We're Back!

HALLELUJAH!! The spawn of perdition with whom St. Onuphrius’ is contracted for our internet services have finally succumbed to the power of our prayers, and reconnected us. This means we are no longer dependant on the Methodist’s wireless connection, and Evangelical Eric can come back down from the ladder upon which he has been monitoring them to see when we can obtain access.

Unfortunately after all this time the foolish lad has grown rather attached to his ladder, and is at present refusing to leave it. For the past few weeks we’ve been sending his food up there in a pail, which he then keeps after his meals and uses for any necessary ablutions before lowering it again, and once Brother Richthofen showed him how to tie himself to the rungs so he wouldn’t fall off in his sleep, he appeared to grow quite fond of the whole arrangement.

Bishop Quinine has suggested we leave him up there, but transfer the ladder, Curate and all, to the Rectory front lawn, where he can become the spearhead for a Stylite revival. He reasons that since the Anglican Communion has effectively revived Donatism, while J. I. Packer and his Canadian Nigerian friends are bringing little Peter Jensen’s Gnosticism to North American aundience, St. Onuphrius’ should identify ourselves with the Stylites quickly, before all the good early church heresies are taken.

He has a point, although I’m not too sure if Evangelical Eric has it in him to make it through the winter. Perhaps we may have to just bring him in on really cold nights, or perhaps we could rent him to a parish down south for the duration. There’s sure to be somewhere eager to share in the blessings to be had from a bit of as yet unexploited patristic insanity.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

The Communion's Greatest Threat Ever!

My Dearly Beloved Sinners in Christ: today finds me positively livid with rage. As I’ve been warning people for years, the Church of England has fallen down the slippery slope which began with giving women the sacraments and allowing foreigners to read the Bible unsupervised. As a result a line in the sand is about to be crossed which will irrevocably damage very fabric of Our Communion, causing us to repeat all the comforting old clichés in self-righteousness.

The circumstances to which I refer are, of course, the outrageous British proposal to permit the Monarch to be a Roman Catholic. This will, of course result in the ultimate Anglican authority being someone who is not even an Anglican!!!

Where, I ask, will this madness end? Such blatant disregard for the plain teachings of Scripture could easily see the Archbishop of Canterbury being appointed by a Hindu or Scientologist – or worse still, someone who is not even Christian, such as a Baptist or Methodist. My dear weaker brothers and sisters, I implore you to join me in fighting to save Christ’s Church from this terrible darkness. Apostate liberals must be made to realize that we will not surrender the faith entrusted to us without a fight – or at least attempting to seize some of the more valuable real estate.

Whilst I agree that the prospect of a Muslim head is not as terrible a threat to the British church as the installation of a homosexual bishop in New Hampshire, which occurred a mere three and a half thousand miles away, the risk is nonetheless too real to ignore. Consequently I’ve contacted Reform (a British group who seem to be sort of like Mormons without the golden tablets or secret underwear) in order to establish a spearhead against this abomination. From the moment I saw their open-neck shirts and fixed smiles it was clear they’re the right men to head the campaign - under my supervision, of course. Now if only I can distract them from their usual obsession with anonymously sending dog droppings to Forward in Faith.

I’m Father Christiana and I teach the Bible.

Anointings and Blessings - An Anglican Overview

Tom, one of my wise young Facebook friends, recently suggested I teach upon the subject of the various “Holiness Anointings”. After all the recent fossicking around little Peter Jensen’s domain at the bottom of the world I’ve begun feeling like some sort Anglican proctologist, so given the current attention being paid to some of these “Third Wave Blessings” this seems an excellent time for us to shift our focus onto a different spiritual orifice.

Currently the best known of these movements is, of course the Holy Laughter Anointing, of which Sarah Palin is the best known practitioner, but there’s actually a whole raft of these wonderful ways of separating the theologically gullible from their money. Readers may well remember the Toronto Blessing, but sadly few within the Anglican Communion are aware of the fine example of spurious leadership established by the Golden Sword Prophesy. This marvellous tool for manipulating one’s congregation is also often referred to as the “Warrior Anointing”, and causes the recipient to begin swinging their clasped hands violently around in the air, as if they are wielding a two-edged sword, or perhaps in the mosh pit at a Limp Bizkit show. An eminently practical gift, it’s precisely what the Christians need if we’re ever going to do something in Jesus’ name about global suffering, infant mortality, or human rights.

Then again, there's also the Deborah Anointing, although whether this actually exists or was just made up by some Republican willing to say anything in order to get his fellow wingnuts to vote for McCain is debatable. Personally I suspect the latter, as it distinctly reminds of
the Bathsheba Anointing I once invented to liven up a boring party. Mind you, that worked, so one can hardly blame him for trying. And let none who ever frequented the much lamented Father Jake's forget the most satisfying Breaker Anointing

Yet while these are all primarily Pentecostal or Baptist phenomena, there also exists a multitude of distinctly Anglican equivalents. Best known of these is the Duncan Anointing, causing delusions of grandeur accompanied by the instantaneous sprouting of spectacular clumps of hair above the eyes. Lesser known, but much sought after by the young ladies of Consuella’s Latina Pole-Dancers Fellowship, as well as by the finely muscled lads attending seminary with Brother Richthofen, is the contrasting Venables Blessing, which causes body hair to disappear, leaving a sultry silky smoothness otherwise only attainable by hours of painful depilation. One must, however, be extremely careful in seeking this latter anointing; too much and a person – or even their entire diocese – can vanish forever.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

There goes Peter Jensen-tail, hopping down the money trail..

