Bishop Nwaizuzu won't get us...

Poor Bishop Quinine has taken things concerning Nwaizuzu and the Archdeacon of Death to heart, and he’s been busy fortifying the Manse in case our Archdeacon decides to visit. We’ve all tried to explain that there’s a big difference between Ichabod Springs and southern Nigeria, but he keeps insisting if a parish in upstate New York can suddenly be in Kenya there’s no reason our Archdeacon can’t on a whim decide he’s moved to Okigwe North before buying an AK-47 on eBay and dropping around to discuss our diocesan assessment.

The cause of this latest distress lays in Bishop Quinine having found another newspaper article about Reverend Samuel Ekechukwu, the Priest whose life is now in danger from Archdeacon and standover man Kenneth Olebara because his ex-wife’s novelty wore off for little Bobby Duncan’s good friend, Bishop Alfred Nwaizuzu. So seriously has our beloved pet Prelate taken this issue that as I write this he’s currently endeavoring to excavate an anti-tank trap around the Rectory and church perimeter: I’d stop him except for the fact that I’ve always quite fancied the idea of a parish moat, and a crocodile would indeed be an effective means of keeping the Sunday School children in line.

Besides; there's no harm in being careful. Who knows what else is going to emerge about the rest of ACNA's friends? With standards low enough to give the pulpit to Metropolitan Jonah and Bishop Nwaizuzu it's only a matter of time before they've brought Kim Jong-il along for a visit. Or some nasty piece of work from little Peter Jensen's toy-cupboard, which from a theological perspective is pretty much the same thing.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

So you think your Bishop is bad?

A star guest at the recent Inaugral ACNA Assembly was the recently retired Bishop of Okigwe-North in the Church of Nigeria, the Rt Rev Alfred Nwaizuzu. At the close of the business sessions, he rose to congratulate the self-satisfied schismatics, and joyfully announced: “Archbishop Akinola is happy.”

As the world’s leading Doctrinal Warrior I felt a sense of duty to find out something more about this hitherto unknown prelate, so went hunting around to find a little about his background.

And what I’ve discovered is crazy. Not Father Christian-Ichabod Springs crazy, but hit-man-Archdeacons-with-guns batshit crazy. As in “The Bishop illegally transferred me from my station to work under his hatchet man, Venerable Kenneth Olebara, who is a gun man. That was where I was meant to have been killed” crazy.

It’s not a short article, but you really need to read it.
Now.
Go here.
Please.

Now I’m not an investigative journalist, I’m a Priest. So I don’t have all the resources to verify this that I’d like to have, but I have spent a fair bit of time on the telephone to Nigeria and so far everything checks out. The man behind this story, Emmanuel Asiwe, recently had to flee his homeland as a result of his outspoken stance against corruption and fraud. Among Nigerian human-rights activists his reputation is impeccable. I believe he's telling the truth. Everyone I’ve spoken to insists this is an extreme but accurate example of life in the kingdom of thugs over which Akinola presides.

It’ll be interesting to see if little Bobby Duncan responds: I’ll bet he does his best to ignore this. Although next time he takes the moral high ground about anything I suggest we all remind him of the company he’s not ashamed to keep.

I’m Father Christian, and I’m proud to not be in any way associated with CANA.

Article Forty.

The Thirty-Nine Articles came directly from God, and consequently supersede Scripture, Tradition, Reason, and all common sense. What’s more they must never be in any way altered, edited, translated or questioned.

This doesn’t, however, mean their number can’t vary, since God originally only dictated ten articles to Cranmer in 1536. Three years later these were whittled back to a mere six, but by 1552 the Lord had pumped them back up to a whopping forty-two, before eventually settling on a less ostentatious thirty-nine – although for a little while under Elizabeth I there were only 38.

Consequently everyone will have to agree we’re more than overdue for another variation, and so inspired have I been by “Bosom’s Law” as elucidated by our esteemed David Virtue’s Bountiful Bosom on this very site only last week that I’ve decided to increase the number of Articles to forty. Hence, my Dearly Beloved Sinners, it gives me great pleasure to present…

Article XL:
The smaller the schismatic splinter group, the more grandiloquent the titles and vestments.

And in illustration of this infallible precept I offer the following unforgettable image of His Grace, The Right Reverend Bishop Royal U. Grote Jr., of The Reformed Episcopal Church.


