Category: Faith
Bishop raises hell after woke priest allows homosexual ABC broadcaster to receive Eucharist beside his ‘husband’
Bishop Joseph Strickland, the cleric removed from his office in Tyler, Texas, in 2023 by the late Pope Francis, urged his colleagues gathered on Wednesday for the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops’ plenary assembly to address the matter of a woke priest’s apparent willingness to run afoul of the church’s custom and to turn a hallowed Catholic ceremony into a non-straight spectacle.
Gio Benitez, a homosexual ABC News correspondent who is “married” to a man, apparently decided after Pope Francis’ passing last year to make his way back to the Catholic Church. Benitez, who was allegedly baptized in secret at the age of 15, was confirmed at St. Paul the Apostle’s Church in New York City on Nov. 8.
‘Here we are talking about doctrine.’
“My Confirmation Mass was a very small gathering of family and friends who have quietly been with me on this journey,” Benitez wrote on Instagram. “I found the Ark of the Covenant in my heart, stored there by the one who created me… exactly as I am.”
The ABC News correspondent also received holy communion from the church’s woke pastor, Rev. Eric Andrews, at the highly publicized mass where LGBT activist Fr. James Martin was a concelebrant and where Benitez’s “husband” served as his sponsor.
Blaze News reached out to Rev. Andrews for comment, but did not receive a response.
While the Catholic Church holds that homosexual acts are “acts of grave depravity,” “intrinsically disordered,” “contrary to the natural law,” and “can under no circumstances” be approved, the Catechism states that homosexual persons must nevertheless “be accepted with respect, compassion, and sensitivity.”
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Bishop Joseph Strickland. Photo by Craig F. Walker/Boston Globe via Getty Images
The church has also made clear that Catholics with same-sex attraction who are chaste can “participate fully in the spiritual and sacramental life of the Catholic faith community.”
However, those who regularly engage in sexual activity or are partners in a committed homosexual relationship that includes regular sexual relations are not to receive holy communion or serve in public ministries.
“Receiving the sacrament is the ultimate expression of our Catholic faith, an intensely personal matter between communicant and priest,” wrote the late and posthumously exonerated Cardinal George Pell. “It’s not a question of refusing homosexuals or someone who is homosexually oriented. The rule is basically the same for everyone.”
“If a person is actually engaged in — by public admission, at any given time — a practice contrary to Church teaching in a serious matter, then that person is not entitled to receive Holy Communion,” continued Pell. “This would apply, for example, to a married person openly living in adultery. Similarly, persons who openly declare themselves active homosexuals take a position which makes it impossible for them to receive Holy Communion.”
During a USCCB discussion of doctrine on Wednesday, Bishop Strickland raised the matter of Benitez’s highly publicized reception of holy communion while flanked by his “husband.”
“I don’t know how many of us have seen on the social media priests and others gathered, celebrating the confirmation of a man living with a man openly,” said Strickland. “It just needs to be addressed. Father James Martin once again involved. Great pictures of all of them smiling.”
Bishop Strickland and Martin have traded barbs over the years, largely around Martin’s subversive LGBT activism and apparent efforts to liberalize the Catholic Church’s stance on such matters.
Martin — who shared an article titled “Gio Benitez, Openly Gay ABC Anchor, Joins the Catholic Church” on social media this week with the caption “Happy to be a part of your journey!” — has made no secret of his activism. For instance, he took issue with the Supreme Court’s June 2025 decision to let parents opt their children out of lessons featuring LGBT propaganda and insinuated that homosexual persons aren’t really bound by church teaching.
“Here we are talking about doctrine,” continued Strickland. “I just thought I need to raise that issue. I know it’s not part of any agenda, but this body gathered, we need to address it.”
The panel, focused on updated ethical and religious directives for Catholic health care services, did not take up Strickland’s concern.
