Oh the pain, Colorado.

Try as I might, I’m still having problems coping with the court's appalling decision in Colorado. Certainly, common sense suggested “Honest Don” Armstrong would receive a thrashing, but in times like this one wouldn’t be the world’s most Christian reasserter if that special blend of hope and blind arrogance for which us Gafconeers are famous have didn’t lead one to sometimes think with the heart instead of the head. (Which may also be why during my last ECG the needle started recording inspirational passages from Leviticus and Judges, instead of just doing it’s usual little up-and-down scribbling.)

Normally in times of darkness like this I turn to Viagraville for a little light relief, but sadly they’re obviously unable to comprehend the enormity of this blow, and have tried to sweep the whole thing out of mind by dealing with it just one mention . Pay special attention to the comments thread beneath: in a charming attempt to dry everyone’s tears they open with a tasteful innuendo concerning the Judge’s apparently Jewish name. Naturally the heart-broken regulars don’t appreciate this being described as an “anti-Semitic remark": were the comment made anywhere else, or concern little Matt Kennedy’s personal life it would quite rightly be lambasted as “classy” (see here and here, but since the snide remark referred to something other than schismatic Christianity’s spiritual core there’s hardly a problem. After all, the kind of nastiness that culminated in 6 million people being killed is hardly worth worrying about when schismatic pseudo-Anglicans are being prevented from stealing whatever takes their sanctimonious fancy.

Fortunately I was soon cheered by Honest Don’s “Assisting Clergy” and whipping boy; little Alan R. Crippen II. Speaking in Episcopal Life Online, the man who likes to be known as the personification of Effective Stewardship really showed how Christians should respond when confronted by difficult questions. When asked about the minor detail of his boss having pocketed over $390,000 of his congregation’s money (and having kept around half a million more secret from the I.R.S.) “Mr. Stewardship” replied that Armstrong “'is a priest in good standing in CANA' and added that he did not know any details about ongoing investigations.”

With eldership that responsible it’s clear that the new North American not-relly-a-province’s future is in the very best of hands. Jesus might side with the apostates, but Darwinian theories proving only the fittest surviving make it clear who’s going to be here a century from now. As an expert in such matters I can tell you that’s as scientifically certain as the relationship between the platypus and the octopus.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the bible.

Shock and Horror in Colorado.

It’s no lie: my hands are positively shaking with disgust at the news that a judge has just ruled that CANA’s own answer to Bernie Madoff, the financially scrupulous Don Amrstrong, is not allowed to steal his former church and rectory buildings.

In making the astonishing finding that property consecrated as an Episcopalian Church 1929, when the parish Rector, Wardens and Vestry signed a document stating they ”hereby relinquish all claim to any right of disposing of the said building”, does indeed belong to the Episcopalian Church, the court has proven the truth of my words last year. If you recall, my dear sinners, I clearly warned everyone that the United States would go to wrack and ruin if people didn’t have the sense to send Sarah Palin to the Washington. And just look what things have come to now...

Seriously, what hope is there for anyone when the state intervenes to prevent an accomplished tax cheat and fraudster stealing church property? Surely his homophobic disciples could have bribed someone? After all if a righteous god-fearing nation like Nigeria can permit that sort of thing it ought surely to be permissible here in the immoral west? Perhaps someone could give little Martyn Minns a call and ask what he thinks.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

The second point...

The second interesting point in response to my recent homily discussing little Benny XXX and the funny things he gets away with telling people in the schismatic “church” he works for was raised by another young Priest, who put opined that since a great many Gay people are attracted to the Anglican and RC Churches; "Would it not be sensible to close down these organisations? That way, gay people would disappear along with AIDS and we could all obey Holy Benny's teaching."

Now I can quite understand that on face value there’s a certain appeal to this argument: when not threatening to swim the Tiber faithful Anglicans have been trying to close down the Roman schism for centuries. Equally, when not claiming that they alone represent the true Anglican church, most Gafconeers are resolute in their determination to see Anglicanism transmogrified into a genus of Brethrens that permit heterosexuals to wear frills and funny hats when not in Sydney, and to look like lawyers and merchant bankers when they are. And which pretends to believe Nigeria represents a moral template for the rest of world, and can say as much without bursting out in laughter.

