An Ex-Gay Man's Man (Haydn Sennitt takes the Liberty).

For a young Biblical Christian intent upon gaining the approbation of his fellow Conservatives without the nuisance of obtaining recognized qualifications in theology, medicine, or psychology, there really isn’t anything that matches the lucrative field of homosexualist straightening. Especially now that godless socialists at the FDA have stopped the sale of homeopathic influenza cures, and transplanting hair without a license can earn serious time in a place where the only fashion statement involves orange overalls and DIY tattoos.

Mind you, when it comes to being internationally recognized as a man’s man in the imaginative world of homosexualist reparation therapy (that’s the technical term experts like myself use for the process in which young men who enjoy musicals and value their privacy are forced to feign an interest in poontang) not everyone waiting at the checkout has what it takes in their basket. One only has to look at the recent Anglican Mainstream debacle (less than 30 paying participants: that wouldn’t have even raised enough to cover Lisa Nolland’s internet “research” subscriptions – never mind buying the ex-gay speakers flowers and some nice cologne) to realize it takes more than just a stained copy of Leviticus to make a mark at the big end of the queer-curing scene.

Which is why I have in the past weeks become such an admirer of a young man to whom I was introduced through a blog from the heart of Mordor - the incomparable Haydn Sennitt. Nor, might I add, am I the only one here at St. Onuphrius’ to be so enamored, both Bishop Quinine and a number of Brother Richthofen’s Friends from Seminary share my fascination – although I still can’t quite understand why they keep printing out copies of the boy’s rugged manly visage “for the purposes of personal private study”.

Consequently I have, as a generous blessing to both members of My Ministry Team and the global multitude of Sinners regularly following My Word, undertaken further research on the only Christian I’ve ever encountered who regularly uses the term “faux-brothers” when speaking of fellow believers. (Read his first paragraph here for a wonderful example - that's an insult which even I have never thought of flinging around.) And what I’ve found shows little Haydn to be an absolutely remarkable boy. Even by the comfortingly nasty standards of his vocation as an unqualified psycho-sexual “pastoral worker” with an organization audacious enough to call itself “Liberty” while specializing in burdening men (and presumably also women, although like most such “ministries” anyone without a penis who isn't a “proof I’m straight” trophy wife rarely rates a mention) with soul-crushing guilt and self-loathing.

Not that undertaking this research has been an easy. The boy’s got more internet personas and closed blogs than a middle-aged Cub Scout master - the kind who lives with his parents and claims communal showers are the most health-giving aspect of camping. Add to this a practice of routinely deleting/editing any ejaculations which subsequent to their emission cast a less than evangelically-glorious light, and nailing down the real Haydn Sennitt becomes more than simply a question of dialling a number on the parish toilet wall. Fortunately, however, it’s been beyond his power to remove the wealth of material quoted on other people’s blogs, and it’s largely through these gems that we’re blessed with a truly inspiring insight into type of person who feels called to make a career out of claiming that people whom God has created, redeemed, and loves, will suffer eternal hellfire should they dare to live as God made them.

The first such jewel comes from Haydn’s now firewalled blog http://giraffepen.blogspot.com - no: I’d also prefer not to speculate upon the significance of the moniker “Giraffe Pen”, but you can trust it’s really him alright. Sourced here, it’s a post on an expat Korean forum discussing another of our boy’s unique evangelistic efforts - be warned that he induces some strong language in those he’s thoughtfully rebuking back to righteousness.

"I'm now on my honeymoon- in Korea, on Jeju island. This has had to be one of the most bizarre stories:
a) on Saturday, March 10 2007 at 4pm, I was married to Ji Hyun Sennitt in a Sydney Anglican church, followed by a reception at a golf course. The ceremony and the reception were absolutely terrific- praise God that the day was good!;
b) we went to the Vibe hotel in Milson's Point, where we stayed for 2 nights. On the second night Ji Hyun's heart stopped when she slept with her chest uncovered in a freezing cold bedroom. She had an encounter with 'the other side' of death (I've never been more terrified in my life than that moment when I thought I was going to lose Ji Hyun). I managed to restart her heart and keep warm for the night, but scary it was."