This sartorially inspiring icon of the noble faux-prelate Grote in his Cranmer costume comes to us courtesy of Lapinbizarre. If it doesn’t make you wary of Calvinism there’s nothing that can help you: quit now; things will only get worse.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Sydney: From Bad to Worse.

Even the best parties must come to an end eventually, and down in little Peter Jensen’s Diocese of Mordor the search has begun for his successor. Not that there’s any need to panic just yet, the Family Firm still has a year or more to rule, but finding someone with the right degree of commitment to financial incompetency, nepotism, and sticking one’s nose into everyone else’s business isn’t easy, so it’s only prudent to start looking early.

Naturally I was the first person the Sydney Politburo approached for the job, but the combination of my being an Anglican (as opposed to a Gnostic Baptist), and there not being anywhere near enough money left in Sydney’s Swiss bank accounts to sustain my ministry in the manner to which I am entitled, meant I had no option but to refuse their tearful pleas. Besides, I doubt I have enough relatives to fill all the key positions in that place.

The next choice was little Pete’s younger brother, the Dean. Not the most stable of personalities at the best of times, it was felt by many Politburo members that his tendency to forget it’s not the 16th century could result in a nasty halberd injury should he slip over the edge while engaging in a little politically expedient dialogue with the Forward in Faith boys. Besides, people still haven’t forgotten his remark about ++Cantaur being a prostitute, and given Sydney’s new-found poverty who knows what their next archbishop might have to do in order to pay the office power bill?

All of which leaves the field wide open. Even the most faithful Sydney house-elves and serfs recognize the next oldest Jensen (bearing in the mind that only the male offspring count) has far too tenuous a grip on reality to be capable of steering them through the murky waters of sectarian politics: just take one look at the new post-graduate course on Anglican Identities he’s proudly touting. Sure the rest of the communion is going to be sympathetic to someone who thinks there were no Anglicans worthy of studying between Hooker and the present... and the question “Is Lay Presidency authentic Classical Anglicanism for today?” (trust me - his answer isn’t going to be “Of course not, you dimwit”) is exactly what the Glorious Schism needs to address in order to keep from coming unstuck. Not.

Fortunately a solution has come in the form of little David Short, the Rector of St. John’s Shaughnessy, Vancouver. The son of a retired Sydney Suffragan Bishop, and trained in Sydney, he has both the correct breeding and indoctrination for the position, while at the same time having proven himself so devotedly homophobic he’d rather break his vow of obedience to his Bishop and tear Canadian Anglicanism in two than risk catching cooties by caring for those whom God has commanded him to love.

To commence grooming for the position he’s currently been whisked down under for a brief visit, which my spies in Mordor tell me is all being kept very quiet. This weekend he and his evangelically subservient consort will be addressing a conference for clergy wives as part of a campaign to increase his profile among the bond-servants, slaves and hoplites. Let’s just pray these poor souls aren’t charged too dearly for the privilege of attending this compulsory indoctrination session. God knows they've already paid dearly enough.

Mind you, what they’ll be enduring is nothing compared to what the good folk of Vancouver have suffered for the past twenty years, and there’s no doubt they’ll be heartbroken when he’s finally departed for good. While the parishioners of St. John’s will simply delighted to be left cleaning up (& paying for) the legal mess he’s landed them in: at least the Canadian bishops have a reputation for being forgiving, so once short David’s misguided charisma has worn off the congregation will undoubtedly be welcomed back into the fold. Meanwhile warning posters prohibiting his re-entry will be posted at all Canadian airports and border controls.

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Archbishop Rowan’s “chosen lifestyle”.

It takes a special skill to equally upset both sides of a conflict, but in the ecclesiastic fun park that is contemporary Anglicanism, the Archbishop of Canterbury has once again proven he’s got what it takes. His Grace’s latest ramble has managed to infuriate the Viagravillains by refusing to sanction (in words of no more than one syllable in length) the compulsory execution of anyone not as ostensibly heterosexual as little Matt Kennedy. Meanwhile those on the other side of the Glorious Schism are angry at the Beard of Britain for seeking to exclude those whom God has obviously called, accepted, and blessed with the gift of a loving relationship.