Yet despite all the glorious hot air nobody’s even come close to succeeding in shutting down anyone. I’ve got to agree that the thought of giving the false teachers of Rome a good thumping prior to Our Lord lovingly casting them into the Lake of Fire is indeed a pleasurable one, but at the same time one has to admit that if we finally won our battle against Rome dear old Father McCracken from St. Catamite’s down the road would also be out of a job, and if that happened where else could I go on Monday nights for a pleasant evening’s socialising now that I’ve been kicked out the Freemasons?

More’s the point, I very much doubt anyone could ever really obey Benny’s teaching: Fr. McC’s told me a thing or two about life in the Vatican, and let me tell you – Nashotah House has got nothing on those cheeky lads! They may look as pure as the chaps at Oak Hill from the outside, but you don’t have to scratch their itch too deeply to discover that deep down they’re as wild as… well, as wild as the chaps at Oak Hill. Our Lady of Walsingham isn’t the only place in Great Britain that knows how to party, if you follow my meaning.

Besides, the moment everyone really does stop doing what comes naturally (which I predict will occur at precisely the same time King Canute finally gets the tides to obey his commands) you can bet your bottom rosary the rules will be changed, and the new sin-du-jour will be having knobbly-knees, or liking anchovies. Much better we stick with simply claiming to hate each other, and rattling our sabres when we think anyone’s watching. That way the wicked apostate Anglicans can continue welcoming anyone who’s found the confidence to be the person God created them, while everyone else can continue trying to cover up our own insecurities by picking on people less powerful than ourselves, and nobody need run the risk of losing more than 10% of their congregation. Hey; you can’t say that strategy hasn’t worked for David Virtue. So far…

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

HIV/Aids: the origins explained.

In the comments section of my previous homily were a number of interesting queries concerning subjects to which I have for many years devoted my undeniably brilliant research skills, and in which (like everything else) I should be considered a world-renowned expert. Therefore, out of my pure compassion for evil-doers such as your wicked selves, I intend to address these questions individually over the next few days, providing, of course, that I don’t find myself distracted by something more interesting – such as, for example, anything involving bare torsos, a cassock and a large vat of gelatine. Or a really silly post at Viagraville.

Thus, with no further ado, let us begin with the enquiry from an eager young Bible student wishing to learn more about the alleged condition known as HIV/Aids. Aware of the disease’s simian origins, his question concerned the means by which the virus’s transition from primates to humans – as opposed to the transition from human to Primate, which is an equally tragic process, as anyone who’s followed ++Rowan’s career will testify.

The first, and most accurate, explanation has at its source – like many other evils prevailing in this dark and perverse world – the Anglican Archbishop of Sydney. In collusion with a break-away group of hyper-Calvinist Baptists, the See which banned the chasuble but baptised the safari suit (make sure to read the text at that last link!) several decades ago concocted a plan to trick the rest of the world into thinking them numerically impressive by embracing a practice they called “strategic ministry”. Among other things, this involved ordaining anything male, purportedly heterosexual, and intellectually incapable of asking questions, they could get their hands on.

Needless to say most of the Anglican Communion soon equated announcing one's ordination in the Diocese of Sydney with admitting the total of your education is three years at a “special” school in Arkansas, and obtaining specimens ordinands soon became difficult. To overcome this traps were constructed, and anything suitably gendered caught inside subjected to a lengthy process of brainwashing theological education designed to instil the unique blend of narrow-mindedness and stupidity so prized among evangelicals of that genus.

Unfortunately the traps were generally placed in locations the Sydney leadership themselves enjoy frequenting, such as some of the more heavily forested parts of national parks, or behind secluded public lavatories, and instead of the firm chested and glassy-eyed young men hoped for they frequently instead ensnared non-human members of the family Hominidae. Whereas in many parts of the world this would have been recognized, and the poor beasts immediately freed, Sydney’s frenetic desire for numerical superiority resulted in this minor detail being conveniently overlooked – providing, of course, the creatures were capable of presenting as heterosexual when anyone of consequence was watching.