Yes My Sinners, you did read that correctly! According to Haydn (who would never lie or exaggerate), his second-ever night of conjugal hetero bliss involved Mrs. Sennitt’s exposed mammaries chilling to the point of inducing cardiac arrest. Whereupon our hero – whose obviously done more whilst watching Baywatch than just ogling David Hasselhoff – resuscitated his freshly demised bride and then, rather than calling 911 so paramedics could race her to the nearest intensive cardiac care unit, expertly treated her alarmingly acute myocardial infarction by “keeping her warm for the night”. What a guy! Obviously it is purely due to reasons of personal modesty that Haydn no longer lets the public read his original account of breathtaking medical chivalry.

Yet that’s by no means the only fascinating window Mordor’s fresh-faced ambassador for heterofascism. The next is from May 2009, just over two years after our proof of effective reorientation saved his spouse from fatal thermo-mammarial coronary disease. This time the quotes are taken from the blog of a tragic young man convinced that by publically recounting the minutia of his sexual urges (including a daily masturbation update - TMI is most definitely not a term he understands) God will respond by exchanging an interest in men’s bits for the kind of sexuality George Rekers is probably still purporting to enjoy. The exchange is here, but given Haydn’s determination to remove anything incompatible with his persona du jour I’ve taken the precaution of preserving the screenshots below:

Many of My Beloved Sinners might not be aware that during the Korean War I served in a missionary capacity, conducting top-secret negotiations on behalf of western armament manufacturers. As a Biblical Christian and Patriot I’m proud to say that it was purely due to my faithfulness that the godless communists weren’t the only ones to make a fortune by supplying weapons to the North. During the long sleepless, prayer-filled nights of ’50-’53 I was called to gain intimate knowledge of a little Korean, much of which occurred in one of the relaxing locations to which the indirect object of Haydn’s proposition - 찜질방 - refers. Transliterated as “Jjimjilbang”, those unable to deduce the meaning via onomatopoeic contemplation will be interested to learn it refers to the public bathhouses popular in the land of Mrs. Sennitt’s birth. Not, of course, that a newly-minted hetero could share the steam with his genitally-appropriate helpmate - even if he so desired. Jjimjilbang are strictly segregated, and as Haydn is well aware, during the course of a visit only those possessed of a penis are permitted to give other such endowed bathers a refreshing suds up and scrub down.

All of which, of course, implies absolutely nothing with respect to young Mr.Sennitt and his intentions. In fact it’s quite possible that expressing a longing to visit men's steambaths is common practice among the staff of Jensenist para-church “ministries”: for all we know sharing the urge to get “man-to-man” in such contexts is an actively-encouraged aspect of Mordor church culture, and plays no part in evaluating the efficacy of an individual’s reorientation. Perhaps Dobby Ould or one of the other “anonymous” propagandists from the diocese Christianity forgot regularly visiting could enlighten us?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.



Afterword
Forgive me if now breaking character detracts from this post: it’s not something I’ve ever done before. But in the course of writing this I discovered more “ex-gay” blogs than I’d ever dreamed possible, and the depth of despair, self-loathing, guilt, shame, and desperation therein was utterly heartbreaking. And wrong. 


Very, very wrong.


Feeling sexually attracted to people of your own gender isn’t any more a sin than feeling attracted to people of a different gender. It's part of being human, part of being made of the same stuff as Jesus. Despite what some (often very dishonest) Christians claim, being gay, or lesbian, or transgendered, or anywhere in between, doesn’t mean you can’t follow Christ without pretending to be someone you’re not. Nor does God hate your sexuality, and "biblical" arguments to the contrary are exactly the same as those once used to justify obscenities like slavery, as well as idiocies like the idea women shouldn’t vote, drive cars, or operate office typewriters (yep – people really did once use the bible to justify that last one).


If you’ve somehow wandered here from the type of places that want you to believe God doesn’t love you as you are, and you find the idea of walking away from self-hatred and guilt frightening, then – please – remember you’re not alone. A lot of people have been along that path before you, and their journeys are proof that you also can find life and the light of Christ on the other side of “ex-gay” judgmental bitterness.


Anyone wanting support along the way in North America should try contacting Integrity; those in Great Britain can get in touch with the wonderful team at Changing Attitude. Or you’re always welcome to email me and I’ll do my best to confidentially find the details of someone in your region. Just please don’t ever buy into the lie that the Pharisees speak for God.
They don’t, and the love for you God revealed in Jesus proves so.
‘Fr. C.’