The Catholic Herald noted that Strickland’s tenure as bishop of Tyler was “marked by a reputation for directness, a strong emphasis on Eucharistic devotion, and a willingness to challenge trends in the wider Church that he believed risked undermining the clarity of Catholic teaching.”
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Church-hopping: Confessions of an itinerant worshipper
I have been church-hopping since the summer of 2020. This means that a lot of “concerned evangelicals” have felt justified in asking, “What are you searching for?”
That first summer, I claimed to be searching for holy ground. However, I already knew that this was wherever a saint steps — wherever God speaks to us and we listen in prayer.
We had spent a wonderful evening with an elderly Latter-day Saints couple who found us hitchhiking, then brought us home to ‘show us some literature.’
I have never been searching for anything as much as I have been interested to see what it is that others claim to have found. It thrills me to see that it is all pretty much the same, in minor degrees. Some pastors are more boring than others. Everyone makes claims about the “other” churches in town. Everyone has their rituals, their deeds, the words that are not works. And very few are curious about the others.
“Seek and ye shall find,” they murmur among themselves in the territory of their home church, patting one another on the back because they somehow found truth without seeking it. Why aren’t the others seeking it? They’d be here among them if they sought — if they loved the truth as they loved the Bible.
Not all. Only the majority. Maybe not even that many — only a few loud ones.
I, too, among them, also vocal, a little charismatic, a little opinionated, forgetting what it means to seek before you find.
The world is not our home
Now I have dragged my husband in on the game of flirting with the appearance of universalism. And yet we are no more universalist than Paul or St. Francis of Assisi or C.S. Lewis. We are curious, alive, and nonplussed by the promissory comforts of the world. This world is not our home, and neither is a single building.
And yet, if you seek, ye shall find. It matters not that my intentions were no different from those of an atheist — to attend, to observe, to write. I am relating to the woman at the front of the church who is not Catholic but is hired to sign the sermon and songs for the deaf attendees, thus hearing every word of the priest and chorus more thoroughly than any of the parishioners and finding that her job has morphed into a spiritual awakening.
I am finding community, kindred spirits, truth outside my understanding of it, and a narrow path. I am becoming less curious as a larger passion consumes my heart and soul.
We intended to attend Mass while on our honeymoon — something difficult to do when you have no agency over where you will be day to day, as hitchhikers reliant upon the goodwill of strangers and public transit. We joked about putting up a cardboard sign, our thumbs in the air, “TAKE US TO CHURCH.” Maybe someday.
Instead we went where we could.
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A.M. Hickman
A church for widows
The first place was an Anglican church in Newfoundland that seemed to be run by little old ladies — 30 of them, to be precise, scattered in the pews, in the choir, and at the altar. There were only five men, all of them seated. This did not bode well, we thought.
But it was truly a church for widows, a church that was doing its very best to remain active, putting on plays and picnics even though there were no young people or children. The Spirit was there with those little old ladies. It was comforting them, pushing them forward even though they had lost much. It was reminding them of all that awaited them in paradise. And they were ready.
They gave us cookies and greeted us with forgetful, motherly smiles, as if we were not mere strangers but apparitions of heavenly promises. We were their reminder to keep hoping, and they were our nudge toward charity. We sat, we witnessed, and we listened.
Seventh-day supper
After that we found different Catholic churches to pray in, which somehow always seemed to be far away when Sunday came around. There was a large one — a shrine — on the border of Quebec, Labrador, and Newfoundland, then another a little farther into Quebec, in an Inuit village. This one hearkened to the traditions of these people, too. How beautiful, I remember thinking, the way the Church uses each people’s specific culture and history to express the truth.
Then we walked by a window that sported “Seventh-day Adventist” in a French-Canadian Maine town. It was a Thursday, and we had already determined to stay in town for a French-Acadian Mass on Sunday.
“Let’s go there,” I told my husband. “It might be a little frustrating, but it’ll be a good experience for you.”
He agreed, and so we brought ourselves and our backpacks there Saturday morning. The church was new — it looked more like a Main Street business because of its location and the large windows. There were only six or so people inside.