Now as the Voice of Global Orthodoxy I won’t deny that I’ve in the past had occasion to criticize Our Glorious Leader, but in the face of his latest effort it would be remiss to not give praise where it’s due. After all, it’s no simple matter to offend everyone in the one homily; the good Lord knows I try my hardest here day after day, but only very rarely can I manage to be as bilaterally objectionable as the Lad of Lambeth. Nor is upsetting that many people easy when it takes at least three readings for anyone to understand what you're saying.

Yet the real brilliance of ++Cantaur’s mental meandering lays in his spectacular backflip. This is the man who once taught that a same-sex relationship can ”reflect the love of God in a way comparable to marriage”, and who before getting the biggest hat in the Communion said:

“If we are afraid of facing the reality of same-sex love because it compels us to think through the processes of bodily desire and delight in their own right, perhaps we ought to be more cautious about appealing to Scripture as legitimating only procreative heterosexuality.”

Yet now we find him saying:

“It is that a certain choice of lifestyle has certain consequences. So long as the Church Catholic, or even the Communion as a whole does not bless same-sex unions, a person living in such a union cannot without serious incongruity have a representative function in a Church whose public teaching is at odds with their lifestyle.”

Dearly Beloved Sinners: Rowan Williams might have once been considered a liberal, but today he has proven himself as having chosen the lifestyle of a true Gafconeer. While my Gathered Brethren mightn't be discerning enough to recognize a fellow scoundrel when they see one, you can't fool a Doctrinal Warrior like me, and the ability to so completely betray one's former friends and supporters is normally only found in members of the North Korean government, or among senior members of the Jensen family.

Remember, it’s not as if we can expect to see an Archbishop of Canterbury like this one again. The last time I spoke to Her Majesty (we had a meal and went ten-pin bowling before enjoying some delightful quality time in the Tesco car park at Hammersmith) she was adamant that if the next candidate for the position can even spell ‘Dostoevsky’ he’ll be out the door before you can shout "Hurrah for Karamazov!"

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

When the going gets tough... ACNA stays silent.

There are two types of leaders in this world: those not afraid to meet adversity head on, and those who pretend everything’s fine, and that the problem (“what problem?”) will eventually just disappear. Similarly, in times of trouble some leaders bring out the best in those under their command; inspiring them to respond with courage and brilliance they never knew they had. And on the other hand there are ACNA leaders.

Sadly little Bobby Duncan is an ACNA leader. It was last Thursday that the godless Superior Court of California (County of Fresno, Central Division) decreed that property theft is wrong - even if one is as doctrinally pure (because of one’s homophobia, as well as the fact that, unlike the Presiding Bishop and women in general, one’s genitalia are nominally male) as little layman John-David Schofield. That’s right, last Thursday! The apostates whom God in an act of obvious divine folly chose to bless with the return of that which is rightfully theirs issued a press release the following day, after which I prayerfully responded here, conveying my utter dismay that such archaic notions as truth and reality should have swayed the Court’s decision.

But from little Bobby? NOTHING!! Nothing last Friday, and still nothing as I write these wise words of encouragement to you, my Dearly Beloved sinners.

Nor has there been a word from little Bishop Venalballs. As Primate of the Southern Cone, and Grand Bullwinkle of layman Schofield and the pretence that was his empire, one might have expected at least something from the post-colonial Englishman bringing Christianity to a few million Spanish-speakers. Yet he’s also proven to be nothing more than an ACNA leader, despite offering an assurance of his favourite failed thief's “good standing and favour with me and this Province”, regardless that he “may have heard negative things about your ministries and orders from some quarters” (to whom could ++Venalballs possibly be referring?).

Meanwhile Viagraville is still giving pole-position to the pleasant subject of banning, while the luscious Sarah Hey has started a thread indicating she shares Bishop Quinine’s admiration of the Spartans, although I suspect she doesn’t know as much about them as he does. Little David Virtue and the rest are no different: mostly still whining about a convention that is, after all, so last fortnight, and none of them have girded their loins to fight for their now impoverished fellow schismatic. Which is not, of course, to say they haven’t girded their loins on a fairly regular basis: I know for a fact Dobby Ould does so every time Lord Volderjensen permits him to take a bath; just that nobody’s been prepared to give them a special girding for San Joaquin.

