This is the Year That Was

Mr Coulombe reminds us at the New Year that God became Man in a world like ours, a world bitter, cold, and dark. He is the Light and Sun in our World.

From Crisis

By Charles Coulombe, KCSS, STM

If we are disquieted by the state of the Church and the world, recall that the Christ child chose to enter into it, in bitter cold and darkness.

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
Old year you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year, you shall not die.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “The Death of the Old Year”

“Fast away the old year passes,” as the Christmas carol Deck the Halls warns us—and so it is to be. The year 2025 is fast approaching its end. Semiquincentennial of the start of the American Revolution, bicentennial of the last coronation thus far of a king of France, centennial of the coming of the Charleston dance to Europe, it is about to join its countless forebears in the dead past. The ending of a year always fills one with a certain bittersweet sadness, as regret for the year gone by mingles with hopes for the one to come.

I must admit that I have always loved year-end summaries. One casualty in the war for political correctness has been the site JibJab’s hysterically funny “Year in Review” section. From 2005 to 2014 (with a 2020 revival), in less than two minutes this featured a hilarious send-up of the preceding year’s march of folly. As those with a memory shall recall, the political and cultural divide in the United States became too deep to joke about. The retreat of humor is always a bad sign in terms of cultural health.

Nevertheless, we’ll look at a few of the major stories this past year and see if we can make any sense out of it. January 9 saw the beginning of horrible conflagrations in the Pacific Palisades and Altadena sections of the Greater Los Angeles area. This writer having been there at the time, with some of his friends losing everything and several cherished institutions lost to the flames, he can testify to how terrible it really was.  

On January 20, Donald Trump was inaugurated after his reelection the previous year. Love him or hate him, he had accomplished what only Grover Cleveland had done before him: to be elected president, defeated at the end of his second term, and then reelected. His inauguration was, as is usual with Mr. Trump, a celebration of himself. But he had a lot to celebrate. Prior to the actual ceremony itself, he attended a church service led by a Baptist minister at St. John’s Episcopal Church—the “Church of the Presidents.”

The torrent of abuse that rightly or wrongly followed him all through his first term was recommenced. But, as then, he went on his way, ignoring his critics and doing as he chose. Yet again, the inauguration itself was informal (the last formal one being JFK’s in 1961), and there were numerous foreign guests, especially from the so-called “Far Right” in Europe. His annexationist rhetoric, however, contributed to left-wing victory at the Canadian and Australian polls.

On February 14, his vice president, J.D. Vance, gave a speech at the European Security Conference in Munich that really stirred the pot—although it must have gratified many of the foreign invitees to the inauguration: 

[T]he threat that I worry the most about vis-a-vis Europe is not Russia, it’s not China, it’s not any other external actor. What I worry about is the threat from within. The retreat of Europe from some of its most fundamental values: values shared with the United States of America.

He then went on to cite and denounce various attacks of European governments upon the civil rights of those they deem “far Right.” There was a great deal of outrage expressed by the European political classes in response—but no one denied the truth of what he was saying.

Across Europe and America, Holy Week 2025 saw a record number of young adults coming into the Church on their own. A great many of these came into the Church because of the Latin Mass. At the time, I remember recalling Pope Francis’ words in their regard back in 2016: 

I always try to understand what is behind those individuals who are too young to have lived the pre-Conciliar liturgy, and who want it nonetheless. I have at times found myself in front of people who are too rigid, an attitude of rigidity. And I ask myself: how come so much rigidity? You dig, you dig, this rigidity always hides something: insecurity, at times perhaps something else… [sic] The rigidity is defensive. True love is not rigid.  

He had always shown himself suspicious of this new influx, which had reached a height on that Easter Vigil. I wonder what he would make of it now.

As it happened, he did not have long to think about it, dying on Easter Monday. It is tragic to have to say that while I prayed for his soul, I could not feel much sadness for his passing, other than fear for his eternity. He was, to be frightfully honest, mean-spirited in a way that I could not have imagined a pope being. May God have mercy on his soul, and upon all of us who lived under him. His constant harping and carping left behind a great many embittered people—and such bitterness is aways a danger to faith.

On May 8, the College of Cardinals elected a new pope, Leo XIV. This pontiff was not only American but Franco-American, being this writer’s 12th cousin—an honor, however, that said writer must share with at least quarters of the French-Canadians, half of Southern Louisianans, and Madonna. Nevertheless, he had shown his Franco-American skill at adaptation by Peruvianizing himself to serve in that country and by successfully acting as general of the Augustinian Order. He had been made head of the Dicastery of Bishops by Francis—but as the late pontiff was quite the micromanager, it is impossible to discern anything in the new pope’s character from that.

What is certain is that while he has made some sympathetic moves toward the Traditional Mass, several of the American bishops have attempted to restrict or ban the Traditional Latin Mass—and in some cases mere traditional practices within the Novus Ordo—in the pettiest, most puerile manner imaginable. Without wanting to play the game of pitting Summorum Pontificum legally against Traditionis Custodes, the reasoning in the former still trumps the bloviating of the latter. 