Learning from Scripture

The demands and pressures upon a Bible Teacher as faithful as myself truly are relentless, My Dear Sinners, and these past few weeks have found me tenderly ministering at the deathbed of one of my oldest and dearest parishioners; a man who was not merely a parishioner, but also a friend.

Since I don’t have my notes at hand I can’t recall his name, but his last words shall remain with me always. Although I’m sure you’ll naturally understand why for exegetical purposes I altered them slightly for the funeral sermon (the text upon which I preached was Luke 12:48 – “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required”), and included a moving vision of welcoming angels leading him into the Father’s presence, wherein the deceased’s last-minute (but completely voluntary) decision to name the parish as his sole beneficiary received lavish praise. Just between you and me, however, there’s no denying the plaintive simplicity of what he actually said: “If only I’d spent more time searching for free internet porn.” A regret we can be sure few conservative clergy will share when their turn comes.

And now, as promised in My Previous Homily: while preparing my traditionally dazzling Christmas Day Bible Talks, I hit upon the novel idea of actually reading the Gospel accounts of our Substitutionary Atoner’s birth. Believe me, My Beloved Sinners, there’s no denying I was horrified by what is to be found there: clearly the octopus-like tentacles of today’s liberalism stretch back further than even a relentlessly-vigilant Doctrinal Warrior like myself could have imagined. Using my inequitably perceptive exegetical skills, I guided the spirit into identifying not just one, but three shameful incidents of Christ’s birth blatantly contradicting the Blessed, Holy, and Eternal Scriptures written by St. King James.

1) Jesus’ family had no respect for Scriptural Teaching. As every Biblical Christian knows, the Bible clearly teaches that after giving birth to a boy the mother must not touch anything holy for a total of 40 days (baby girls rate 66 days, which shows somebody had issues long before Forward in Faith started getting worked up about women’s ordination). Yet Luke 2:7 shows that during Mary took Jesus and “wrapped him in swaddling clothes” – a process which unquestionably involved handling Him! Since we know nothing is - nor ever can be - holier than Our Personal Savior, we are left with but one inescapable conclusion: Jesus’ parents had no respect for God’s Word.

2) Jesus’ family engaged in inappropriate relationships. Although Deuteronomy 18:10 doesn’t specifically mention astrology (probably because Mr. Rupert Murdoch had not yet invented newspapers, and those wicked columns which never deliver on their not infrequent promise of an imminent encounter with an exciting stranger didn’t pose much of a problem for the Israelites), it does prohibit God’s People from having anything to do with any form of divination unrelated to the stock market. In a similar vein, 2 Corinthians 6:14-17 categorically forbids True Christians from socializing with unbelievers. Yet Matthew 2:1-12 reveals the parents of Our Sacrifice for Sin actually welcomed 3 magi from the east (in an obvious use of righteous conservative sarcasm the King Saint James version calls them “wise men”) into the presence of their newborn, even permitting them to lay gifts at His feet. Rather than showing these unabashed foreigners the door until they had had the very least prayed the sinner’s prayer and publically repented of their demonic star-gazing ways, Joseph and Mary even permitted them to worship the infant Christ! We can only wonder at what blasphemous and arcane prayers such worship must have entailed: two things at least are certain – there wasn’t any respect shown to the Prayer Book on that occasion, and nobody preached a challenging exegetical exposition upon a reading from Colossians. So their "worship" obviously counted as nothing in the eyes of god.

3) Jesus’ family were irresponsible. When it comes to giving birth, mangers are about as suitable a venue as bus terminals. Let’s face it: the entire process of parturition is deeply unnatural, and any responsible parent does their utmost to ensure labor is thoroughly medicalized, with every intervention possible given the level of one’s insurance. Joseph and Mary’s choice of obstetric setting shows a complete absence of respect for any of the crucial Christian features of childbirth: they had no private birthing-suite, no personal physicians, and prior to the blessed event they didn’t even send everyone in their church little DVDs of the fetal ultrasound. Obviously they either held a distinctly socialist attitude with regard to health care cover, or they were simply poor - in either case it’s hard to imagine a less suitable choice given the importance of the One with whom they were entrusted. In fact, were Our Lord incarnating today they sound just the kind of people who’d selfishly rely on Medicaid to save them from maternal/neo-natal disaster, and that’s no sort of role-model for the infant King of Kings.