Indeed, many of the “monkey ministers” proved more capable than their human counterparts, since skills such as thumping one’s chest (crucial during Synod) and tormenting weaker members of the pack in a raucous screaming hoard (ditto) came naturally. At the same time the sadly oppressed women of the diocese found the new captives made excellent husbands, being far more considerate and caring than non-simian clergy (not to mention vastly more capable lovers). Nature, as she will, took her course, and the multitudes of hybrid offspring which resulted not only explain Fred Phelps and CESA, but offers the most credible explanation of Bobby Duncan’s eyebrows I’ve ever encountered.

Yet it wasn’t all good news, I sorry to say, and on the down side came Billy Gandenberger and an end to the days of being able to ride bare-back whenever the urge came upon one. What else can one say but the usual: trust some people to spoil a good thing by taking it all too far…

Now very quickly: contractual obligations concerning the sale of my second explanation to Benny XXX and his boys prevent me from claiming this idea as my own, but since it’s really pretty stupid (or else they wouldn’t have bought it) there’s no need to feel any distress. It’s just a simple piece of unreliable logic (ditto again) best presented in point form:

Monkeys live in trees.

Latex comes from trees

Condoms are made from latex

Condoms are responsible for aids

Get the picture?

As I said, it’s not the brightest reasoning, but when it comes to paying cash few people have brown paper bags as big as the Vatican’s, so I’m not complaining. And neither is Benny, who clearly believes it, so everyone’s happy – except perhaps, anyone who'd like to take him seriously.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

A Sectarian Interlude...

Like all Romans, Pope Benedict XXX is undoubtedly on intimate terms with the Antichrist, but that doesn’t mean he’s not capable of the occasional intelligent Christian observation. Since returning from my recent absence I’ve been flat-out catching-up with everything, and so I know it’s taken me a while to get around to paying little Ratsfinger due credit, but in noting that condoms exacerbate the Aids epidemic he’s certainly set a new standard when it comes to common sense.

After all, it’s a fact that I never even thought of sex until a tiny (well quite large, actually) layer of latex was placed over the organ I these days insist people refer to as “The Sceptre of St. Onuphrius” (although “the two-edged sword” is also acceptable, having a curiously arousing Pauline ring about it). Nor did the Roman church ever have to worry about people indulging in an impure jiggy-jig until the devil’s little rain-coats became widely available: back in St. Augustine’s day nobody even thought of doing anything other than studying the works of Aquinas when clandestinely meeting in a public lavatory while taking their dogs for a walk.

No, my dear sinners: responsibility for the HIV/Aids tragedy rests entirely with those seeking to curb viral transmission by preventing the exchange of bodily fluids. Just the same way that a walk through any 19th century cemetery will soon show how immunisation has led to a massive rise in infant mortality from diphtheria, whooping cough and polio. Or how abandoning the noble medieval practice of emptying bed pans onto the footpath outside one’s house has resulted in appalling increase in the frequency of cholera and typhoid outbreaks.

For that matter, nobody ever worried about climate change back in the days when people believed the earth flat. This is a point on which the esteemed pioneer Nuclear Psychiatrist, Dr. Harrisburg (who resides, I am proud to say, in a lead-lined bunker not far from Ichabod Springs, and in whose glowing hands my own radiantly superior mental health rests secure), is fond of making: if there was no globe we wouldn’t have to worry about global warming. So you see that this whole environment disaster thing all comes down to another Catholic opening his mouth: Columbus. And if Pasteur (who was probably also a Catholic) hadn’t gone public with his theory of illness being caused by microbes there’d be an honest dollar to be made in Africa (or anywhere else HIV/Aids occurs) by people on both sides of the reformation selling amulets and holy water. Or is that what Benny was doing anyway?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

“GAFCON continues to wax stronger”

If the Good Lord hadn’t intended us to depilate He wouldn’t have given us pubic hair. Hairy legs might be esteemed in Baptist circles, and it’s all very well for Pentecostals to take pride looking like something Jane Goodall studies, but Bible-believing Christians know that God likes smooth people more than hairy ones

After all, Malachi 1:2-3 makes it so clear that even a non-schismatic Episcopalian should be able to understand that God hated Esau, but loved Jacob. And what difference was there between the two half-brothers? Simply this: Esau was hairy, but Jacob was smooth!