The Traditional books have never been outlawed, and so it seems that actions against them are ipso facto ultra vires—beyond the power of the prelates attempting them. Of course, for those whose memories go back literally a couple of years, the vision of prelates who hid under their beds during Covid, assuring the faithful that the Church’s outward liturgies of any kind were not necessary, it is a bit much to have them throwing their weight around now. Surely, one’s immediate reaction would be to politely suggest to such prelates that they go back to the hidey-holes they were in in say, mid 2020.

In any case, Trump’s maundering about making Canada the 51st state having helped that country’s Liberal leader, Mark Carney, become prime minister, that gentleman felt it necessary to assert Canada’s independence. He played the ultimate card in his national deck—having the country’s monarch, King Charles III, open Parliament in Ottawa on May 27. This was rather ironic, given that the Liberal Party has delighted in eroding symbols of Canada’s monarchy, with a vision to eventually becoming a republic. Thanks to their opposition and maneuvering, the queen only opened her Canadian Parliament twice—in 1957 and 1977. But faced with the southern neighbor’s seeming bellicosity, suddenly Carney remembered the major reason Canadians are not Americans—and that if ever they do become a republic, American annexation shall follow shortly thereafter.

Late June saw direct American intervention in the Near East, as President Trump ordered strikes on Iran to take out their nuclear program and forced an end to the nascent Iranian/Israeli conflict. This writer was afraid that it might have been Sarajevo II, a replay of 1914. Instead, it was more like the Tangier Incident of 1905—thankfully, a flash in the pan.

After the long hot summer, on September 10, 2025, Charlie Kirk was murdered in Orem, Utah. His assassination at the hands of a severely odd person—despite very vocal outrage on the part of his young supporters—did not result in the sort of “mostly peaceful protests” in the wake of George Floyd’s death, which saw a score of American cities go up in flames and at least 42 people dead. But it did have the effect of damaging the faith of many of his supporters in the institutions—which doubtless shall have a long-term effect of some kind. Perhaps as a by-product, Nick Fuentes had a very public feud and then made up with Tucker Carlson. All of this led to a great many pundits of the conservative variety expressing fears that Generation Z were being captured for National Socialism.  

Meanwhile, the war in Ukraine ground and grinds on, as does the conflict in the Near East. Everyone has all sorts of views and ideas, but innocents continue to die. President Trump was very sure he could end both quickly, but Ukrainian peace still eludes him, while one wonders how long the Israelis and Palestinians can play nice before falling against each other again.

In Great Britain and Western Europe, the grooming gangs, gang rapes, general murders, and crimes keep going on. The political regimes do not seem to care, instead focusing on harassing and imprisoning anti-immigration and/or anti-Trans figures. Freedom of Speech for the native born is constantly attacked on- and offline. Meanwhile, in this Christmas season, churches and Advent markets are being attacked by Muslim immigrants. The mental munchkins in charge, from Brussels to the national capitals, are seemingly oblivious to the rage that is building up. One shudders to think of what may result from this particularly stupid and preventable dynamic.

In truth, it is a pretty bleak picture. So, what are we to do as this year of 2025 comes to a close? The first is to pray very hard, especially for those in authority in Church and State. For the latter, this prayer from the Ordinariate Missal seems especially appropriate: 

We beseech thee also to lead all nations in the way of righteousness and peace; and so to direct all kings and rulers that under them thy people may be godly and quietly governed. And grant unto thy servant (N. our King) or (our President N.), and to all that are put in authority under him that they may truly and impartially administer justice to the punishment of wickedness and vice and to the maintenance of thy peace and virtue.

This latter seems especially important in the light of what the New Year may bring.

We should do our best to quiet our jitters by enjoying the Christmas season, from Christmas Eve to Candlemas—and not least on the feast of St. Sylvester I, Pope: New Year’s Eve. Let us keep, as well as ever we can either or both, attending Mass for the last day of the year—the first being a Holy Day of Obligation—and by enjoying some New Year’s revelry, at home or outside in our best clothes somewhere. Let us remember Guy Lombardo and Robert Burns both when we hear “Auld Lang Syne.” But before the stroke of midnight, let us remember to chant or say the Te Deum, in thanksgiving for the old year of 2025, and sometime after midnight the Veni Creator Spiritus, to invoke Him upon 2026.

Beyond that, if we are tempted to fear, hatred, or despair by the thought that this year has been the worst, and either our own condition or that of humanity in general is the most horrible it has ever been, let us remember that every generation thinks so. In 1869, Robert Chambers ended his monumental Book of Days with the following reflection on New Year’s Eve: 

At such a moment, painful reflections will obtrude themselves, of time misspent and opportunities neglected, of the fleeting nature of human existence and enjoyment, and that ere many more years have elapsed, our joys and sorrows, our hopes and our forebodings, will all, along with ourselves, have become things of the past. Such is the dark side of the question, but it has also its sunny side and its silver lining:

“For Hope shall brighten days to come

And Memory gild the past.”

And on such an occasion as we are contemplating, it is both more noble and more profitable to take a cheerful and reassuring view of our condition, and that of humanity in general, laying aside futile reflections on past imprudence and mismanagement, and resolving for the future to do our utmost in fulfilling our duty to God and our fellow-men.  

So it was on December 31, 1869. So it shall be on December 31, 2025. So it shall ever be, until God Himself ends the tally. Until then, as long as we have breath, let us try to do His Will, in this world and in eternity.