St. Anthony's Tongue

Purgatory is not punishment. It’s purification. In this episode, we explore the mystical heart of the Church’s teaching on purgatory through the lens of love, unveiling, and divine transformation. Drawing on the Catechism, the early Fathers, and the voices of the mystics: St. Catherine of Genoa, St. John of the Cross, St. Thérèse of Lisieux, Julian of Norwich, and others—this reflection looks beyond fire and fear to reveal purgatory as the soul’s unveiling before God.We’ll uncover what the Catholic Church actually teaches about purgatory, what belongs to private revelation and opinion, and how the saints understood purification as the fire of divine love rather than punishment. Through this lens, purgatory becomes the final movement of theosis, the soul’s slow adaptation to eternal light—the moment the veil begins to fall.

Why do we fear those who drink blood when our own faith commands us to do the same? In this final chapter of A Catholic’s Guide to Monsters, we turn our attention to the vampire: not merely a monster, but a mirror of our deepest spiritual longings.Join us as we trace the vampire’s roots from the blood-drinking spirits of antiquity (the Mesopotamian ekimmu, Greek lamia, Roman strigae) to the medieval saints of the The Golden Legend whose dead rose to confess rather than devour.Then we follow the chilling case of Arnold Paole (1722 Serbia), a village, an exhumation, and a corpse that would not lie still — and how this horror led the Benedictine scholar Dom Augustin Calmet to ask: what happens when truth becomes terror?

What happens when holiness meets horror?In this special Halloween episode, we draw horror villains from a pumpkin bowl, Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers, Leatherface, even Pennywise, and match them with Catholic saints who could spiritually defeat them.It’s part theology, part comedy, and completely Catholic horror fun.Discover how St. Thérèse disarms rage with humility, why St. Francis might call Leatherface “brother,” and what the Eucharist says to a vampire’s hunger.If you love saints, spooky season, and a little mysticism, this one’s for you.

This Sunday’s Gospel isn’t just about miracles, rather, it’s about union. Nine walked away cleansed, but one turned back, fell to the ground, and met God.That’s the difference between healing and salvation, between proximity and intimacy.Gratitude isn’t manners — it’s mysticism.To thank Him is to recognize Him. To return is to love Him.And maybe the real miracle isn’t the skin made clean, but the soul that finally sees who touched it.In this week’s Mass Prep for the Mystic Heart, we walk the road between Galilee and Samaria, where grace still passes quietly by, waiting for one soul to turn back.

What does the Catholic Church have to do with werewolves?In this eerie episode, we explore the forgotten Catholic werewolf legends — from the cursed monks of Ossory and Gerald of Wales’ Eucharistic wolves, to St. Francis of Assisi and the Wolf of Gubbio, and even St. Christopher the dog-headed saint.These haunting tales aren’t about silver bullets — they’re about mercy. They show how the Church saw wolves not only as monsters, but as symbols of sin, hunger, and exile… and how grace dares to feed the beast.We’ll talk about:The Irish werewolves who received Communion in the woodsHow St. Francis tamed a killer wolf through compassionThe dog-headed St. Christopher, sanctified rather than destroyedJohn 10 and Matthew 7, wolves in Scripture, and the theology of demonic hungerWhy the Eucharist is the true cure for the curseSink your teeth into this one — folklore meets theology, and the result is strangely beautiful.

This Sunday’s Gospel (Luke 17:5–10) is not about more faith — it’s about less self. The apostles beg Jesus: “Increase our faith.” But He points to a mustard seed. Small. Hidden. Explosive.In this Mass Prep for the Mystic Heart, we dive into:-Why the Bride of Christ always begins with ache and longing.-The mystics’ path of littleness and nada — St. Thérèse, John of the Cross, Teresa of Ávila.-What Jesus means when He calls us “unprofitable servants” — love doesn’t send invoices.-St. Francis of Assisi as the fool who emptied himself until only Christ remained.-The reversal: the Master who stoops to serve His servants, the Bridegroom who kneels before the Bride.This is mustard seed mysticism: God doesn’t need your performance, your devotions tallied up like receipts. He wants your presence. He wants your emptiness. He wants the tiny seed of faith that, surrendered, can move mountains.Prepare your heart for Sunday’s Mass with this reflection on faith, littleness, and the love that stoops.

👻 Yes… Catholics believe in ghosts.For over 2,000 years, the Church has spoken of things visible and invisible. In this long-form episode, we dive deep into what the Catholic tradition really teaches about ghosts, hauntings, and the paranormal.From St. Thomas Aquinas on souls visiting the living, to saints encountering spirits in purgatory, to gothic stories of hauntings, relics, and the economy of grace — this episode unpacks the mystery of what walks among us.We’ll explore:Do Catholics really believe in ghosts?The difference between heavenly apparitions, purgatorial souls, and the damned.Saints who saw spirits — Padre Pio, St. Gregory, and others.Why holy places feel different (the “relics of prayer”).What the Church says about hauntings, demons, and residual energy.How all this ties back to Christ, the Bridegroom, and the communion of saints.If you’ve ever wondered how Catholicism understands the paranormal, or why ghost stories have haunted the faithful for centuries, this is your guide.Peace be with you — and with your spirit.

Francis of Assisi is often remembered as a gentle lover of animals or a simple garden statue with birds perched on his shoulders. But the real Francis was far more radical. He was a mystic whose entire life mirrored Jesus Christ. His spirituality was not just about prayer or visions but about recognizing God in creation, in poverty, in the Eucharist, and in people.In this video, I explore the radical mysticism of St. Francis of Assisi: his union with Christ crucified, his vision of creation as cosmic praise, his embrace of Lady Poverty, his burning devotion to the Eucharist, and his recognition of Christ in the poor and the leper. This is not the birdbath Francis of popular imagination — this is Francis the mystic, Francis the mirror of Christ.To go deeper, I have created a nine-day novena and prayer guide leading up to the Feast of St. Francis on October 4th. You can purchase the PDF guide on its own, or join me on Patreon to receive the guide along with daily video reflections as we pray the novena together, plus additional Franciscan content leading into his feast day.PDF Guide: https://www.stanthonystongue.com/products/p/pdf-st-francis-of-assisi-novena-prayer-guidePatreon: http://www.patreon.com/anthonystongue

When tragedy strikes, the devil’s greatest victory isn’t the bullet or the blood—it’s when Christians start to look more like demons than disciples.In the aftermath of the Catholic school shooting and the murder of Charlie Kirk, the world has been flooded with rage, venom, and dehumanization. Some celebrated death. Others called for vengeance. Both responses mirror the serpent, not the Savior.This video offers a Catholic response to tragedy, rage, and division. How do we resist the Enemy’s oldest trick—dehumanization? How do we avoid becoming demonized ourselves, even in righteous anger? And how can we choose the way of the Cross, the way of the Bridegroom, when everything in us wants to hate?

Fear-based talk about demons and spiritual warfare often leads to scrupulosity, anxiety, or even despair. But the mystics of the Catholiv Church saw warfare differently. In the Song of Songs, the Bridegroom warns: “Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the vineyards, for our vineyards are in blossom.”In this video, I explore how the foxes reveal the reality of spiritual warfare — not as Hollywood spectacle, but as the subtle work of sin, distraction, and even demons that creep into the vineyard of the soul. And how, through Christ the Gardener, we learn to guard intimacy rather than fight in fear.