“Can we join you all?” I asked. “No, I am not Seventh-day Adventist, but I’ve attended many services because my family keeps Sabbath on Saturday.”
We put our bags in front of a pile of unopened boxes of “The Great Controversy,” and they handed us a booklet on Romans and two pens. The room was ugly, like a warehouse, except for the lace curtains in the windows.
For the next two hours, we “studied the Bible,” mostly discussing how wonderful Jesus is and what it means to pray — how often we should pray and what makes prayer sincere — and how all Protestant churches are basically Catholic because they acknowledge the authority of Rome and the pope to change the Sabbath from Saturday to Sunday.
The church service was bland, hard to follow. I tatted a lace bookmark to try to keep awake. The speaker was likeable, but he droned on about a Bible story, not really recounting it accurately. I don’t think that was the point of his speaking, though — they were simply allowing him a moment to speak, because he was a man and the church had few members and needed participation from everyone in order to keep the spirit alive.
They did not give us cookies, but something better — a meal of various bean and rice dishes. There was fresh homemade hummus, too.
Nine out of Ten
As we ate, everyone continued to ramble on about how awful it was that other churches didn’t care to follow all of the Ten Commandments.
“Evangelicals want the Ten Commandments in schools, and yet they do not want them in their churches.”
“If children came home from school and refused to do their homework on Saturday, most Christian parents would not be happy.”
“There’s a church in town that has the Ten Commandments hanging on the outside of their building,” the pastor began.
So I talked to them about it and asked them why they don’t care about the fourth commandment. Oh, boy! The pastor said he’d get back to me, and let me tell you, oh boy, oh boy, that he finally decided that he could piecemeal a bunch of verses today and how he thinks he can prove that Jesus wants us to keep all the commandments now except that one.
That night the pastor let us stay in his house, and as he showed us all his proof for Saturday Sabbath and how the Catholic Church has duped nearly all mainstream churches, Andy finally confessed, “I am a Roman Catholic, and I believe the Church had the authority to change the Sabbath to distinguish us from the Jewish faith.”
The man started. Then he said, “Well, I think Jesus will save Catholics, too, even though they are only keeping nine of 10 of God’s commandments. But they will be judged for disregarding the Sabbath Day.”
We were friends now.
Answered prayers
In the middle of Maine, we attended one other church. All the days leading up to it were edifying. We had spent a wonderful evening with an elderly Latter-day Saints couple who found us hitchhiking, then brought us home to “show us some literature.” It was not the “Book of Mormon.” They handed us a glass of orange juice and a box of raisins and played old 1960s and 1970s love songs for us, then told us their love story — of how they had a temple wedding in Switzerland; of their 14 children, 88 grandchildren, and 17 great-grandchildren.
After we played a game of cards, they brought us to our destination, where we stayed with a Quaker-esque hippie Christian family. This family brought us to their church the next day.
It was as if God was answering our longing for Mass. Although the church was small and non-denominational, it felt how an early church might feel or how a Catholic service might feel if it were in someone’s home. They prayed and sang some of the songs you’d hear in a Catholic church, along with songs from an Assemblies of God or Baptist-type non-denominational church. They said the Apostles’ Creed together and took communion as a Catholic church does, with everyone coming up front and receiving it in long lines from the pastor.
The sermon was sound — like a homily — and did not feel as scattered with pieces of scripture as many non-denominational church services are. We were spellbound. If it weren’t for how modern everyone seemed to be dressed, I would have thought we had been transported to an era before the Reformation.
Shared roots
After it was over, I asked the pastor if their church had any Catholic influence.
He laughed and said no, that if there were ex-Catholic members, they would probably oppose these traditional Orthodox inclusions. No, these were things he had included because from his studies and experiences, he had come to believe that there was a lot that Protestantism lost when it spurned tradition and ritualism, and he was slowly trying to incorporate it back into church. “It’s in our roots, too.”
