There is something profoundly wrong when a Church grows uneasy speaking about her own Mother. 

A Church without its Mother does not collapse overnight. It does not declare her gone. It does not formally reject her. It simply grows cautious. Measured. Afraid of clarity. Ashamed of certainty. And before long, it begins to sound …. Unfamiliar.  

A Church without its Mother becomes a Church that speaks endlessly about accompaniment, but rarely about obedience. A Church that values dialogue more than truth. A Church that prefers safety to sanctity. A Church that has learned how to survive storms by drifting rather than anchoring. And that is where we are now. 

We are living in a moment when the Blessed Virgin Mary is not openly denied – but quietly reduced. Not rejected – but managed. Not attacked head-on – but contained, regulated, and rendered harmless. 

And this should alarm every Catholic who understands how the Church has survived every storm in her history. Because the Church has only ever survived when she was anchored – firmly, publicly, unapologetically – to two pillars. 

As St. John Bosco saw in his great prophetic dream, the Barque of Peter does not endure by clever navigation or pastoral creativity. She survives only when she is bound between the Most Holy Eucharist and the Blessed Virgin Mary. 

Two pillars. Not one. And when one pillar is weakened, the entire ship is exposed.  

What we are witnessing now is not confusion. It is not accident. It is not poor catechesis. It is a deliberate narrowing of Marian instinct – training Catholics, slowly and carefully, to think about Mary the way Protestants do.  

Respect her, yes. Admire her, certainly. Speak of her cautiously. But never let her interrupt. Never let her warn. Never let her correct. In other words: allow her to be present – but never powerful.  

That is not Catholic. That has never been Catholic. And the Church has faced this before. 

In the fifth century, when clever men proposed that Mary should no longer be called Mother of God, they claimed they were simply seeking balance. Precision. Nuance. But one man saw immediately what was at stake. St. Cyril of Alexandria understood that this was not about Marian language. It was about Christ Himself.  

If Mary is not Mother of God, then Christ is divided. And the Church understood that truth for centuries. But what heresy could not destroy openly, fear has attempted to dismantle quietly. Because once Mary was defended as Mother of God, the enemy’s strategy changed. No longer outright denial. No longer blunt rejection. Instead: reduction.  

In the modern age, the battle shifted from whether Mary mattered to how much she was allowed to matter. And this is where the titles begin to disappear.  

Mary was still spoken of – but cautiously. Lovingly – but vaguely. Honored – but stripped of authority. And recently her ancient titles were suddenly described as problematic. Not false. Just … inconvenient.  

Mary as Co-Redemptrix – too much.  

Mary as Mediatrix of All Graces – confusing. 

Mary as Queen – excessive. 

Mary as active intercessor – pastorally sensitive.  

And notice what was never said. No one ever stood and declared these titles heretical. No council condemned them. No pope defined them as error. Instead, they were quietly pushed aside under the language of prudence and ecumenical concern. 

In other words: they made Protestants uncomfortable. And that should have stopped us cold. Because the Church does not exist to mirror Protestant discomfort. She exists to proclaim Catholic truth. 

A Church that becomes uneasy affirming Mary as Co-Redemptrix does not become clearer about Christ. She becomes timid about the Cross.  

A Church that hesitates to call Mary Mediatrix of All Graces does not protect God’s sovereignty. She obscures how grace actually reaches the world – through the Incarnation, through the Mother God chose.  

This is not exaggeration. This is theology.  

Because Mary’s role has always been singular, active, and deliberate – not because she competes with Christ, but because she is entirely dependent on Him. And that dependence terrifies the enemy.  

Which is why the next step was inevitable.  

If Mary’s titles could not be denied outright, her voice would be regulated. Her warnings softened. Her urgency restrained. Her intentions subjected to approval. And so, in our own time, even Marian apparitions are no longer allowed to speak with authority – only with permission.  

Mary may console. She may encourage. She may inspire. But she may not warn the Church. She may not correct shepherds. She may not call the faithful to repentance with urgency. She must be safe. Predictable. Contained. A Mother reduced to sentiment. And that should sound familiar. Because that is exactly how Protestantism treats Mary.  

Respect her. Honor her place in history. But never allow her to act. Never allow her to speak with maternal command. Never allow her to stand between the Church and danger.  

But the Catholic Church has never survived that way. She survived because men were willing to defend the Mother when defending her was unpopular.  

In the fifth century, that man was St. Cyril of Alexandria. In the twentieth century, that man was St. Maximilian Kolbe. Kolbe did not speak cautiously about Mary. He did not apologize for her. He did not dilute her role to make the modern world comfortable. He said plainly that neutrality toward Mary is impossible. That one is either under her mantle – or drifting into confusion.  

He understood what many today seem to have forgotten. Satan does not fear a Church that praises Mary politely. He fears a Church that entrusts itself to her completely. Because Mary does not draw attention to herself. She draws the Church to Christ – whole, undivided, present in the Eucharist. And that is why she is always targeted first.  

So now the question must be asked – not angrily, not rhetorically, but honestly. Where are the voices who will defend her now? Where are the bishops who will say what Cyril said – without fear of labels? Where are the shepherds who will speak of Mary the way St. Maximilian Kolbe did – without embarrassment? Because a Church that learns to live without her Mother will not suddenly find courage when the storm intensifies. She will drift.  