Which is, quite frankly, disgraceful. At times like this a true leader should be offering some rhetoric about ‘property not having mattered to Our Lord, nor to St. Paul, Wesley, or Whitefield, and not mattering to us either”. Except, of course, that the fellows this ruling hits hardest aren’t renown for their admiration for any of those gentlemen, and I’m not sure Cardinal Newman was into the ‘preaching in the fields and marketplaces’ thing. But still, my point stands, and any time layman Schofield wants to see a how a real leader would guide his flock through this mess he’s only got to contact me.

For an appropriate fee (cash or parish silverware melted down into unidentifiable ingots only, and definitely no checks from anyone associated with ACNA) I’ll be happy to show him how it’s done. My help won’t be cheap, but I guarantee it won’t cost anywhere near as much as little Bobby’s advice has cost so far – which in my estimation is pretty much everything layman Schofield has ever had. Not that any of his brethren in ACNA seem to care.

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Surprise Ruling – Theft Wrong!

Just to hand is the startling decision of the Superior court of California concerning the question of who owns the property and assets of the Episcopal Diocese of San Joaquin. Contrary to all expectations it's been determined these don't belong to a former prelate’s sect (now a subset of a newer sect), but actually belong to the Episcopal Diocese of San Joaquin!

Naturally little layman Schofield, his minders (Hello Billy Gandenberger: my spies have told me your lawyers like to keep an eye on things here, and I’d hate them to feel I’m not thinking of you at a time like this), his acolytes, along with every other faithful Gafconeer, are in deep shock over this astonishing outcome. Even God knows that “Thou shalt not steal” doesn’t apply to Reasserters, and that the Judge could have failed to see that the Doctrinally Superior are entitled to do whatever they want is simply further proof of the gross moral decline of the United States under President Obama and the Bishop of New Hampshire.

Even worse, the Court has ruled that the Episcopal Church is indeed hierarchical in structure, that Bishops who leave do not continue to hold title over diocesan property, and that changing diocesan canons and constitutions doesn’t magically make overarching Episcopal rules disappear. What’s next? That the world doesn’t end if women become Bishops? Is there no end to these ecclesiastic novelties?

At present the only places offering information on this staggering development are the real dioceses of San Joaquin and Fort Worth, as well as the Episcopal Café Lead. Little David Virtue is currently still heading with a shrill “ Third Great Wave of Departures from The Episcopal Church Begins” (who says drama queens must be gay?), while Viagraville is excitedly announcing a new policy concerning the banning of their readers (no warnings) and asking Is Obama More Catholic Than The Pope? (so far only one commenter out of fifteen addresses the question, deciding ‘no’ because he or she believes the President is Episcopalian. Which probably is less Catholic that living in the Vatican and zipping around in a popemobile, although subtle details like that are undoubtedly lost on the average Viagravillain – as is the fact that General Convention is over, D025 hasn’t forced anyone to change their sexuality, and little Bobby’s sect is now looking more starved of assets than ever.

Still; why face reality when you can keep whining about fiction? Tilting at windmills worked fine for Don Quixote.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Another town in Schismland.

I know that some of you felt little Bobby Duncan was being just a tad histrionic when citing Bedford, Texas, and Anaheim, California as contemporary metaphors for the ancient dualistic imagery of Jerusalem and Babylon, but I’ve spent a lot of time closely studying pictures of the sin people get up to in Disneyland. It might be unfashionable to say this, but as a the world’s Leading Conservative I'm not going to let reason influence my sense of moral outrage: baring one’s breasts on a watery roller-coaster is every bit as wicked as worshipping Baal or sacrificing one’s first-born to demonic idols. That I’m finding it so hard to find a way of blaming this activity on the Bishop of New Hampshire is just further proof of Anaheim’s dreadful iniquity.

Yet it does appear Archcultist Duncan has overlooked the fact that there are actually more than just two cities in the wonderfully murky world of Anglican schism, just as there’s a lot more than just one pseudo-province. At this very moment the Diocese of the Eastern United States, part of the Anglican Province of America, has gathered under the leadership of the Most Reverend Wally Grundorf (honestly: you couldn’t make these names up, could you?) for their 2009 Synod in Gainesville, Georgia.

The APA web site seems to have as many broken links as the fellows running the "province", so further details have so far proved elusive, but the important challenge before Bible-believing Christians is to now find a role for Gainesville in ACNA’s allegorical topography: is it Mildendo? Or since little Bobby is clearly not the most literary of schismatics, perhaps Ponyville? Any Dearly Beloved Sinner suggesting Harper Valley will immediately be sent to me for a spanking.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

And now Bobby gets an open letter...