Since calling everyone's attention to the danger that asking questions about little Peter Jensen's secretive funding of GAFCON poses to a number of worthy Primate's bankrolls and frequent-flyers accounts my email has been positively running over.

However as our internet access still depends upon us tapping into the Methodist's wireless account, it’s taking me longer than I would like to reply to everyone. I must ask everyone to be patient, and please be assured that I am indeed finding all the correspondence most interesting.

So far most letters fall into one of three categories: those from disgruntled members of little Pete’s flock, who dare to resent his right to spend their money on stirring up trouble in everyone else’s dioceses, especially given that his own is beginning to experience all sorts of problems which local worshippers are not allowed to discuss; those from people who’ve been busily following the GAFCON money trail for themselves, in the course of which they seem to be finding all manner of fascinating things hiding under rocks; and those from Jensen family members and their bond-servants, who in their folly appear solely concerned with questioning my spiritual parentage and motives.

It’s this last group that I find the most entertaining. All offering variations of the same deluded theme involving my wickedness and utter separation from Grace, they all have one other thing in common - Not one of them mentions the money!

This cone of silence extends to the Sydney Anglican web site. Despite having a forum in which Australian newspapers are routinely criticized for their anti-Christian bias, this particular article might just as well not exist. Not a peep. Which is indeed most impressive – not even I can keep my entire flock from bleating out of turn occasionally.

There has been one small slip, however. The day after I drew everyone’s attention to this grave threat to Global Anglican mischief-making the Sydney Anglican media officer issued a glowing piece in support of ex-Bishop Bobby Duncan, which just happened to mention in the very last paragraph that “the Sydney standing committee commended Archbishop Jensen for his work with GAFCON saying it strongly supports his involvement and encourages his efforts as honourary secretary of the Primates council.”

Honorary secretary??!!! Can’t you just see him curled up across Big Pete Akinola’s knee taking dictation? While sitting in an office that the Anglicans of Sydney have paid for!!! I’ll say one thing for little Pete’s serfs; they may be more secretive than North Korea, and financially wackier than Lehman Brothers, but they sure do know how to make us all laugh!

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

The Brewer's Discover Priorities

Sadly it's no wonder the Brewer's are having problems: a comment one of them (or perhaps a "friend" - although that's unlikely since there's good reason to believe they don't have any) left on a homily of mine from the first week of August suggests they're really not keeping up with things.

The "Anonymous" comment was as follows:

Pretty hypocritical remarks. Why don't you care about the fact that every-time you fill up with gas in the UK, you have to walk by soft porn.

Why don't you care about this indecency? I suppose that it is easier to attack someone attempting to good, rather than attempting to do some good yourself.

Critics are always right. You don't ever have to do anything yourself to be a critic. Just criticize others.

First let me say that I was unaware selling gas had somehow been incorporated into Christian ministry. Clearly it's not just questionable Texan lawyers who are leading the way when it comes to innovativly merging Gospel ministry with peddling anything that turns a buck.

This said, I must stress my offence at the suggestion that I am uncaring with regard to this indecency. On the contrary, I am both shocked and appalled. My local gas stations offer nothing more than a variety of petroleum-based fuels, junk food and candy, and cigarettes - all products everyone must agree have never harmed anyone, and all perfectly suitable for children. That the British have a further option of magazines featuring unclad men and women is outrageous! If they want to purchase this sort of thing they should visit the Third Space Bookshop and get it from a "Christian" source.

Finally, your comments about critics are well founded and accurate. Only those who've undertaken real work - such as attempting to mislead a Houston court, or asset=stripping an important community resource - understand what doing good is really about. Besides: if all those people complaining about not being paid were honestly doing it rough they would be selling their private light aircraft, just like poor Phil Brewer is. Next thing people will be suggesting employees have some sort of right to be be paid for their work.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Support for the Righteous Bishop of Pittsburgh

Evangelical Eric has just informed me that the Methodists are packing in preparation for some sort of retreat, so I'm concerned St. Onuphrius' might again be without internet access for a few days until the forsaken Amalekites running our internet service provider finally choose to provide us with an internet service.

Consequently I'd like to make a quick announcement of http://support-clumber.blogspot.com/ - an important site on which Bible-believing Christians around the world can express their support for the One, True and Righteouss Bishop of Pittsburgh: His Grace the Right Reverend Ozzie Clumber.

Like the previous incumbent he is prone to slobbering when excited, but unlike little Bobby the effluvia is in no way unpleasant, and according to folk-legend even mildly antiseptic. What's more I can categorically state Bishop Clumber has never attempted to steal any church property. So please, my dear Sinners, let's all give him our support.