And a drifting Church does not lose her faith all at once. She loses it by degrees – one title softened, one warning silenced, one pillar loosened. Until the storm comes.  

And this brings us directly to the present hour. Because what has happened to Marian apparitions in our time is not a footnote. It is a signal.  

For centuries, when the Church was in danger, God sent the Mother. Not to flatter. Not to soothe. But to warn. 

At Fatima, she warned of war, of error, of souls falling into hell. At Lourdes, she called for penance. At LaSalette, she wept and warned of apostasy. At Akita, she spoke of fire falling from the sky and bishops opposing bishops. And the Church, for all her human weakness, once understood something essential: When the Mother speaks urgently, it is because the children are in danger. 

But now – in our own day – something unprecedented has occurred. Marian apparitions are no longer discerned primarily by their truth, their warnings, or their call to conversion. They are judged by whether they are useful, manageable, and non-disruptive. 

Mary may speak – but only if she does not alarm. She may appear – but only if she does not correct. She may call for prayer – but not for repentance that unsettles structures. She may encourage devotion – but never demand conversion.  

Her voice has been regulated. And let us be honest about what that means. A Mother who cannot warn her children of danger has been stripped of motherhood.  

This is not prudence. This is not discernment. This is not care for the faithful. This is containment. And it should terrify us – because it tells us exactly where this is heading. Because in St. John Bosco’s dream, the enemy does not strike both pillars at once. He strikes one. He weakens it. He loosens it. He makes it seem optional. And only then does he turn his full fury on the other.  

Mary is the first pillar attacked by the enemy. She always has been. If Catholics are trained to think of Mary the way Protestants do – as a holy woman, but not a Mother with authority – then Catholics will soon be trained to think of the second pillar – the Holy Eucharist – the way Protestants do as well. 

Respectful. Symbolic. But negotiable. And we are already seeing the signs. 

Eucharistic reverence fading. Belief in the Real Presence collapsing. The Holy Sacrifice treated as a communal gathering rather than divine act. The Blessed Sacrament handled casually, received without preparation, adored less, protected less.  

Do not deceive yourselves.  

A Church that has learned to live without her Mother will not suddenly find the courage to defend Our Lord in the Eucharist when the pressure intensifies. Because Mary is the one who teaches us how to kneel. She is the one who teaches us how to receive Christ – not symbolically, not metaphorically, but truly, fully bodily.  

She carried Him in her womb. She adored Him before anyone else did. She teaches the Church how to recognize Him still. And that is why she must be silenced first. So let us stop pretending this is accidental. 

This is not about Marian excess. This is not about theological balance. This is not about ecumenical sensitivity. This is about whether the Church will remain Catholic.  

Because a Church without her Mother becomes a Church without memory. A Church without courage. A Church without instinct. And a Church without instinct is easily led – not by the Holy Ghost, but by fear.  

So now the question can no longer be avoided. When Mary is reduced – who will defend her? When her warnings are restrained – who will listen anyway? When the Eucharistic pillar is threatened – who will already be kneeling?  

The Church does not need clever strategies right now. She does not need new language. She does not need to be made safe. She needs saints! 

She needs the courage of St. Cyril, who defended the Mother of God when the faith itself was at stake. She needs the fire of St. Maximilian Kolbe, who knew that the battle for souls always runs through Mary. And she needs Catholics who understand this simple truth:  

You do not protect Christ by sidelining His Mother. You do not save the Church by weakening her anchors. And you do not survive the storm by drifting. 

The storm is already here. The pillars still stand – for now. The question is not whether the Church will be tested. The question is this: Will she anchor – or will she drift? 

So let’s be honest with ourselves. The crisis in the Church will not be solved by waiting for the right document, the right committee, or the right moment. History has never been saved that way. The faith has always been defended by men and women who stood when standing cost them something.  

When Mary was attacked, St. Cyril stood. When the world was collapsing into hatred, St. Maximilian Kolbe stood. They did not wait to be invited. They did not wait to be applauded. They stood because the truth demanded it. And now the question is no longer theoretical.  

If the Church is drifting, who will anchor her? If the Mother is reduced, who will defend her? If the Eucharistic pillar is threatened, who will kneel first and refuse to move? 

The storm does not wait for consensus. And Christ does not ask whether standing is comfortable. 

This is the hour not for spectators, but for witnesses. Not for silence, but for fidelity. Not for drifting, but for anchoring. 

So be the one who stands. Stand with the Mother. Stand before the Eucharist. And stand firm – even if you stand alone. 

And now I am offering you my blessing: 

May Almighty God strengthen you to stand when standing is costly, to speak when silence is safer, and to remain faithful when drifting would be easier. 

May the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God and Mother of the Church, keep you beneath her mantle, teach you how to receive her Son with reverence, and give you the courage to defend the truth without fear.  

May the Most Holy Eucharist anchor your soul, steady you in the storm, and keep you firm when the winds of confusion rage. 

And may Almighty God bless you – in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. 

Amen. 

Bishop Joseph E. Strickland 

Bishop Emeritus