Repentant-Not-Repentant Republicans, and The Atlantic

Not typically the kind of thing I’d be inclined to share, but I will do so, with my comment from earlier, in reference to this piece in The Atlantic, by Eliot Cohen:
“I wonder if this is partly why I keep seeing people like David Frum circulating in what I will call the resistive discourse: someone who himself bears some responsibility for getting us here, now trying to salvage his place in history. I suppose I should consider reluctantly giving him a seat at the table of common sense, but I just can’t stop being angry at him–and people like Cohen frankly–who helped pave the way for this situation today, and it’s partly why I just can’t get on board with all these Frum pieces and appearances.”
As an aside, can we agree that The Atlantic has become the official home for repentant-non-repetentant Republicans who are beginning to see the light?
I’m not sure they should be given an out. The Train of Justice left the station a long time ago, and they’re scrambling after the caboose. But those of a more measured temperament will surely admonish me for not accommodating our new fellow travelers, however faux-repentant they may be.
Full disclosure vis-a-vis The Atlantic: my war refugee mother, who came to this country by herself at the age of 17, alone, via Ellis Island, speaking or writing no English (it became her third language), with no friends or family to welcome her, and who was quarantined as well for having had Measles at one time, eventually came to publish one of her first short stories of fiction in The Atlantic in the early 60s. It was about a young girl growing up in a Czech village, having to take one of her family’s pigs to market, an animal to which she had grown attached.
The story was a modest success, and was translated in to a few different languages, and published in a few anthologies, and eventually led to her receiving an advance offer from Knopf for her first novel.

Paul Ryan, Catholic

Yesterday, I was thinking about Paul Ryan, and his positioning as a thoughtful man of conscience, integrity, and, as a Catholic.
Reza Aslan effectively, succinctly points to the brazen hypocrisy of Ryan’s stance over the last year. We all know about that.
What I can’t fathom is how a man of such apparently sincere Catholic faith can be so anti-human in his actual deeds as third most powerful man in America.
It is especially heart-rending given the explicit dictates of Pope Francis himself, and many other members of the Catholic clergy. This video may help understand that:
I wonder how Paul Ryan faces his priest every Sunday. How does he reconcile himself with his church and God every week?
His soul must retch every waking moment of his life.
I have good friends who are devout Catholics. For reasons I won’t bore you with here, I have a bit-more-than-average understanding of the Church and its many related institutions for a layperson.
I do not understand how someone like Mr. Ryan can function as a professed Catholic.
So what I began to wonder about yesterday was this:
Is there some sort of possibility within the church, across all the countless parishes across this country, to appeal to your priests, laity, staff, and anyone else with a working position in the church to organize a movement to pressure and/or censure Mr. Ryan for his fundamentally anti-Catholic position?
Is this possible?
Is it possible to focus such efforts sufficiently such that his own priest might take him aside, and admonish him, guide him, re-direct him somewhat closer to the will of the church itself?
Because right now, Paul Ryan is not acting as a Catholic.
He is, in so many ways, an apostate. An infidel.
And the church should gather him up and save him, and thus, perhaps, create a man at the helm of his party who may actually begin to return to living his stated positions when this president was a candidate.
Or is Paul Ryan simply the demon I always believed him to be?
History, and his god, will ultimately be the judge. But right now, there are people who need help, and the Church is about help, not hindrance.
Catholics: I’m calling on you to talk to your leadership and clergy. Fix your brother Ryan.