Quick Little Pete - Hide the Money!

“From little things, big things grow”: it was while meditating on a poppy seed that this timeless wisdom came into my Great-uncle’s mind, inspiring him to establish the opium farms which subsequently funded his famous Far Eastern Mission to Bar Girls. It’s a truism which has in turn always guided my own ministry, although I often prefer to rephrase it as “Watch out for the little ones – they’ll cause the most trouble”.

This is why I have always taken it upon myself to watch out for the noisy little trouble-makers in the corner of the room: while everyone’s got their eye on the Akinola-shaped elephant trumpeting on the carpet there’s invariably a Sugden picking pockets in the corners – and I should know, since many is the happy evening I’ve spent joining his type in their merry activities.

Thus while the whole world has been fixated upon ex-Bishop Duncan, my finely-tuned ecclesiastic instinct has drawn me to sniff out what’s happening at the other end of the world, and to be honest it’s something sure to set the Confessing Primates’ knees trembling – and not for the reasons they usually enjoy.

By way of background, readers must understand that the GAFCON (or whatever they’re called this week) top echelon doesn’t include little Pete Jensen: since he’s only a Metropolitan, and not a Primate, they couldn’t bring themselves to dilute their exalted splendour by including a near layman in their inner-clique. Yet since the exalted ones were all well aware their need for +Jensen’s vast resources of hot sweaty lucre, they decided to come up with a way of including him.

The solution was, on the surface, brilliant: the new organization’s “Secretariat” would be in Sydney. Personally I’ve always thought the Jensen brothers would look lovely dressed as secretaries – sort of like Tweedledum and Tweedledee crossed with Miss. Moneypenny - but the idea went a lot deeper than just a little playful cross-dressing. By incorporating GAFCON’s administration into Sydney’s already substantial administrative machine all associated costs could be hidden from prying eyes, while at the same time ensuring money earmarked for frivolities like servers, web-design and travel don’t get frittered away on essentials like a really good night out on the town for the lads in Lagos, or a shiny new set of monogrammed machetes.

The one flaw, however, was something that little Pete didn’t think worth mentioning to his new big friends, namely that he’s no more in charge of what happens in the Australian church than ex-Bishop Bobbie could call the shots in the HOB. And that the rest of the country – who have a legal hold on little Pete’s substantial property assets much tighter than anything Presiding Bishop Schiori could ever dream of having over her renegades – wouldn’t take kindly to Sydney developing an alternative “communion” on their own front-doorstep.

Perhaps because he’s so used to keeping everything in his own small pond so tightly locked down that he couldn’t imagine anyone might start asking questions, or perhaps because any of little Pete’s employees not family members are bond-servants so firmly indentured that they long ago lost any ability to think for themselves, but little Pete simply thought he could keep the nature and extent of his involvement a secret. There wasn’t any mention of his new “Secretariat” on the Sydney Anglican web site, it certainly wasn’t referred to in any Diocesan publicity material, and even clergy – never mind parishioners – were kept blissfully unaware of their Archbishop’s major new role on the stage of global schism. Nor were any of them told how much this exercise in Anglican brinkmanship costs: everything has been structured to run beneath the Jensen brother’s not inconsiderable desks.

Except that one or two nosey sinners just happened to notice that the “Primates Council” mailing address just happens to be a box at the same post-office that the Sydney Anglican Diocese just happens to use. A box that just happens to belong to the Sydney Anglican Diocese.

To make matters worse, those same sinners have started making an almighty racket about what they’ve found; so much so that Australia’s leading newspaper has now shared little Pete’s secret with the whole world. Which has resulted in troublemakers elsewhere in the country preparing to ask little Pete the same sort of questions in General Synod that resulted in the former Right Reverend Pittsburgh being shown the door.

None of which should need concern Bible-believers elsewhere, since what’s a little collateral damage on the other side of the world if at the end of the day we win the war? Except that losing Sydney would be much more than collateral damage; few people realise just how much money our brethren down under have to squander in pursuit of global Puritanism. The combination of having been for more than two centuries the sole voice of establishment religion, and an investment strategy that’s gained them more commercial real estate than Donald Trump, has left Sydney Diocese positively wallowing in money – as their new friends around the world well know. Take it from me: the lunar-catholics of Forward in Faith aren’t supporting +Jensen because they like the color of his business shirts.

Should the wicked liberals of the national Australian Anglican church take the cookie jar away from little Pete – or even just force a small measure of accountability – Akinola Airways won’t keep flying for so much as a day. And as for little whats-his-name from Rwanda; does anyone really think he’s ever paid for his own ticket to anywhere? No, you’d better believe that none of us have heard the last of this story, which has far more potential to knock the GAFCON wagon of the rails that anything Canterbury has come up with so far.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Hello Greggie? You have a problem...