Which is, of course, why Big Pete Akinola is serious about showing conservative homophobes want to ensure not a single rippling curve of bare skin anywhere remains hirsute: in a a bold address to the Nigerian Standing Committee (whom I have no doubt stand up to Big Pete all the time) he arousingly asserted “GAFCON continues to wax stronger”.

Notice if you will, my dear sinners, the caring solidarity with fellow two-thirds world Christians; Big Pete didn’t refer to such decadent western methods of hair removal as laser treatment, or shaving with expensive and environmentally unsound disposable razors. No, for the true Christian there’s nothing quite like using hot wax to painfully rip the little blighters from their roots (especially when it’s happening to someone else), and the Ayatollah of Abujah makes no compromises for the faint of heart. GAFCON’s waxing stronger, and the world’s epidermis shall soon stand naked before God in judgement.

Incidentally, should any of you, like me, actually take the time to read Big Pete’s little serenade (some of us really do have too much spare time on our hands), you'll note that in the first two paragraphs he explains that the ideas presented first came to him while “intently” watching a “a field packed full of young able-bodied youths playing football”. He really is a man of great righteousness, isn’t he? After all, isn’t waxing the first thing everyones’s mind drifts to when dreamily gazing upon firm virile sportsman?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Ignoring the Scriptures with Matt Kennedy

Regardless of where you might care to travel in Christendom, it’s a well known fact that Father Christian Troll never gets angry with anyone. Yet it’s been just over 24 hours since I returned to a place where rodents are not considered an acceptable source of protein, and I’m furious!

The cause of this anger is none other than the Dauphin of Viagraville, young Matt Kennedy from wherever it is he lives now that the wicked secular legal system unjustly prevented him from stealing diocesan property. Certainly, as a liberal (he actually permits women to teach in such blatant contravention of little layman Schofield’s reading of 1 Timothy 2:12 that there’ll be tears before bedtime if news of that piece of cultural exegesis ever reaches California, just you mark my words) I know young Matt lacks any real respect for Scripture, but his latest about-face genuinely brings tears to an old doctrinal warrior’s eyes.

The details are so disgraceful I almost hesitate to dwell upon them: after attacking the ACI (Anglican Communion Institute Inc. – you are forgiven if you also initially confused them with the American Concrete Institue, an organisation not dissimilar in that they're both interested in a dense, inflexible and ugly substance, except that the latter have a proud history, perform a valuable public service, and are renowned for their professional integrity) little Matt then performed a complete about face, publishing a truly sickening apology.

Now I’m not going to reproduce the original attack, since GAFCON readers don’t need to be exposed to that sort of language, but the recantation can be found here; but please consider yourself warned before clicking on the link – it’s hardly edifying.

That’s undoubtedly because despite a massive six years (or are we up to seven yet?) ministry experience, the boy clearly has clearly never read St. James exhortations against double-mindedness. Perhaps they don’t care about such things any more in Viagraville, but the Scriptures make it perfectly clear that if one is going to take a stand against unrighteous wishy-washy behaviour it’s no good to then flip-flop around apologizing to any of the eggs broken in the course of preparing one’s omelet. After all, I thought the place was called Stand Firm - not Back Down. If one is going to kick a fellow Christian there’s absolutely no sense in being half-hearted about it: put the boot in and do it properly I always say – and you can take it from me that both Big Pete Akinola and Little Pete Jensen didn’t get where they are today by doing things any other way.