I talked to his wife and told her about my Living Room Academy (she had heard of it) and how it was partially inspired by my travels in woke circles when I realized that many lesbians and liberal women were doing a better job of being women and passing on beauty and skills than Christian women. Her eyes opened wide. “You’re right.” I’ve heard that since we left, she has decided to open her own iteration of the Living Room Academy for the girls in their church.
What I loved about their church was that they didn’t seem to be stuck in their bubble. Their church wasn’t really their “home” as much as it was them trying to find out what home means by looking to the past and looking to paradise. They seem to be doing a very good job at making it work — their church was filled with children, happy-looking teenagers, and a diversity of fashion from very beautiful dresses to jeans with frilly purses. There seemed to be room for expression of faith.
Coming home
After that we finally made it to a Mass in Fitchburg, Massachusetts. And I must admit, it kind of felt like coming home.
I hadn’t realized how much I had come to love attending Catholic churches with my husband. There are still many questions I have had to sort through about the Church and whether or not I can in good conscience submit myself to its authority. However, being there, surrounded by the beauty of the type that God requested when He detailed the temple He wanted from the Jews, feels like being at home … in paradise.
Everything else feels so earth-like, so business-minded and corporate and mechanical. Even though the “music” of mainstream churches claims to have more life in the show, there’s nothing quite like the chorus in a cathedral. And while you might get a good sermon in a Protestant church, you’re not going to hear near as much scripture read as is read at Mass.
Most Protestants would complain if they had to sit through half of what is read — they want a Bible verse that corroborates a sermon. Meanwhile, you might get about 15 minutes of rich preaching at a Mass — the rest is pure scripture.
It’s almost a hobby now — I will certainly never stop church-hopping, comparing and pondering. I want our children to have these experiences. So many wonderful conversations have sprung up between my husband and me because of these visits, and we are finding ourselves growing more spiritually aligned because of it.
And so I will continue to exhort anyone of any faith: Visit the churches around you, no matter their denomination. Every church has something to offer you and will give you an opportunity to practice humility and charity.
Editor’s note: A version of this essay earlier appeared on the Polite Company Substack.
‘It was me and God every night’: Hunter was lost in the wilderness for nearly 3 weeks — until God told him ‘let’s go walking’
If you’ve ever been lost in the wilderness, even for a few moments, the sudden realization that you have no idea where you are — or how to get back on track — can be terrifying.
Ron Dailey had to endure that awful feeling for nearly three weeks.
‘Nobody really knew where I was.’
Dailey, 65, had packed for a half-day solo hunting trip on Oct. 13 in the Sierra National Forest, KCBS-TV reported, adding that the area is a dense wilderness in central California near Fresno.
However, a wrong turn would extend his trip by quite a bit.
“I went down this hill. I’m going, ‘Oh, God, this ain’t good,'” Dailey recalled to the station in regard to the moment he knew he was lost. “So I turned around and tried to get out. I couldn’t get out.”
A storm hit that evening and left two feet of snow on top of his broken-down truck and all around him, Dailey recalled to KCBS, adding that he thought, “Oh, man, I’m in trouble.”
His family contacted the Fresno County Sheriff’s Office when he didn’t return as planned, and a massive search was under way from the air and on land, the station said.
KCBS said the rescue effort eventually stretched across multiple counties and required responders to look for Dailey in rugged terrain.
Soon Dailey’s survival instincts kicked in, the station said, adding that he had 14 bottles of water and about 900 calories’ worth of food, all of which he tried to ration for as long as possible.
But eventually his food and water ran out, and Dailey recalled to KCBS that he “didn’t know if rescue was gonna come” because “nobody really knew where I was.”
Well, he did have a most important companion, it turns out.
“It was me and God every night,” Dailey told the station in regard to how prayer and his Christian faith helped him when things looked bleakest.