As my Facebook friends already know, I have discovered the Methodists across the road have an unsecured wireless network, so until the Spawn of Satan reconnect the our internet account I shall avail myself of the Wesleyan’s technical naivety; just as Shelomith and his relatives dedicated the spoils of war to the House of the Lord (1 Chronicles 26:26-27) so too am I dedicating the Godless Women-Ordaining Liberals’ bandwidth to the parish of St. Onuphrius.

Unfortunately this isn’t as easy as it sounds, since the penny-pinching non-conformists don’t leave their connection running all the time, but only turn it on when the shocking female parody of a clergyman is researching some irrelevant and unbiblical topic like love, or caring for widows and orphans. In order to get around this inconvenience I have stationed Evangelical Eric in the Rectory attic: by standing on a ladder and peering through a ventilation slot with a pair of binoculars he can observe everything that happens in the woman’s study. Whenever she turns her PC on Eric starts banging on the floorboards to let me know access is up again, and I drop everything to resume my important online ministry.

This task is actually proving quite therapeutic for the useless boy, since he hasn’t been able to stop sobbing since hearing the news about little Bobby Duncan. Personally I can’t for the life of me see what all the fuss is about, since everyone knows he was long ago superseded by Bishop Clumber. Who might not have opposable thumbs, but is unquestionably less hairy in the eyebrow department. And as a dog is lot more trustworthy.

Indeed, the one who really deserves our sympathy is Bobby’s new Primate, the one and only Southern Venalballs himself, since he’s now the one who’s now going to have to try and keep the Pittsburgh Pirate under some sort of restraint. Certainly little Greggie might be at present congratulating himself for having beat the Nigerians to this prime jewel in schism’s crown, but give things a few months and there’s bound to be another tune playing in the South. Bobby’s too much in love with the limelight to sit quietly and follow his GAFCON masters’ orders, especially since there’s no secret about his vision for a new North American “confessing” province which just happens to have him wearing the big monkey’s hat. Yet if that happens where would all the Africans’ new conquests go? Big Pete Akinola might be a fan of border jumping, but this enthusiasm doesn’t extend to anyone crossing his borders. So what’s Greggy going to say to his fellow Grand-GAFCON-FOCA-Poobah-Primate’s council members when they see the newest clown in his circus stealing the geese that have been laying eggs which, given the state of the US economy, might not exactly be golden any more, but still convert into a hell of a lot more Nigerian Naira than Pete’s boys used to make sending out those funny emails.

No; when that happens there’ll be a lot more tears than just Evangelical Eric’s. And you won’t be able to cheer them up by pointing out that the Rectory attic also gives a good view into the Methodist’s bathroom either. Although then again, given the members of the Chief Monkey’s Council that might be more effective than I’d first imagined.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Satanic Attacks!

My Dear Sinful Children: as you have no doubt realised my teaching ministry here has this week been sporadic to say the least. This is not I must insist the result of any slothfulness on my behalf, but rather the result of an accursed attack of Satan himself, who has seen fit to manifest in the corporate guise of my internet service provider - an organisation so incompetent I wouldn't be in the least surprised to learn they were secretly responsible for organizing the GAFCON Jerusalem soiree.

It all started simply enough: as I may have mentioned here before we are currently developing a St. Onuphrius' web site of such granduer that little David Schofield will try to steal our domain name even more desperately than he tried to cyber-squat his former diocese's. This site will eventually feature multi-media presentations from all the ministry team, video sermons from great self, and even a few musical presentations for the young folk: I've been reheasing a wonderful little number called "Smells like GAFCON Spirit" which is sure to get teen toes tapping for Doctrinal Purity arond the world: what's more everyone can be certain it will feature plenty of the most essential aspect of any Bible-Based web site - Google Adsense advertising.

Naturally achieving all this will involve a significant increase in bandwidth, and so I personally contacted our ISP to arrange this. "No problems," they said... and DISCONNECTED OUR SERVICE!!!

Calling the following day consumed an entire SIX HOURS waiting on hold, an eternity occasionally interuppted by idiots clearly in search of a village to call their own. Finally I met Danni from Customer Service.

Now I'm by no means what could be called "Charismatic", but when the Lord gives me a`word for someone there's no way a Christian as faithful as me is going to hold back. Thus at some point just after Danni from Customer Service insisted I have never had an account with them, I felt obliged to share what the Spirit had just revealed to me; namely that her future involved something nasty concerning a plague of locusts and her lower colon.

Unfortnately my former ISP is not staffed by Christians open to a faithful Word in Season, and the prophesy not only fell on deaf ears, but has resulted in us having to seek a new ISP, meaning it may be as long as another week before things round here returm to normal. Which also means, since she's no longer taking my calls, that Danni from Customer Service (I'm using her name again to help her find this in Google, since we can be certain she's going to look) is going to be in for a serious surprise when she visits here and realises that my prophetic gift is never wrong - even if I have to hire a team of entomologists to make it come to pass - no pun intended.

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible

Never Plead Guilty

Sometimes the world’s evil can even get too much for someone as faithful as me. It’s not an everyday occurrence, but when it does happens you can be sure that the cause has been something truly terrible.