The infallible Scriptures were given so that those who like myself have wisely chosen to display theologically-unblemished lifestyles and attitudes might learn from the examples therein. Which is why I’m proud to say that I’ve never given birth in a manger, nor any other edifice constructed for the purpose of housing livestock. Neither should any of you, My Beloved Sinners, if you’re serious about escaping eternal torture at the hands of a loving god. And while you’re about it I strongly recommend you avoid all of Joseph and Mary’s other mistakes. After all – just look at how much trouble their son Jesus ended up causing.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

So how was your Christmas?

Well, well, well: Christmas is finally over, and Bible-Believing Clergy like myself can at last get back to the more important work of proclaiming the Good News that everyone who disagrees with us will suffer eternal torture. At the hands of a loving god, of course.

Mind you, here at St. Onuphrius’ we have had a most enjoyable Noël. Since Bishop Quinine, like most faux-Bishops, firmly believes in Santa Claus (c’mon – that’s nothing compared to what they believe regarding their own self-importance) things are always a bit more complicated than they might be: finishing the milk and “cookies” he leaves out has in past years left at least one member of the Ministry Team hospitalized until the new year.

This time, however, I hit upon the brilliant idea of dividing the treat into small nicely wrapped packets, which we then kindly delivered to the other members of my local Minister’s Fraternal. (With the natural exception of the Baptist, on account of this hardly being an appropriate occasion to risk violating my restraining order, and the Rabbi: after I last tried teaching him about Christian generosity he responded by organizing an informative dialogue with two Mossad representatives, and waking up on Christmas morning to find myself chained to the wall of a Tel Aviv basement doesn’t quite coincide with my medium-term ministry strategy.)

As we expected, this resulted in most of our town’s Christmas morning services crossing the fine line between “liturgically unprepared” and “bedlam”. I’ve been told the United Methodist felt compelled to munch Twinkies throughout his sermon, while the woman at the UCC simply read aloud the lyrics of The Dark side of the Moon. Although, to be fair, she may well have just been following her denomination’s lectionary. Meanwhile the Methodist was convinced he’d had a personal visitation from Charles Wesley, who allegedly thinks the local District Supervisor “can’t recognize talent when it’s staring him in the face”. (Since the apparition also opined that “if ‘Shine Jesus, Shine ‘ had been around in my day I’d have taken Calvin’s line on hymnody” I’d caution My Beloved Sinners against being too hasty in dismissing the vision entirely.) While the Seventh-day Adventist made a tearful public confession to regularly enjoying a secret Friday evening snack of pork rinds.

The Pentecostal, on the other hand, was hardly affected. Except for occasionally pausing to interpret a glossolalic prophesy supposedly emanating from a potted palm on the side of the podium (“Behold the sowing of tears and the reaping of joy, sayeth the Lord, thou shalt honor My anointed and surrender the whole of thy tithe – plus a bit extra – every single Sunday”), Pastor Morebuck handled it like a pro. Which he quite possibly is, given that prior to receiving the call to ministry he was an accountant with one of the Big Four. Or maybe he just sold condominium timeshares in Florida: there’s not much difference from an ethical perspective.

All of which resulted in an exceptionally good turn-out for our own services: a great many people who would have otherwise been in Godless Christian churches outside the Anglican Tradition were instead blessed with the kind of solid Bible Teaching only ever found in the pugnacious wing of a Communion tearing itself apart over the incarnate God's right to love everyone.

Which brings us to something I intend to share with all of you more deeply in My Next Important Homily. While preparing for the day’s herculean preaching load it struck me how shockingly unBiblical the Gospel accounts of our Substitutionary Atoner’s birth actually are. Clearly the Nativity was actually intended to serve as a “How not to” example of Christian parenthood, and I’m not just referring to the Blessed Virgin’s failure to forgo parturition in favor of a medically lucrative elective c-section. No indeed; the Scriptural narratives are at this point simply riddled with transgressions of basic Biblical principles, and it’s about time they were called to answer for themselves.

Until then, however, My Generous Prayer is that you would all continue to enjoy this festive season’s aftermath. Take care to cherish friends and family, including that strange Republican uncle-by-marriage with an interest in naturism, who’s been spending an unwholesome amount of time locked alone in the bathroom. May the Lord Bless you all richly, and may none of you eat improperly refrigerated leftovers. And remember: if God had wanted us to drink and drive St. Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus would have been accompanied by a late-model SUV and a six-pack. And zebra crossings would be packed with slow-moving Scientologists.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Who said a 69er isn't dangerous?