He shared with KCBS that soon “God woke me up at 6:45 Saturday morning. He goes, ‘Ron, get your boots on. Let’s go walking.'”
With that, Dailey abandoned his truck and estimated that he walked about 10 to 12 miles through the wilderness, the station said, stopping and sitting down often due to the altitude. He reportedly fell several times and lost his phone.
KCBS said finally three rescuers appeared.
“The Christian community just pulled together and kept praying and praying and praying,” Dailey recounted to the station. “They wouldn’t let me die. Neither would God.”
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Israel, the Church, and the Unraveling of Conservative Unity
There are few subjects that more quickly ignite controversy among believers and conservative thinkers than the question of Israel. The…
The poisoned stream of culture is flowing through our churches
On most days, the creek that runs behind our home in Montana looks like something out of a painting. The water tumbles over slick stones, swirls beneath the wooden bridge, and flashes like glass in the sunlight as it winds through the trees.
On hot afternoons, I take off my boots and stand in it awhile, letting the cold mountain water swirl around my feet. Even in August, it stays clear and shockingly cold — refreshing on hot, dusty feet. It looks so pure and inviting that you’d think you could cup your hands and drink from it.
The world’s water might soothe for a moment, but it can’t sustain. Only Christ, the living water, can cleanse, restore, and refresh a parched heart.
Yet I know better.
While helping a rancher move some cattle across the property, a few of them wandered down into that same creek. They lingered there, swishing tails and doing what cows do. The water still looked clear from a distance, but you certainly wouldn’t drink from it. Even a Supreme Court justice wouldn’t need a biologist to figure that out.
The water in that creek started high in the mountains, clean and cold. It was once pure, but animals do what animals do. People, though, take it further. We pollute on purpose. That’s not instinct; that’s sin.
We talk about free will, and we have it. But left to ourselves, we use it to wreck what was good. The culture isn’t just wandering into the water; it’s content to poison it, and sinners seem to care less about a polluted stream than cows do.
Downstream from belief
We’ve all heard that politics flows downstream from culture. But if you trace that current far enough, you’ll find that culture flows downstream from belief. Whatever people worship, they eventually legislate into law.
Today, we have ceased worshipping God. Instead, we bow before slogans, systems, and grievances that mollify us rather than giving worship to the one to whom it is due. From a distance, it all looks good — flowing with energy, language, and even a sense of virtue. But somewhere upstream, something has wandered into the water — or been poured into it.
Too often, the church is wading downstream, cup in hand, trying to stay “relevant” while drinking what has already been polluted. The poison is sin itself, the moral waste of self-worship that seeps in until it becomes part of the current.
When the church starts drinking downstream, the songs continue, the sermons sound familiar, and the branding shines. But the taste changes. Conviction weakens, holiness becomes optional, and relevance becomes everything. We echo the world’s vocabulary of identity and justice without the foundation of repentance and redemption. The message gets muddied, and we don’t even notice the shift.
And when that happens, the thirstiest suffer first. Those are the ones who come to church desperate for something real.
What really sticks
I’ve spent 40 years as a caregiver, and I’ve learned what real thirst feels like. When you’ve poured yourself out for years, almost any water looks good. You pray for strength, for truth, for something steady, and too often what comes back sounds like marketing. You sit in church and hear, “Claim your victory,” “Speak life,” or, “Step into your blessing,” and you wonder if anyone sees the wreckage you live with. Then, from another pulpit, you hear, “God understands,” “It’s not that bad,” or, “Everyone struggles.”
It sounds compassionate, but it isn’t. It’s corrosion.
The first slick of contamination began with the serpent questioning the Word of God, and all too many pulpits echo that same hiss today. They downplay sin, soften the edges, and serve up messages that keep people comfortable yet captive. They offer sympathy instead of repentance. That’s not grace; that’s decay.
Ornate and large pulpits don’t necessarily mean clean water. Visibility isn’t the same as vision. The purity of the message isn’t measured by the size of the platform of the one delivering it but by how faithfully it points upstream to Christ Himself.