In this instance the shock was so great it even caused my dear computer to be succumb to some sort of malaise – undoubtedly the work of satanic liberals – which resulted in me being unable to wish my dear disciple Pierre Happy Birthday for the 13th. My dear man, please accept my deepest apologies for this dreadful rudeness: I have commandeered a replacement lap-top from a local retailer (Christians live in a war against evil, and in war time it’s perfectly acceptable for a righteous soldier to requisition the necessary supplies – albeit at gunpoint if necessary) and can assure everyone I’m unbowed in the face of this attack, and sincerely hope our dear friend enjoyed a wonderful day regardless of my failure to more punctually bestow the appropriate blessings.

The cause of the shock is simple but tragic: J. Mark Brewer has entered a plea of guilty! Naturally he’s left himself a little wriggle room, but not much by GAFCON standards, and this all goes to show that if the liberals and their apostate ideas of honesty, integrity and transparency can get to Mark they can get to just about anyone except me.

The shock of this tragedy is almost too much for words: as readers will know I was preparing a most imaginative reference for Mark to present as proof of his innovative character and ethics, and I had already contacted the court to explain how generous I believe Brewer & Pritchard would be if the judge felt a little economic incentive (nothing as crass as a “bribe”, although I believe the term might be accurate) would help smooth things over - but now in a moment clearly indicative of tremendous spiritual attack, Mark has compromised everything I’ve ever tried to teach him. Next he’ll be claiming people have some sort of God-given obligation to speak out against dishonest lawyers, bogus charities and incompetent businessmen. He needs our prayers, if only because I'm worried he may find a court-ordered course in professional legal ethics extremely difficult.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Words defy me...

What can anyone say? A man spends a few days in a coma as a result of accidentally contracting a genetically modified virus, and look what happens – the world goes to hell in a hand basket – that’s what!

Firstly I have awoken to find things sunk so low that eight Californian Bishops can’t see the plainly obvious fact that permitting same-sex marriages is going to end heterosexuality as we know it, and result in millions of marriages ending as husbands leave their wives to partake in an endless gay orgy with their bowling buddies, or the local lawnmower mechanic, while women universally start reading Gertrude Stein while doing things with their tongues that not even St. Paul could comprehend.

Worse than this, however, is that a dear lad whom I know has been learning so much from my teaching was turned down by a parish in such desperate need of his guidance that these primitives don’t even understand the importance of elementary plumbing. Normally in circumstances like this I would simply send a few threatening letters to the wardens on the poor boy’s behalf, and perhaps a note to his Bishop outlining my prowess with incendiary devices, until the offenders had prayerfully reconsidered their stupidity, but I’m concerned the dear young priest mightn’t be quite ready for the maturity of my counselling techniques. Consequently I shall thus far restrain myself to asking that God in His loving graciousness simply afflicts those responsible with a plague of boils. Although given the paucity of contemporary sewerage in their parish it sounds an even bet typhoid will get them first: “Great is Thy Faithfulness” as I always like to sing.

Worst of all, however, is the news that my very favourite lawyer in all Christendom – J. Mark Brewer and his fine firm of Brewer and Pritchard now face court sanctions as a result of having been just the tiniest bit cheeky when applying to have their nice little money-earner charity declared bankrupt.

Now I know Mark reads my teachings here very closely, so I want to take this moment to reassure him that even though my invoice remains unpaid, out of my great love and respect for him as a “missionary”, I shall be sending the court a reference on his behalf. Don’t worry, it shan’t be anything too formal, and the full text will also be up here in the next few days as testimony to his fine character – think of it more as just a chatty little personal note to the Judge in order to help warm his heart toward our favorite Christian businessman and lawyer. Naturally I’ll also explain to His Honor that he could well find circumstances becoming most generous should he care to nominate an amount to simply make this inconvenience disappear. Which would be paid in unmarked bills, of course. Along with the Amazon book voucher of his choice.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Sorry Folks – No Show Today.

This blog, along with St. Onuphrius’ and the whole demented cast of Ichabod Springs, was created with one aim in mind: to make fun of those who would have the world embrace bad religion – the kind of faith which seeks to tear down the different, the small, the tired and the weak. The pompous and power hungry, and the ones who know everyone else is wrong, invariably hate being laughed at above all else. They might not fear God, but they do fear ridicule.

Seven years ago today an example of religion at its worst encouraged a few evil idiots to murder about three thousand men, women and children in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania. Since then thousands and thousands more have died, and countless others have been hideously wounded as a consequence of that terrible morning. Yet sadly the exponents of bad religion – all bad religion, irrespective of brand or deity - seem to have learned nothing.

There are still fools who think it glorious to live and die by the sword in an effort to kill those daring to see God through their own eyes. Whatever the religion, there are still those who claim a mandate to crush dissenters. There are still those who think the Divine can be reduced to a series of propositions, formulas, and equations – and that anyone questioning their arithmetic must at all costs be silenced.