Just minutes ago I was awoken by what is technically known to Orthodox Biblical Theologians like myself as “a great disturbance in the force”. Immediately I knew in My Spirit that a great despotic leader had passed from this world into the next. But who?

Since the phone wasn’t ringing with panic-stricken calls from little ++Valentino Mokiwa, ++Henri Orombi, or +++Nicholas Okoh , all asking who would now tell them what to say when addressing Anglicans less preoccupied with killing albinos or gays than the machete-loving faithful of their own peace-loving congregations, I knew Archbishop Jensen of Mordor hadn’t suddenly been summoned to the biggest conference of them all. And since it was too late at night to run down to the supermarket and grab the latest edition of The National Enquirer I was left with no alternative other than to consult the world’s next most reliable news source: FoxNews.

Where, to my utter horror, I learned of the tragic passing of Kim Jong Il - a delightful man whose grasp on truth has so faithfully served as a role-model for so many young Fundamentalists. (Yes David Ould, I was thinking of you as I wrote that– and while I’ve got your attention, could you please post another charming piece of racism on Viagraville? Obviously the reason your previous efforts received so few comments has to do with a temporary outbreak of tact on behalf of the happy throng frequenting the place, and I’m sure a third effort will gain some traction. Or at least earn you an honorary degree from an institution run by people with experience in standing around burning crosses dressed in pointy white robes.)

Yes indeed, 2011 truly has been a sad year for men prepared to make a stand against post-modern relativism. Muammar Gaddafi, Osama bin Laden, Hosni Mubarak (ok – so he’s not dead yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he wishes he was) – they all knew the importance of an absolutist ethical framework. Yet there’s something much spookier: something I predict will become known as the “69 club”. And no, I’m not talking about that nasty little place on the cheap side of town your local Christian Coalition of America representatives visit when they think nobody’s watching, so I want you to all pay careful attention.

Jong Il (or maybe his last name is ‘Kim’ – you can never be sure when it comes to someone who considered dogs a valid source of protein) and Gaddafi were both 69 when they received the one summons nobody can ever claim got lost in the mail - the exact same age as none other than dear old Saddam Hussein. No, unbelievers can call it coincidence, but you and I know better, My Beloved Sinners. And as for Bin Laden? Fifty-four! Which is - as anyone who wasn’t home-schooled by evangelicals can tell you – the number you get when multiplying 6 by 9!

Honestly; anyone confronted by that evidence who doesn’t at the very least feel compelled to visit some of my educational and informative advertisers simply doesn’t have ears to hear. And these are by no means the only members of this supernatural club - although I must warn you against Googling to see if you can find any more – Bishop Richthofen (who a moment ago came into the study to see what I’m doing) has just done exactly that, and you really don’t want to know what he’s now demanding we play in this Sunday’s youth service. (Don't you dare blame me if you've clicked that last link in your place of work or education - I told you Bishop Quinine liked it, so it's gonna be on your own neck if your "purity counsellor" starts asking questions about your internet log.)

No, I can sense the beginning of a wonderful new urban myth regarding evil dictators who would seek to deny people the right to be the person God made them to be. One which really shouldn’t cause the Gafcon secretary or his admirers the slightest discomfort. After all – he’s only 68.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

How dare anyone find this funny.

“The revisionists are mocking us. And rightly so.”

Matt Kennedy - Viagraville

As any of My Beloved Sinners will know, I have always been little Matt Kennedy’s most vigorous supporter. Even in his darkest hour, when rumors were circulating that attempting to redirect assets belonging to others in contravention to court orders is a crime which could unjustly land the perpetrator in prison, it was I who sought to console the boy by encouraging him to contemplate the endless ministry possibilities to be explored while sharing one’s cell with a 300lb mildly-psychotic weightlifter named “Bubba”. So let me now categorically state that I, The World’s Most Orthodox Christian Leader, Bible Teacher, and Doctrinal Warrior, am utterly APPALLED to learn of him being mocked by godless apostate unbiblical liberal revisionists.

