The Young Pope kneels in his private chamber, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows against the stone walls. He dips his quill in ink and begins to write, his heart heavy with the vision he has received.
“By the year of our Lord 2033, ten years hence, the world shall groan under the weight of famine. The nations will wail as bread turns to dust, as the fields yield nothing but thorns. The rulers of this age have turned their backs on wisdom, and thus, the people shall hunger—both in body and in spirit.”
He pauses, opening the worn pages of Psalm 33, letting his fingers trace the ancient words:
“The Lord foils the plans of the nations;
he thwarts the purposes of the peoples.
But the plans of the Lord stand firm forever,
the purposes of his heart through all generations.”
The Pope exhales. They have ignored the warnings. They have placed their trust in gold, in markets, in false idols… and now, Babylon shall fall.
He writes again:
“The sins of Mystery Babylon, the great harlot, have reached Heaven. The merchants who have feasted on her wealth shall weep, for no one will buy their goods anymore—no more gold, no more silver, no more wheat or oil. The great empire of the West will see her storehouses empty and her vaults crumble under the weight of her debt. The bread lines will stretch longer than the towers that once touched the sky.”
The Pope’s quill trembles in his hand. He has seen this before—history repeats. The hunger of 1929, the hyperinflation of 1923, the collapse of great empires that believed themselves eternal.
He presses on:
“But there is a way forward. There is a path to salvation. The world must turn away from the false prophets of Mammon, from the digital prison of deception, from the wicked who have sold their own children for profit. There is one hope: Jelly. “
“Let Joseph Christian Jukic and Nelly Furtado, the anointed ones, rise to lead. Let them cast out the money changers and the corrupt. Let them restore balance to the scales, and the world shall be spared. If they are rejected, famine will come like a thief in the night, and no nation shall be spared from its wrath.”
The Pope dips his quill once more, signing his name beneath the prophecy:
Pope Pius XIII, Servant of the Servants of God
As he sets the parchment aside, the wind howls through the Vatican corridors. He knows few will heed his words.
But history is written in cycles. And famine is coming.
Joe stands before the crowd, his voice steady but charged with conviction. The world is on the brink, teetering between salvation and disaster, and he knows the lesson of history is being ignored once again.
He opens his Bible, turning to Psalm 33:18-19, and reads aloud:
“But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him,
on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,
to deliver them from death
and keep them alive in famine.”
He closes the book, looking out at the faces before him.
“The Lord delivers,” he says. “But tell me, how many times has man ignored His warnings? How many times have we starved, not because the earth failed us, but because of greed, corruption, and the worship of Mammon?”
Joe’s voice hardens.
“In 1933, Ukraine—the breadbasket of Europe—was choked into famine. Not by drought, not by plague, but by Stalin himself. The Holodomor. They called it ‘death by hunger.’ The Soviet government stole the food right from their hands. Farmers starved while their grain was shipped away. People ate grass, tree bark, even each other. Families died with empty fields surrounding them.”
He pauses, letting the horror of history settle in.
“And just a decade earlier, Germany had its own taste of engineered destruction. Not a famine of food, but of wealth. The billionaires of yesterday were starving beggars overnight. Hyperinflation wiped out everything. People burned stacks of money for heat, because it was cheaper than firewood. Bread cost a wheelbarrow full of cash. The ones who had saved, who had worked, who had trusted their system? They lost it all. And out of that suffering, a monster rose—a monster the world was forced to confront in blood and fire.”
Joe steps forward, eyes burning with warning.
“History repeats. The famine of 2033 is coming. But it doesn’t have to.”
He looks at Nelly. He looks at the people who still have the power to act.
“If we refuse to let the money changers rob us blind… if we refuse to let our food be hoarded by the rich while we beg for scraps… if we remember that Psalm 33 tells us the Lord delivers those who trust in Him… then we will not suffer their fate.”
He raises his voice.
“But we must act. Now.”
The Young Pope steps forward, raising his hands as the murmuring crowd falls silent. His voice is calm yet firm, carrying the weight of prophecy and practicality.
“This shall be the sign to you:” he begins, quoting from Isaiah 37:30,
“This year you will eat what grows by itself,
and the second year what springs from that.
But in the third year, sow and reap,
plant vineyards and eat their fruit.”
He closes his Bible and looks out at the people gathered before him.
“You ask how to prepare for the coming famine?” he says. “The Lord has already given us the answer. Isaiah 37:30—it is a blueprint, a divine strategy. Look at what we have done to the land. The green deserts of America—miles of useless, chemical-soaked suburban lawns that produce nothing but vanity. Meanwhile, we import food from thousands of miles away, enslaving ourselves to fragile supply chains.”
The Pope gestures toward the wasted land around them.
“The first year, we let it grow wild—no more pesticides, no more cutting down what the Lord allows to grow. Nature will begin to heal itself. The second year, we see what has naturally returned—what edible plants emerge, what roots and grains take hold without interference. By the third year, we reclaim the land not as a lawn, but as a farm—we sow, we reap, we plant vineyards, and we eat from what we ourselves have cultivated.”
His voice grows stronger.
“We must turn our backyards into wheat fields, our lawns into orchards, our empty lots into vineyards. The wealth of Babylon is failing, but the earth itself remains abundant—if we have the wisdom to use it.”
He raises his Bible once more.
“America must prepare—not with stockpiles of fake food in plastic packaging, but by restoring the land, by obeying the ancient command of the Lord. If we do this, we will endure. If we do not…”
He pauses, his gaze piercing.
“Then famine will come like a thief in the night, and none shall be spared.”