Father Christian and the gang will be back tomorrow, larger than life as always, and together our laughter can help tear down the buffoons whom they mock – but please for today take a moment to remember those killed by fools convinced the Kingdom of God shall belong to them alone. Shed a tear in their memory, or perhaps just smile at nothing in particular; light a candle in their honor if that’s your thing, or buy some flowers to stand in the corner of the room. Just don’t forget them.

And please: hold someone dear to you very close, and tell them how wonderful they make the world. Because you never know when those who hate God and all the wonder and Light that God brings will try to tear you apart for a season.

God bless us all on this sad day, and keep us safe until we are once more together.

Get Well wishes for Father Christian

Prayers Requested

It is with great regret that I must announce Father Christian is unwell, and likely to remain so for some time. An unsolicited package of naturist magazines arrived yesterday evening addressed to the Rector, and it appears these were coated in a mysterious grey powder, causing Father to contract an as yet undiagnosed illness.

The parish and surrounds have been sealed off by civil authorities, who at this stage suspect he may be suffering from anthrax, or else is the last known case of the 1918 Spanish Influenza epidemic.

All things considered he is not doing too badly, despite having a raging fever and a strange luminescent froth oozing from both ears, although the later could just be a side effect of the herbal complimentary medicine Bishop Quinine has been slipping him.

Naturally I shall keep everyone updated regarding the Rev. Dr. Troll's condition, and assure you we are not only maintaining a bed-side prayer vigil, but have already made plans to begin shredding any incriminating Parish documents should the worst occur.

I'm Brother Richthofen, and interested men are always welcome to join me for evening devotions to Our Lady of Walsingham, which are conducted behind the men's Changing Sheds at the far end of the sports ground.

Ministry Questions.

My ministry was founded on the principle of never letting a surplice fee pass one by, no matter what needs doing to get it. Consequently I’ve conducted marriages according to just about every rite known to humanity, including Scientology (the bride and groom wear matching tinfoil hats), but yesterday’s wedding booking has raised a few questions.

These have nothing to do with the fact that groom will be held at gunpoint, and quite possibly handcuffed, since that sort of thing is by no means uncommon if one is commercially astute enough to let word get around that you have no scruples about proceeding if the happy couple are clearly not exchanging vows of their own volition.

Nor is there any uncertainty about the sort of service that will be required. A generic Fundamentalist Christian Protestant show will do fine, with lots of references to Jeee-zuzz and a short sermon taking for granted Adam and Eve’s existence as the original honeymooners will keep everyone happy. Maybe someone praying in tongues, but only of the I-can’t-quite-catch-what-that-guy-in-the-blue-suit-is-saying variety. The DEAR-HOLY-JEEZUZ-I-REALLY-WANT-TO-TELL-YOU-I-LOVE-YOU-BY-SCREAMING-AND-GARGLING-AND-CUMMING-ALL-AT-THE-SAME-TIME kind of tongues probably won’t go down too well with the old Republican money funding this whole double-or-nothing Alaskan gamble.

No: the questions are entirely practical ones of ceremony. Such as how does one indicate the congregation should stand without alarming any “Security advisors” and starting a fire-fight? How do you discretely prevent the couple from playing an extended round of tonsil hockey when told “You may now kiss the bride”? Does advising them to wait until they’re back on Mom’s chartered jet before going for it like Creationists (“Be fruitful and multiply”) constitute sex education? And if so will I risk being retrospectively fined/conscripted/hung, drawn and quartered under whatever enlightened legislation the new mother-in-law introduces after November 4?

No, it’s not easy being Bible-Teacher to the Stars. Fortunately the money will be spectacular, but that just raises another question. Given how thing’s have gone over the past eight years, if we’re in for another term of Republican economic policy will I be able to spend my fee fast enough to beat inflation? Perhaps they’ll understand my fears, and arrange for payment in gold bullion. Or cocaine; that’s a commodity certain to grow in popularity if we’re going back to the “Greed is Good” days.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Here Comes the Bride (& A Few GOP Enforcers)

This note arrived yesterday, and Praise the Lord it looks like St. Onuphrius' will be getting quite a bit of attention in the few weeks...



I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
I also conduct weddings.

Traditional African Values

Last night I discovered Evangelical Eric staring with a sweaty brow and clammy palms into my computer. Since the screen was filled with dusky bare-breasted African maidens and tall, firm, virile and bare-chested Zulu warriors, I initially feared the worst – namely that my Curate had been wasting our parish bandwidth when he knows this is expressly reserved for the purpose of my own relentless crusade against sin, but by yelping between my blows the lad was able to explain that he was in fact reading about the Reed Dance a charming traditional Swaziland custom dating all the way back to 1999 involving thousands of young ladies and their breasts.