That’s right; I’m COMPLETELY DISGUSTED!!! And I demand to know the identities of these reprobates daring to scoff at my weaker fellow Conservatives. Where do they blog? If I search long enough will I be able to find naked pictures of them on the internet? What routes do their loved ones travel when commuting? And is it still legal to anonymously send one’s opponents packets of anthrax powder through the U.S. Mail? Or has the Satanic Socialist Cabal in Washington put an end to that simple democratic constitutional right as well?

Yet – as fecund as young Matt’s prognostications concerning Layman Chucky may be – it would be remiss of me to not sound a caution in regard to the dangerous relativism of his ill considered remark “And rightly so.” There is NEVER any justification for mirth at the expense of those like little Chucky Murphy. After all, it’s not as if turning Christ’s foolish message of welcome to the poor, outcast, or socially disreputable into a more sensible package of misogyny, homophobia, and shameless pomposity is easy.

No My Sinners: it takes a lifetime of relentlessly thirsting for power (not to mention a deep insecurity about the size and proclivities of one’s you-know-what) to come up with the scenarios currently being wrought across the Anglican Communion (both the real Communion, as well as imaginary ones like those of Bobby Duncan and Chuck Murphy), and I’ll have each and every one of you know that laughing at these immeasurably important figures, or their young, gullible, and histrionic acolytes, is as unacceptable as taking joy in the wisdom and company of animals. Or smiling. Because if this sort of thing is allowed to continue you can mark my words it's only a matter of time before some small child is permitted to call out something about the emperor not having any clothes. Which is undoubtedly why Jesus was so careful to warn us against letting our theology be in any way influenced by children.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Funniest. Complaint. Ever. Times Six.

“Schism”

1

“I never accused Bishop Murphy of financial wrongdoing. I did accuse him of schism. I stand by that.”

2

“The real issue is schism. Rather than work out personal differences and misunderstandings, rather than fight it out in house, rather than struggle for unity, +Murphy et al, chose schism.”

3

“+Murphy’s actions are schismatic. The only way to deny that is to do what many want to do here…play the relativist card.”

4

“Somebody is taking themselves way to (sic) seriously—not to mention going out of his way to pick at nits.”

5

“Nor should we, if we think schism has occured (sic) in this particular case, be afraid to recognize schism as sin. I don’t think it qualifies as anything else.”

6

As the accompanying links reveal, each of the above gems is the work of the same young man. Who once solemnly vowed to serve the church from which he later tried to appropriate assets. Someone whose hitherto unknown comedic genius surpasses that of all other mortals (although I must admit his sense of irony appears to have been removed at birth)…

My Beloved Sinners – I present little Matt Kennedy of Binghamton, New York!

At which point I must leave, and beg your pardons for such brevity. My presence is required to settle a small domestic matter: it appears the kitchen pot is accusing the kettle of stealing his shtick.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Chuck Murphy has left the building.

Who’d have ever thought a few short days could make such a difference in the exciting world of Orthodox Biblical Christianity? For almost two thousand years Conservative True Christians have been as close as newly-wed Kardashians, but now, merely two weeks after I posted my important homily on little Chuck Murphy and his faux-Rwandan Anglican Mission in the Americas, it’s all turned nasty.

Indeed, you can be sure I’m not the only one reminded of that moment which always seems to occur at parties you’ve been really looking forward to attending; that point when just as things are getting lively someone goes too far and puts the host’s tropical fish in the cocktail blender. Or thinks the French guest of honor can’t possibly take offense at their hilarious Inspector Clouseau impersonation.

So… with that in mind let me stress from the outset how aware I am that My Beloved Sinners don’t come here in search of reasoned commentary on the circumstances surrounding little Chuck’s hasty departure from his land of canonical residence - they want reliable Orthodox hyperbole . Those seeking intelligence should click on over to Fr. Harris’ Preludium: my vocation when it comes to ecclesiastical reportage is a purely Murdochian one - even if I haven’t as of yet found a way of fully integrating phone-tapping, inane competitions, and semi-nudity into my regular homilies. Thus the question upon which I’d like to specifically focus is the one on everybody’s lips (albeit alongside droplets of spittle, a nasty little lump for which I strongly recommend medical attention, and the dried whitish substance which I must every Sunday morning force myself to believe is toothpaste before passing over the Common Chalice) - What’s going to become of the AMiA churches?

