The article, dripping with sentimentalism, frames the entire journey as a heartwarming encounter between a benign spiritual figurehead and the faithful, reducing the papacy to a celebrity meet-and-greet and the supernatural mission of the Church to a series of photo opportunities. What is conspicuously absent—the eternal destiny of souls, the necessity of sanctifying grace, the reality of sin, the propitiatory sacrifice of the Most Holy Mass, the social reign of Christ the King, and the abyssal apostasy of the conciliar sect—exposes the spiritual bankruptcy of the entire spectacle.
The “Dream of God” Without Baptism, Without Grace, Without the Supernatural
The centerpiece of the article is the exchange between the antipope and six-year-old Renzo, in which the usurper declares: “Every child is a dream of God — and you are, too. God desires the happiness of all and wants us, from childhood and throughout our lives, to have a heart like that of children.” This statement, while superficially pleasant, is theologically vacuous and dangerously ambiguous. In what sense is a child “a dream of God”? The Catholic faith teaches that every human being is created by God, endowed with an immortal soul, and destined for eternal beatitude—but also that man is born in original sin and cannot be saved without baptism, faith, and perseverance in sanctifying grace. The Catechism of the Council of Trent is unequivocal: baptism is necessary for salvation, and the Church has no other door by which one may enter into eternal life (Session VII, Canon 5 on the Sacraments). By omitting any mention of baptism, original sin, or the supernatural order, the antipope reduces the child’s relationship to God to a sentimental metaphor—a “dream”—stripped of all doctrinal content. This is not Catholic teaching; it is the naturalistic humanism condemned by St. Pius X in Pascendi Dominici gregis as the very essence of Modernism: the reduction of the supernatural to mere religious sentiment.
When the boy asks about poverty, the usurper responds that God “never abandons any of his children because he has prepared for us an eternal joy where there will be no more sadness or pain.” But this is precisely the error condemned by Pope Pius IX in the Syllabus of Errors (Proposition 17): “Good hope at least is to be entertained of the eternal salvation of all those who are not at all in the true Church of Christ.” The promise of “eternal joy” without any mention of the necessity of the Catholic faith, the sacraments, or the avoidance of mortal sin is not the Gospel—it is the universalism that the Magisterium has consistently rejected. The true teaching, as expressed by the Third Council of Florence (1439), is that those who die outside the Catholic Church—whether pagans, heretics, schismatics, or apostates—cannot be saved. The antipope’s words are not merely imprecise; they are a direct contradiction of defined dogma, wrapped in the language of therapeutic spirituality.
The Blind Girl and the Cathedral of Apostasy
The article’s treatment of Valentina Sánchez, the blind girl who guided the antipope through the Sagrada Família, is perhaps the most revealing moment of the entire report. The basilica itself—Antoni Gaudí’s unfinished masterpiece—is a monument to the confusion of the 20th century: a structure begun in 1882 by Catholic intention but completed under the auspices of the conciliar sect, its symbolism increasingly divorced from orthodox theology. The article describes a “spectacular light show” and “multicolored glow” illuminating the Barcelona night sky—language more appropriate to a secular concert than a sacred dedication. Where is the theology of the liturgy? Where is the understanding that the dedication of a church is an act of consecration to the true God, setting it apart from profane use? Instead, we are offered a multimedia spectacle indistinguishable from the entertainment culture the antipope himself claims to critique.
Valentina’s drawing of the cathedral, perceived “not with her eyes, but with her heart,” is presented as a touching moment. But the Catholic faith has always taught that the heart without the light of faith is blind—not in a metaphorical sense, but in the most literal and terrible sense. As St. Paul writes: “The god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel” (2 Cor. 4:4). The article’s celebration of “seeing with the heart” without any reference to the necessity of faith, baptism, or the sacraments is a perfect encapsulation of the modernist error: the elevation of subjective religious experience above objective supernatural truth. Pius XI, in Quas Primas, insisted that Christ’s kingdom is “primarily spiritual and relates mainly to spiritual matters”—not to emotional experiences or aesthetic contemplation, but to the obedience of the intellect and will to God’s revealed law.
Antonio Banderas and the “Spell” of Naturalistic Humanism
The encounter with actor Antonio Banderas at Madrid’s Movistar Arena is presented as a dialogue between faith and culture. Banderas declares himself a “victim of God’s spell” and speaks of the “transcendent power of human creativity to protect individual dignity in a rapidly accelerating digital age.” The antipope, for his part, warns young people: “Do not let algorithms decide who you are, who you love, or how you live. A computer can calculate options, but only a human heart can choose to sacrifice for another.”
This exchange, while superficially appealing, is a masterclass in the avoidance of supernatural reality. The “dignity” Banderas invokes is not the dignity of a soul redeemed by the Precious Blood of Christ and elevated to the supernatural order—it is the naturalistic dignity of the autonomous human subject, the very dignity exalted by the conciliar document Dignitatis Humanae, which Pius IX condemned as the error of religious liberty (Syllabus, Propositions 77-79). The antipope’s warning about algorithms is a secular moralism dressed in pastoral language: it addresses the symptoms of technological alienation while ignoring the root cause—the loss of faith, the abandonment of prayer, the neglect of the sacraments, and the rejection of Christ’s social kingship over the digital realm as over every other sphere of human activity.