Now like any true GAFCON Christian, I don’t know very much about the different national and tribal identities throughout Africa, so I’m unsure if this is something Archbishop Akinola customarily attends, or if it’s more up cheeky +Orombi’s alley. Yet I do know that a marvellously arousing piece from the Swazi Observerexplains that this week “more than 130,000 women sang and danced on end as they strutted their stuff in front of the audience.” One member of the audience, Professor Abraham Jibowro from Nigeria, said “culture should be preserved because it defines Africa” - a statement with which there can be absolutely no question Big Pete wholeheartedly agrees. As the Observer says, this event gives maidens from all over Africa “a chance to show the audience what they were made of” and that young African women are so freely given this opportunity - in contrast to our own unbiblical opposition to topless dancing - only highlights the west's rampant immorality.

Having discussed this with Consuella and the sweet sisters of the Pole-dancing Fellowship (who have extensive experience in dancing without mammarial coverings or support), we have decided to hold our own Reed Dance here at St. Onuphrius every Friday night as a sign of solidarity with our faithful African GAFCON leaders. Brother Richthofen and his friends from Seminary have some acquaintances who will look splendid as the male dancers, and they explained to me that authentic Zulu warriors have always really worn studded leather cod-pieces, and not the grass-skirt things in the pictures Evangelical Eric was enjoying. As the lads said, this way our Reed Dance will indeed be a reflection of the full breadth of traditional African hospitality and companionship.

Tickets to the new Friday night service, which include a complimentary beer on entry, are a mere $15; 80% of which goes directly to the performers liturgical assistants. Additional refreshments will be available from our fully stocked bar, and the dancers have all expressed an eagerness to offer private shows and counseling to any members of the congregation seeking more intimate ministry in return for an appropriate tithe.

I know it’s short notice, but I’ve also written to little Martyn Minns, inviting him to co-officiate on behalf of his own diocese. I’ve no doubt he will be deeply touched as a result of our sensitive recognition of African customs and spirituality. Naturally I’ll post any response here, although given his humility and complete absence of ambition it wouldn’t surprise me if he just arrived unannounced. Wearing a wig and dark glasses, of course, and insisting that his name is “John”.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

My Little Pit Bull

Given all the things emerging about Sarah Palin as a result of people not understanding that conservative Republicans are the only ones with a God-given right to trawl through an opponent’s history, experience and personal life, I have decided to lay a few of my own cards on the table before some irresponsible believer in the idea that truth is more important than spin does so first. After all, I know how distressing it would be for all of you to discover the facts for yourselves on www.andrewhalcro.com before you’ve first had a chance to hear me tell you what to believe.

Consequently I must admit that I have indeed had a long-standing relationship with Governor Palin, who has through the years proved herself a most eager student. Now please note, I’m not confessing to any sort of sexual goings on, since confessing Anglicans never confess to anything. Mature Christians will understand that when a man and a woman are together in the wilderness, relaxing as they slaughter wildlife with nothing more than the bare essentials of a helicopter, several telescopic rifles and enough ammunition to raise Charlton Heston from the grave, a certain spiritual bond must invariably develop. Add to this heady brew a moose carcase and gore-splattered skinning-knives, and how can a young person like her not be attracted to a handsome Man of Doctrine such as myself?

Thus at a time when everyone is talking about experience I can say with certainty that Palin’s experience at standing up to get her own way is exemplary. Take for example her eldest son’s name: the father wanted to call him “Snowmobile Exhaust”, but instead Sarah insisted on the Biblical “Track” - from Job 14:16: ”Surely then you will count my steps but not keep track of my sin.” - her personal verse when it comes to the media. Anyone who thinks that was easy has never tried standing between a drunken Snowbilly and the love he feels for his machine: have you any idea how many children in Wasilla are christened “Ski-Doo”? Only someone with Sarah’s muzzle-velocity could win that one: just wait till you see what she’ll be able to talk the Iraqi fundamentalists into doing after they’ve all shared a few dozen Captain Morgans.

No, there’s also another difference between a hockey mum and a pit bull not yet mentioned: pit bulls don’t sacrifice their pups in trying to grab power. And pit bulls don’t tell lies either.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Eucharistic Orienteering

Having yesterday cleared up the unnecessary confusion concerning north and south, a comment made by another fine seeker of the precious infusion which is my unashamedly dogmatic Bible-teaching, raised a further valid point concerning ecclesiastic geography:

“I just think it's a good thing that in Christ there is no East or West, or I'd be really confused.”

Now of course this is quite right, and all well and good for Christ, but when it comes to Eucharistic liturgy East and West are extremely important. After all, it’s not Him who becomes the subject of complaints to the Bishop from the Finicky Nit-Pickers Guild (and whether or not you know it, every parish has a branch) when you don’t Celebrate the same way as dear old Father Antediluvian did (who served in the parish for over eighty years, and finally died in the pulpit while half-way through his sermon – an event not noticed for another three Sundays).

Like GAFCON, however it’s all quite simple when you think about it. Churches are laid out along an east-west line, even if east and west are, for example, north-south. This is especially common in newer parishes where, because the diocese purchased the land from closely related property-developer, it’s not uncommon to find the church constructed on a block originally zoned as a carwash. And since aisles wider than they are long are rarely popular the compass needs a little creative shifting.