Of course there are really only three possible outcomes, since the fourth – that AMiA congregations realize the silliness of their “canonically Rwandan” claim and are welcomed back into TEC by mature Bishops gracious enough to never again mention what has really been nothing more than a brief spasm of deeply embarrassing immaturity – is simply too far-fetched to be even worth considering:

1) They follow Chucky as the AMiA abandons all pretence of Communion membership, and becomes an independent “continuing Anglican” church. Of which we know there aren’t nearly enough. This has the benefit of conferring a comforting “We’re the only ones in the entire universe doing church right” smugness upon adherents: just ask any member of the Exclusive Brethren why they tolerate long meetings in closed halls filled with people who shun deodorants. On the downside, however, once the last vestiges of regulatory oversight have been lifted from Chucky’s ego it’s an even-money bet these AMiA congregations will soon calling Primate Murphy “Our Beloved Leader” and raising funds to buy a large compound in Guyana. Wherein they shall stockpile Kool-Aid.

2) One of the two AMiA Bishops who not signing the hasta-la-vista-Rwaje letter, Terrell Glenn and Thad Barnum (yep- I know I’m not the first to make this gag, but with a name like “Barnum” how can I resist mentioning one gets born every minute?), is appointed by the Rwandan hierarchy as Chucky’s successor, and things continue as before, albeit under more compliant leadership. Call me pessimistic, but I don’t give this scenario much chance of playing out smoothly: it’s unlikely Chuck didn’t long ago lock down ownership of the AMiA so tightly as to exclude the slightest possibility of anyone ever doing to him what he did to the Church to which he once vowed loyalty. Which will leave AMiA congregations torn between once more changing their name and identity (do you think it’s worth my registering “New Anglican Mission in the Americas” so as to profitably on-sell to the Rt. Rev. Barnum?), not to mention facing associated legal challenges concerning any property they may have acquired, or saving money on signage and continuing to dance to whatever tune Chucky orders put on the jukebox. With their dimes, of course (see scenario #1).

3) Tiring of the whole Rwandan charade, AMiA churches drop the game and hitch their wagons to the ACNA train. This is, as you’d expect, the scenario that’s been waking little Bobby Duncan up in the middle of the night with sticky pyjamas, and there’s undoubtedly more than a few players on the AMiA’s middle tiers who see it as the fast-track to a purple shirt of their own. Yet simply changing the flavor of one’s schism doesn’t make the bad taste go away. Or, in this case, the legal obligations touched upon in option #2. Although wasting money on actions against fellow conspirators would make a nice change from giving it to lawyers fighting one’s opponents.

So you see, My Beloved Sinners, that whichever way things plays out it’s going to be messy. My recommendation is anyone even remotely connected starts stocking up on latex gloves and disinfectant now. Meanwhile the best thing we can all do is sit back and enjoy a little music: for reasons entirely comprehendible to anyone who’s met him little Chuck has always reminded me of my favorite aspects of Elvis – a comparison I’m certain he finds quite flattering. Although I very much doubt Chuck Murphy thinks the next stage of career will involve manning the counter of a 7-11. Even so, whatever happens there’s a prescience about the title of this little number – watch for the uncanny resemblance to Chucky’s own interpersonal skills at 3:0-4:00:



And finally, a rare correction. I began my previous homily by explaining that schism is like eating potato chips: a more accurate analogy would be to have said it’s like eating peanuts. In a crowd of anaphylactics.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.



*** STOP PRESS ***

Judging by a release sent to Viagraville (where else?) just hours after my posting this homily, it appears Messrs. Barnum & Glenn (do you think if I asked him politely enough Layman Terrell would consider changing his last name to "Bailey"?) have chosen scenario #2, and dragged their old name (and website) of "Apostles Mission Network" out of mothballs.

Which proves our Chucky truly has locked up the name (and thus, we can also presume, the assets) of the AMiA tighter than the records of a Jensen family company. That the legals of this circus are already delightfully convoluted is evidenced by this absolute gem located about halfway down Barnum's epistle: "The Apostles Mission Network does not seek to proselytize others but only offers support and structure for those who desire to remain resident in Rwanda and to collaborate together toward fulfillment of our mission... "

And how much did the lawyer charge for advising nobody gets caught openly urging AMiA congregations to call in a signwriter and change the letterheads? Whatever the sum, you'd better believe they're currently wearing the kind of smile only ever found on a mouthpiece with a new file that they know is going to get worked on a daily basis for years to come...