Truth, the real kind, usually starts with one hard word: repent. It’s upstream, and it’s not easy to get there. But that’s where the water runs clean. Downstream, you’ll only find a little contamination, a little compromise, a little manure, and just enough to make you sick.
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freedom007 via iStock/Getty Images
I’ve tested the various platitudes and slogans in the emergency room, ICU, and dark watches of the night more times than I can count. None of them hold up.
Here’s what does.
Only one water stays pure no matter who steps in it. It’s the same water that met a Samaritan woman at a well. It’s the same water Isaiah promised when he wrote, “With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.” That’s the invitation — not just to the church, but to every soul that’s dry and staggering: Walk upstream.
Go upstream
When we drink deeply from that pure spring, holiness stops feeling like a burden and starts feeling like oxygen. It gives clarity instead of confusion, courage instead of compromise.
That’s the call to the church and to every weary heart. Don’t drink what the world has trampled. Don’t settle for water that only looks clean from a distance. Polluted streams can’t quench the thirst of thirsty people.
The world’s water might soothe for a moment, even cool our weary feet, but it can’t sustain us. Only Christ, the living water, can cleanse, restore, and refresh a parched heart.
So go upstream. The source is still pure, and it’s still flowing.
Joe Rogan, Christian? The podcaster opens up about his ongoing exploration of faith
Joe Rogan may not be ready to call himself a Christian, but the former atheist does find himself rubbing shoulders with believers on many a Sunday.
The podcaster once again revealed details about his ongoing exploration of the faith, including his habit of regularly attending church.
‘It’s almost like everybody is under a spell.’
He also demonstrated a newfound appreciation of why someone would need God in his or her life. When recent podcast guest Francis Foster expressed amazement at how much a friend of his could rely on religion as a foundation for getting through tough times, Rogan didn’t seem nearly as surprised.
“If you really do believe that, it definitely will help you,” the comedian concurred.
Church going
At that point, fellow guest — and Foster’s “Triggernometry” podcast co-host — Konstantin Kisin chimed in that he himself had been becoming more religious.
“I haven’t got there, but I have started going to church every now and again,” Kisin explained.
“Do you enjoy it?” Rogan asked.
“I love it,” responded Kisin.
“I do too,” confessed Rogan, adding, “It’s a bunch of people that are going to try to make their lives better. They’re trying to be a better person.”
Rogan then described his church experience as getting together with a group of people who read and analyze Bible passages.
“I’m really interested in what these people were trying to say because I don’t think it’s nothing,” Rogan said.
No ‘fairy tale’
From there, the New Jersey native addressed claims he has heard from atheists and secularists who dismiss Christianity as being “foolish.”
The 58-year-old pushed back against the characterization that Christianity as a collection of “fairy tales” by “self-professed intelligent people,” noting that a proper understanding of the faith requires considering historical context, translation difficulties, and oral vs. written tradition.
“I think there’s something to what they’re saying,” Rogan offered.
Trust the science
While noting that modern science has found physical evidence for the biblical flood story told in Genesis, Rogan said he also appreciated the Bible as a compelling depiction of society 6,000 years ago.
Further segments in the podcast revealed that, perhaps due to a renewed interest in faith, Rogan’s algorithm may have even changed.
– YouTube
This became evident when the group discussed some of Kisin’s protest journalism, where he asks befuddled liberals the reason they are attending the current protest of the day.
In response, Rogan pointed to a video of a man doing interviews at a left-wing No Kings protest. The man asks attendees if they believe in human rights, to which they affirm, until they are asked about human rights “in the womb,” which is when they dismiss the idea.
“It’s almost like everybody is under a spell,” Rogan laughed.
Rogan first confirmed he was going to church in June, after hinting at the idea that he was becoming more religious. He described his attendance similarly at that time:
“It’s actually very nice; they’re all just trying to be better people.”
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