The Young Pope’s Sermon on East Van Newbies
Standing at the steps of a graffiti-covered cathedral in the heart of East Vancouver, the Young Pope raises his hands to address the crowd. A mix of old locals and fresh arrivals stand before him, some skeptical, some hopeful. The scent of incense mixes with the distant aroma of street food and the sharp bite of cold rain on pavement.
“Brothers and sisters of East Van, let’s talk about the newcomers—the East Van Newbies.” His voice carries over the hum of the restless city. “Some of you grumble. Some of you worry. But hear me out.”
He adjusts his mitre, a custom piece with the East Van cross embroidered in gold. “We need them. Not just for the culture, not just for the food, but for something far holier—our Ponzi scheme pensions!”
The crowd murmurs. A few smirk. The old-timers nod knowingly.
“You see, my children, the system only works if the next generation buys in. Somebody has to keep the wheel turning, keep the economy rising, keep the dream alive. And who does that? The immigrants! The workers! The ones who come here looking for a chance!”
He points to a young family huddled near the church doors. “Look at them. They’re not the problem—they’re the solution. The ones who will keep this city moving while the rest of you complain about rent and craft beer prices.”
The Young Pope spreads his arms wide. “So don’t despise the immigrants! Welcome them! Bless them! Because without them, this whole thing collapses. And then what? You think the government’s got your back? Ha! Think again.”
A beat of silence. Then, a slow clap. Someone in the back yells, “Preach, Pope!”
He nods, satisfied. “Now, let’s all go get some bánh mì and poutine. My treat.”