The only redeeming aspect of our favorite pseudo-calvinist’s sniveling backtrack is that despite rambling on for a shameful six lines, the word “sorry” never makes an appearance. We’re told “It was untrue and I was wrong”, and that he indulged in “hasty and harsh words” and “critical misjudgment” – but in the end little Matt Kennedy never manages to actually consider the feelings of those whom he’s slammed – regardless of the fact that those he attacks have in the past been outspoken in their support for Matt's novel approach to that part of his ordination vows which involved pledging loyalty and obedience. No, in the end his double-minded apology his all about himself. Which just goes to show the lad just might have what it takes to be a true Gafconeer after all.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the bible.

I'm Father Christian and I'm Back.

As little Martyn Minns understood when he finally realized that the nagging purple itch in his heart wasn’t ever going to be scratched by legitimate means, desperate times call for desperate measures. While we’re not doing as badly as poor dear Bernie Madoff, there’s no denying the St. Onuphrius’ property and investment portfolio has recently taken the kind of battering usually reserved for conservative women with vocations, so a few weeks ago I found myself called to venture forth in faith upon a short-term ministry trip to Columbia.

Like all good hit-and-run evangelism, my visit should have been a simple one, but both the Lord and Colombian Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad move in mysterious ways. In spite of my best intentions, a number of small but immensely valuable packages of a commodity much desired by customers of Conseulla’s more entrepreneurial relatives, happened to be detected during a chance inspection of our ministry aircraft by a gentle team of paramilitary thugs working in conjunction with the DEA.

Much like that Japanese soldier who spent 29 years hiding in the jungle we'd all become friends again, these fellows were entirely ignorant of the fact that St. Reagan won the war against drugs years ago, and that these days decent people are now all committed to a war on foreigners with beards. Doubtless the heavy Roman Catholic presence in their quaint and steamy land had also hardened their hearts against doing whatever a Righteous Teacher tells them, or perhaps as a result of the Pope discouraging believers from reading the Bible for themselves they lacked sufficient English skills to understand what I was saying, but after a 16 hour journey in the back of a truck our tête à tête was adjourned to an unregistered prison somewhere in a charming light industrial suburb on the outskirts of Bogotá – by “light industrial” I mean a place with lots of broken concrete, toxic chemicals stored in rusting drums on behalf of responsible multi-national corporations, and neighbours not inclined to ask questions should they imagine they hear anyone screaming in the middle of the night.

All in all it proved a refreshing retreat, and while the cavity searches weren’t quite as invigorating as Brother Richthofen’s high colonics, it was satisfying to finally learn what happened to that figurine of Joan Crawford missing since the early sixties. Sadly my fellow retreat participants at first seemed unable to enter into the spirit of what proved a golden opportunity to recharge the old spiritual batteries, although they gradually cottoned on to things when I organized a marathon choir-singing of “Shine Jesus, Shine” designed to prevent our night-wardens from enjoying their customary paid naps: things seemed a little shaky at first when the water canons were brought out, but having long ago committed Preissnitz’s excellent work The Cold Water Cure to memory I was able to encourage everyone to keep singing by delivering impromptu recitations concerning the life-giving benefits of our being sprayed; these and the judicious distribution of a few stimulants sown into the folds of my clerical shirt ensured everyone had the stamina to keep singing until the wardens’ will was broken.

Eventually, thanks largely to Bishop Quinine’s untiring research, I was able to recognize that a fungus growing on the walls of our toilet block as one blessed with simply marvelous hallucinogenic properties, and working together with inmates and guards alike was able to demonstrate this substance has the potential for an immensely lucrative new cottage industry – hey; if the sum total of your job involved poking felons with a cattle prod for a few lousy pesos a month you’d be open to a career change as well. Providing the Colombian medical system can cope with the inevitable increase in chemically-induced psychosis I predict great things for this project.

Sadly, however, all good things must come to an end, and thanks to Consuella’s relatives making a number of economic intercessions on my behalf, yesterday morning I found myself being deported. Now, can you believe it, I’m back here in dear old Ichabod Springs, seated at the computer and once more guiding you all in the ways of GAFCON wisdom. As dear old big Pete Akinola always says: “the difference between patent medicine and drugs is just a matter of legislation, and when god’s the only one making the laws the sky’s the limit if you’re not afraid to put words in His mouth.”

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.