Banderas’s reference to the “popular piety and Holy Week processions” of his native Málaga is equally telling. The processions of Spain, once expressions of Catholic faith in the Passion of Christ and the intercession of the Blessed Virgin, have in many cases been reduced to cultural performances—folkloric spectacles stripped of their supernatural significance. To invoke them as formative of “faith” without distinguishing between authentic Catholic piety and its naturalistic simulacrum is to participate in the very confusion that the conciliar revolution has wrought.
The Cockpit and the Cult of Personality
The article’s description of the antipope’s visit to the cockpit of the Iberia aircraft—his “childlike wonder,” his waving through the glass, his radio greeting to the Spanish Air Force pilot—is a textbook example of the cult of personality that has replaced the veneration of the office. The Catholic Church has always taught that the pope is the Vicar of Christ, the successor of St. Peter, the visible head of the Church Militant—but this dignity is attached to the office, not to the person. When the office is held by a manifest heretic and apostate, as the sedevacantist position demonstrates from Bellarmine, Wernz and Vidal, and Canon 188.4 of the 1917 Code, the person exercising it has no jurisdiction and no authority. The article’s breathless account of “Little Robert Prevost” marveling at a fighter jet is not a portrait of the Vicar of Christ; it is a portrait of a man enjoying the trappings of power while the Church he claims to lead is in ruins.
The pilot, Juan Enrique, is described as “a father and devout Catholic”—but devotion to what? To the Catholic faith as taught by the unchanging Magisterium, or to the conciliar sect that has emptied that faith of its supernatural content? The article does not ask this question, because the conciliar sect does not ask this question. It assumes that “devout Catholic” means adherence to the structures occupying the Vatican—structures that, as the Defense of Sedevacantism demonstrates, are led by men who have defected from the Catholic faith through manifest heresy.
Babies, Blessings, and the Sacramental Vacuum
The article’s final “moment”—the passing of babies to the antipope for blessings—is presented as the most heartwarming of all. But what is a blessing conferred by a man who lacks jurisdiction? The Catholic Church teaches that the power of blessing is attached to the sacred hierarchy—bishops and priests who are in communion with the true pope and who exercise their office in the state of sanctifying grace. A manifestly heretical antipope, who has lost his office ipso facto by public defection from the faith (Bellarmine, De Romano Pontifice 2:30; Wernz-Vidal, Ius Canonicum), has no power to bless. The parents who lift their children to this man are not receiving a sacramental; they are participating in a ritual devoid of supernatural efficacy—a gesture of natural piety, perhaps, but not an act of Catholic worship.
The article’s closing exhortation—“may we strive to bring that same exuberance and spiritual intentionality into our own lives”—is the final reduction of the Catholic life to emotional exuberance. Where is the call to daily prayer, to frequent confession and communion (in the true sacraments), to the rosary, to mortification, to the study of the catechism, to the avoidance of sin and the occasions of sin? These are the means of sanctification that the pre-conciliar Church proposed to the faithful. The conciliar sect offers instead “spiritual intentionality”—a phrase as empty as it is ubiquitous, designed to evoke the feeling of devotion without its substance.
The Abomination of Desolation and the Duty of the Faithful
The entire article, read in light of the unchanging Catholic doctrine, is a portrait of the abomination of desolation standing in the holy place (Matt. 24:15). The structures occupying the Vatican are not the Catholic Church; they are a paramasonic structure, as the False Fatima Apparitions file argues, designed to divert attention from the true enemies of the Church—the modernists within—and to reduce the supernatural religion of Jesus Christ to a humanitarian movement centered on “dreams,” “heart,” and “creativity.” Pius XI, in Quas Primas, declared that the reign of Christ extends over all men, all families, and all states—not as a sentimental aspiration, but as a juridical reality demanding public recognition and obedience. The antipope’s Spain trip is the antithesis of this teaching: it is a private, personal, emotional journey that makes no claim on the public order, no demand for the social kingship of Christ, no call to the conversion of nations to the Catholic faith.
The duty of the faithful is clear: to reject the conciliar sect in its entirety, to seek the true sacraments from validly ordained priests in communion with the integral Catholic faith, and to pray for the restoration of the true papacy. The spectacle in Spain is not a moment of grace; it is a moment of apostasy, dressed in the language of hope and renewal. As St. Pius X warned in Lamentabili sane exitu (Proposition 65): “Contemporary Catholicism cannot be reconciled with true knowledge without transforming it into a certain dogmaless Christianity, that is, into a broad and liberal Protestantism.” The National Catholic Register’s breathless coverage of the antipope’s trip is the perfect illustration of this prophecy fulfilled.
Source:
‘Every Child Is a Dream of God’: Top 5 Moving Moments of Pope Leo XIV in Spain (ncregister.com)
Date: 17.06.2026