Consequently the altar is always in the east, and though much of history the Eucharist was celebrated to its west. More popular today, however is the West Position, in which the Priest stands to the east. If, as is increasingly common, a Communion Table is used, this is placed to the High Altar’s west, with the Priest to the east.

All of which is generally shunned by those of a lower-church persuasion, particularly those who admire the South, who prefer the north position at the altar’s south. The congregation, however remain in the west facing east, while visiting Prelates not celebrating are seated facing west. In this case any attendants would most probably be to the north until summonsed, at which point they would move west, to assist in the south, also in the north position.

Really, I’ll never understand why clergy aren’t in greater demand as navigators. Wouldn’t civil aviation be a lot more interesting if we were in charge of the maps? surely we'd be make unbeatable rally drivers?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

GAFCON Geography

Susan S., a sweet soprano of superlative sagacity asked a question in yesterday’s comments which tore at my heartstrings, for it illustrated perfectly how apostate liberals have been hiding GAFCON’s refreshing clarity from faithful children like her. She asked:

I am afraid that I do not know the differences(if any) between The Southern Cone, The Global South, and The misnamed (I'm sure) GAFCON.

The answer to this is, of course, simplicity itself, and I believe GAFCON geography to be a powerful tool for evangelism which should eventually see countless numbers won for orthodoxy, and possibly even some for Christ.

The first thing to understand is that “The Southern Cone” and “The Global South” refer to the same thing, unless one is talking about the Province of the Southern Cone, which is distinct from the Southern Cone, which is another name for the Global South, of which the Province of the Southern Cone is a part.

Of the two, only the Southern Cone Province is based in the southern hemisphere, as the Global South is based either in Nigeria or wherever Martyn Minns has plugged in his notepad. With 6 parishes in Vancouver, the Southern Cone’s influence extends further north than that of the Global South, which does, however, have a stronger presence in North America, particularly in the south. Most of the north is not in the south, although the majority of the south is still in the north. Pittsburgh is soon expected to move south, after which it will be south of Atlanta, which is firmly in the north.

The pattern throughout the rest of the world is not dissimilar. In Africa most of the North East is in the south, while South Africa is in the north. In Australia, which is south of everywhere except New Zealand (which is in the north), dioceses to the south of Sydney are in the north, while Sydney is a highly influential member of the Southern Cone, although has no intention of realigning with the Southern Cone. The diocese of Northwest Australia is in the global south, like Singapore to the north, which is also in the south. The United Kingdom is almost exclusively in the north, although groups like “Reform” claim to be in the south, and have begun accusing the northern Bishop of Durham, who was once firmly seen as in the south, as having sold out to the north.

GAFCON, on the other hand, tried to present itself as neither north nor south, although the majority of those attending travelled south from the north to do so. From the Jerusalem conference there emerged a clear sense of identification with the south, which was of no surprise to the north. As a result GAFCON decided to call itself “FOCA”, which has since been changed to “FCA” so that the north will stop making rude jokes. It is open to Christians from everywhere, although only those from the south (including those living in the north) would want to join, and leadership is limited to a few southern primates, all of whom are eager to move north while staying in the south.

See how much simpler it all is than the old system, in which diocese and provinces were constructed purely upon regional, national, and continental lines?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

The Evil Others have Ignored

Proving how so-called “conservative” commentators like Stand Firm and David Virtue have sadly succumbed to liberalism, little mention has been made of the real reason the Communion has been racing to hell in a hand basket even more crowded than ever. Nor have any of the “Christians” we all once trusted been bold enough to address the “elephant in the room” that faithful Bible-believers know marks a new low for the Righteous Gathering which once welcomed those defending slavery.

Nor, while we pray for those in the path of Hurricane Gustav (isn’t it pleasing to see meteorologists using foreign names for hurricanes?), particularly remembering our penitent Nymph of New Orleans, Grandmère Mimi and her loved ones, do we see Bible-teachers bold enough to denounce the obvious reason for such darkness having befallen the earth: there is a new woman Bishop on the south side of the world.

Granted, this has occurred in New Zealand, a country with a population less than the number of people currently on the New Jersey turnpike, but it’s the principle of the matter that’s so disturbing. And besides, the greatest sin can start in the smallest places: just look at the human body.

Despite this travesty occurring about as far south as it’s possible to get without running the risk of developing an unhealthy emotional attachment to penguins, it has fortunately not sullied the stainless reputation of the Southern Cone, since New Zealand is quite logically excluded from this august geographical division, the epicentre of which is in the northern hemisphere.

Even more heartening is the news that Bishop Matthews’ installation was attended by only 1,000 people. This is a whole 148 people fewer than attended the GAFCON in Jerusalem, and far, far less than attended in support of little Martyn Minns’ “enthronement”. When extrapolated to the population of Forth Worth it’s the equivalent of almost 2,000 people attending one of cheeky Bishop Iker’s soirees. Which I’ve been told occurs all the time.

All of which proves that apostate liberal Bible-rejecting churches are indeed dying. You can’t argue with numbers. Which is why St. Onuphrius’ seeker-services offer free beer and dancing girls.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Palin Priorities

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.