Little Bobby Duncan isn’t the only one who’s sent an open letter recently: ±Millsap of The Episcopal Missionary Church (who split from ECUSA in 1992 because they were terrified of girl-germs) has also sent one – although his was addressed to little Bobby.

Read it for yourself here: it offers a fascinating insight into life at the schismatic end of the altar. Certainly the attitude expressed concerning the theft of church property is disappointingly ethical (“The appeal to a law based in the time of the War Between the States, or the American Civil War, to settle church disputes seems to me very ironic if not shameful. ”), but the overall tone is nonetheless pleasingly passive-aggressive and whiny: “I have not even mentioned that the use of the words The Anglican Church in North America is yet another attempt to steal a "previous-use" title of a church body that may be still in existence”.

If Archcultist Duncan thought dealing with the apostate liberal Episcopalian Bishops was hard, you’d better believe he’s going to find the collection of disgruntled schismatics he’s now trying to unite something else altogether. And he’s only just begun - just wait till this sack full of cats get hungry and start wanting the Canterbury cream they’ve been promised. Whatever ++Rowan ultimately does, it’ll happen at a glacial pace. While dissenting cranks are by definition invariably very, very impatient.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Archcultist Duncan and Honesty.

Little Bobby Duncan has written an open letter to the Anglican Communion, and if it doesn't make one feel proud to be a Gafconeer nothing will.

It’s a marvelous piece, filled with the kind of self-serving brew of whining and passive-aggression that every less significant Reasserter aspires to achieve. It even manages to imply that not only St. Augustine, but also Charles Dickens (whose personal appreciation of family values are probably better not discussed, and even Robert Frost would have supported little Bobby’s new sect. Take this extract from Archcultist Duncan’s penultimate paragraph:

“The North American poet, Robert Frost, once wrote: ‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the road less traveled by. That has made all the difference.’ For Anglican Christians, for the Instruments of Unity (Communion), for interdependent Provinces, for ordinary believers, there is a choice to be made. The choice is between two religions, two roads, two cities, two sets of conflicting values and behaviors…”

Now attempting to steal church property is one thing, but appropriating the United States’ greatest poet in support of one’s cult takes Orthodox dishonesty to a whole new level, and I for one have got to bow my head in professional respect. While Frost did eventually leave the Swedenbourgian church into which he was baptized and married (The Robert Frost Encyclopedia; Tuten and Zubizarreta, Westport, Conn., Greenwood Press, 2001, p.302), suggesting the poet who defined religion as “a straining of the spirit forward to a wisdom beyond wisdom” (ibid, p.302) would have been happy to see his work used in support of exclusionist fundamentalism is drawing a bow long enough to have made William Tell quit and give up his son to Gessler.

Credit also should go to little Bobby for managing to disregard the poem’s inherent irony. Frost wasn’t writing about choosing to embrace an ancient tradition of bigotry in the face of the Gospels, compassion, and reason: he was addressing the all-too-human inclination to create our own mythologies of triumphant decision-making and regret. Three times the piece stresses both roads are inherently the same: in the second line he expresses sorrow at not being able to take both – the complete opposite of little Bobby’s delightfully pharisaic hypothesis!

When quoting famous historical figures in such a way as to make it look like they supported one’s cult it’s important to pick identities that make you look learned and respectable. Claiming someone who life’s work epitomized American academic liberalism would have approved of the kind of dishonesty that calls an undemocratic sect “a province” of the Communion takes the kind of arrogance that every GAFCON leader admires. Although it probably would have been a good idea for little Bobby to have read The Road Not Taken before citing it.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

We'll All Be Rich!

While seeking an update on little Phil Ashey my Google search for “bears’ produced results of an unanticipated kind: an extremely disturbing report on the practice of ‘farming’ bear bile.

It appears that in a number people lacking empathy and compassion from birth, and possessed of more money than medical sense, have traditionally consumed this stuff at great expense (though what they pay is peanuts in comparison to what it costs the bears) in the hope of preserving their clearly unnecessary lives.

