Easter is indeed 50 days, as all my Facebook friends know, but we’ve decided to call an early end to things for Bishop Quinine and put him into detox. No matter how much he protests to the contrary, none of the Church Fathers considered Tequila a sacrament, and I will always remain convinced that the clear fluid gushing from Our Lord’s side when He was pierced for our transgressions was water – or at least some goopy water-like fluid definitely not distilled from agave.
Perhaps someone in Sydney Australia might make a similar call on behalf of little Peter Jensen’s son. Named Michael, because nobody in the family firm could think of another name beginning with “P” (“Priscilla” having been forever ruled out since that movie), the dear lad appears to be trying to desert his vocation as theological lecturer and dynastic heir (which he acquired entirely due to ability) and is now trying to become a theatre critic.
Since puritans are not exactly famous for their patronage of the arts it’s a bit hard to see how he can hope to get his new career off the ground, but one can’t help admire the lad for trying. And his first review, of an opera based on the Jerry Springer Show, is indeed material worthy of criticism. Doubtless the poor boy was horrified to observe women actually speaking aloud in the presence of men during the disgraceful performance – something which he, his family and any disciples who’d like to continue being able to count to 20 when they remove their shoes and socks (although in the case of the more faithful ones that number well be 22, or even greater), are blessedly doing everything in their power to see prohibited throughout their diocese.
What concerns me however, is that the excitable hordes flocking to Jesus under the Jensen’s exciting message of a loving homophobic misogynist god eternally torturing anyone not a Gnostic-evangelical might not feel comfortable with young Michael’s strategy of a quiet protest. Like Episcopalians in Virginia, whose evangelistic dedication has resulted in their congregations utterly eliminatin the old color barriers, or in Florida, where Conservatives have so successfully welcomed Hispanics into Ministry and Leadership, the few clergy in Sydney not related to the Jensen family are almost exclusively of Aboriginal, Asian or Pacific Island descent. Hence it’s not certain they’ll find a strategy of passive-aggression quite so culturally acceptable as their dictator’s offspring does – and that’s without beginning to consider the thousands converting from Islam every day as a result of Sydney diocesan evangelism strategies.
Meanwhile, speaking of Jerry Springer, I believe an upcoming episode will be featuring a woman from Binghamton, NY. Keep an eye out for the episode: it’ll be called “My Husband Lost Our Church and Home, but I’m Not Complaining… Much.”.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
3 comments :
Dear Father
I began reading the first episode of a "Woman from Binghampton", but stopped reading after the first sentence. It is pornographic. It begins: "Gladys waddled her chubby legs into my bed with her large bottle" Is "Gladys" a synonym for her husband? It's quite disgusting.
Quite right Father - or worse still is this an admission of lesbian trysts involving alcohol (or might the "large bottle" have contained baby oil?) right at the spiritual heart of Viagraville?
Mr Jensen has written to tell me he has seen this disgusting 'opera'. We must admire a man willing to undergo an evening of blashphemous filth on our behalf to warn us how offended we'll be. That's what I call 'martyrdom'.
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