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Justin B Catholic

Title: Christus Rex and the Pop Star’s Choice

Scene: A quiet candlelit chapel. Stained glass glows in the background. Christus Rex—Christ the King—radiates regal humility, wearing a crown of thorns and golden armor. Justin Bieber, dressed in streetwear and a heavy heart, kneels at the altar. The air is thick with incense and decision.

Christus Rex:
Justin, child of the North, I’ve watched you dance with fame and flirt with ruin.
You’ve been on more covers than saints in cathedrals.
But now, I ask: who do you say that I am?

Justin Bieber (softly):
You’re the King… the real one.
But I don’t know where I fit in Your kingdom anymore.
There’s so much noise out there.
Private jets, praise bands, $300,000 Rolexes on preachers’ wrists.
And I’m lost between the beats.

Christus Rex (firmly, lovingly):
That’s not My Church.
That’s Caesar’s temple, not mine.
I never wore gold on Earth—I carried a cross.
Not a Rolex, but the weight of mankind.

If you want to walk with Me,
Don’t follow the mega-stage lights;
Follow the flicker of candles in the silence.
Kneel in confession, not in adoration of celebrity.

Justin:
You’re telling me to go… Catholic?

Christus Rex:
Go home.
To the Church that still remembers My Body is real.
Where the Eucharist is not a metaphor, but Me.
Where saints walk with you, and Mary guards you like your own mother.

And Justin—if your heart longs to serve…
Not for clicks, not for likes,
But in armor forged in faith,
Then take the next step.

Become a Knight.

Justin:
A Knight of Columbus?

Christus Rex (smiling):
Yes.
Not for pageantry—but for protection.
Of the widow, the orphan, the unborn, and the poor.
You’ve guarded your fame long enough.
Now guard My people.

Justin (tearfully):
But I’ve messed up so much…

Christus Rex (extending His hand):
So did Peter.
So did Paul.
I don’t call the perfect—I perfect the called.

Come, Bieber.
Sing a new song.
Let the world hear that.

The chapel bells toll. Outside, a soft snowfall begins as Justin rises with a peace unknown to pop charts. Christus Rex vanishes, but a glint of gold remains—not on a wrist, but in the monstrance on the altar.

🕊️

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© Kama
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Croatian Paparazzi Laws

Scene: A Sunset Café in Zagreb, Croatia — Summer Evening

Joe Jukic sits across from Justin Bieber, sipping a strong espresso while the Croatian sun melts behind the red-tiled roofs. A crowd of curious locals lingers at a respectful distance. No phones out. No flashes. Just eyes. Joe smiles, soaking in the respect.

Joe Jukic (leaning in):
“Listen, Biebs. Back home in Canada, you’re a zero now. Same as me. But here in Croatia? I’m the ONE.”

Justin raises an eyebrow, half amused, half offended.

Justin Bieber:
“You’re really saying that?”

Joe Jukic (nods, dead serious):
“Yeah, and it’s not about fame or streams. It’s about peace. Dignity. Respect. Out here, the people know what matters.”

Justin (defensive):
“Man, I can’t even step out of a car without someone snapping pics. I just want to live.”

Joe (firm, visionary):
“Exactly. And that’s why when I’m in Croatia, I’m drafting new paparazzi laws. You want to photograph someone? You ask permission. Otherwise—fine, lawsuit, banned. No exceptions.”

Justin:
“You’re serious?”

Joe (growing solemn):
“Diana died because of that madness. Flashbulbs in a tunnel. Driver under pressure. Whole world chasing her like a deer in headlights. That can’t happen again. Not here.”

Joe pauses, watching the distant church bells begin to ring.

Joe:
“In Croatia, we’ve had enough chasing. We chase dreams now, not people. You want a future where your wife, your kids, your peace aren’t hunted—come here. Help me pass the laws. Make this the safe zone for celebrities who’ve had enough.”

Justin (quietly):
“…You might be onto something.”

Joe (smiling):
“I’m not onto something. I am something. And in Croatia, that means something again.”

The two clink tiny coffee cups, while a respectful hush falls over the crowd. For once, the cameras stay off.

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Croatian Bieber

Christus Rex and the Sanctuary of Croatia: Justin Bieber’s New Home

Justin Bieber sat in silence on his private jet, staring out at the endless blue of the Adriatic Sea below. He had spent years searching for peace, but every time he thought he found it, the world dragged him back into the chaos—fame, contracts, pressure, and the ever-present shadow of the industry’s darkest vices.

His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.

“Come to Croatia. Here, no one will hurt you. No one will force drugs on you. Here, you are free.”

The message was signed: Christus Rex.

At first, he thought it was some kind of joke. A fan, a prank, a cryptic message meant to stir up his paranoia. But then, the official invitation arrived from the Croatian government itself. They offered him honorary citizenship—a chance to escape the world that had nearly destroyed him.

A Kingdom of Peace

When Justin arrived in Croatia, he was welcomed not as a celebrity but as a human being. The people did not swarm him for autographs or scream his name in hysteria. They greeted him with quiet respect. Fishermen in small coastal villages nodded in approval. Elderly grandmothers blessed him. Children smiled without expectation.

Christus Rex had arranged everything. A private villa on the Dalmatian coast, where the scent of saltwater mixed with lavender from the hills. No paparazzi, no cameras, no one lurking in the shadows to trap him.

“You are among friends now,” Christus Rex told him, standing on the steps of a centuries-old monastery. “Your soul is yours again.”

Justin, for the first time in years, felt tears well up.

Breaking the Chains of the Industry

The world reacted with shock. The entertainment moguls who profited from Justin’s suffering were enraged. They sent lawyers, agents, and “concerned” industry figures to try to lure him back. They called it a “career intervention,” claiming that he would be “forgotten” if he stayed in Croatia.

But Justin had already seen through the lie.

“I’d rather be forgotten in peace than remembered in pain,” he told them.

The industry panicked. Without their control over Justin, they feared other artists would follow. Croatia began to be whispered about in Hollywood as a “sanctuary for the exploited,” a place where stars could break free from the contracts that bound them.

Christus Rex smiled. This was only the beginning.