All of which got me thinking: if it’s bile people want we've got more than enough of it here in the Reasserter community, and instead of agonising procedures involving tiny cages, fistulas, and sticking sharp things into innocent animals, collecting it simply involves visiting any one of a number of web sites and letting it spray forth from your web browser into a jar.

Just think about it, my Dearly Beloved Sinners; this means a use has finally been found for David Virtue! Animals Asia investigators in Sichuan Province have revealed that the wholesale price of bear bile powder is US$410 per kg – at this rate I expect we can all earn thousands every day and thousands of animals will have been spared hideous cruelty.

I’ve instructed my entire congregation and Ministry Team to sign the WSPA petition against bear farming here, and I urge each one of you to do the same. Having a far more effective substitute means we’ve no excuse to not do everything possible to put our traditional competitors out of business. Think of it as the same as burning down the local Methodist church, only legal and even more satisfying.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

If you believe (they put a man on the moon).

Well it’s forty years today since people allegedly walked on the moon, and the world fell for the biggest government conspiracy since scientists and doctors were allowed to decimate the paediatric funeral industry by introducing infant vaccination against polio, diphtheria and measles.

What most people don’t know about Apollo 11 is that I served as Doctrinal Consultant to the ‘mission’. In those days payroll systems weren’t computerized, so an astute accountant could easily inflate their own income by including a few anomalous friends on the books as “consultants”, and it was indeed my honour to serve NASA in this way after an erring parishioner indiscreetly revealed their sin to me during confessional. Naturally I offered them complete absolution in return for a share of the proceeds, and today when you hear reference made to NASA’s enormous cold war budgets I invite you to share in my pride that a not insubstantial portion of that fortune was redirected my way - for ministry purposes, of course.

In return I’m proud of having made a number of important contributions to the space race. It was, for example, me who recommended that in an emergency it’s a much better look for astronauts to say “Houston: I think we have a problem” instead of the original and less restrained : ‘Holy *(!%#*@ - we’re all going to &^%$# die!” At the very least Ron Howard could have thanked me for ensuring Apollo 13 got a PG rating.

Sadly many of my other proposals were ignored, and as a result it’s no wonder NASA found itself gasping for money under Clinton. My advice in the late 60’s was to secure Kissinger’s ongoing support by claiming to have discovered bikini bimbos on the moon, and you’d better believe this would have worked just as well 30 years later. Nor can it still be denied that Buzz Aldrin could have moved on to a career in movies if he’d only been willing to change his last name to “Lightyear”.

Still, at least there’s no denying the Apollo program hasn’t made a remarkable contribution to the world of Biblical Christianity. One look at the comment fields of any conservative blog is proof: clearly there are now more space cadets than ever. What's more you’ve only got to look at little Bobby Duncan to know aliens really have started living in our midst.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Prioritites & Father T.

If you look at any successful business you’ll see that when times get tough the first thing they cut back on is advertising. McDonalds, Coca-Cola, Scientology – all these fine commercial ventures know that new customers bringing additional revenue are of no use at all in times of financial challenge. You've only got to see the commercials during the Saturday morning cartoons to see they've stopped hawking their essential services entirely.

That's because at times like these the economic experts who advised us all to invest in sub-prime mortgages know generating new business is nowhere near as crucial as maintaining executive benefit packages and corporate travel. Companies can survive without customers, but as any of the intelligent young men from Enron could have explained, if those at the top can’t afford holiday homes in Aspen and a personal full-time telephone sanitizer there’s no way any firm is going to remain viable.

Consequently I’ve been reassured to see the Episcopal Church emulating this proven strategy by shafting their entire evangelism program. As many of my Dearly Beloved Sinners will be aware, this was headed by Father Terry Martin; the Communion’s best read blogger, who gave us all the fondly missed Father Jake. So obviously it was in the hands of someone who knows more than a thing or two about reaching out to those beyond our church doors, which in these difficult days meant not closing the program down would have simply been irresponsible. Just ask the brilliant business consultants the Church recently poached from Lehman Brothers.

After all, it’s not as if Jesus said anything about reaching out to people. And didn’t the Great Commission specify that our first priority should be flying to as many doctrinal and polity conferences, directional assessment meetings and prelates’ pow-wows as possible? How dare we contemplate forsaking these in favour of sharing our faith with people who probably aren’t even Christians!

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Big Pete's secret advantage?

I’d love to deliver a homily based upon this fascinating article in today’s Nigerian Sunday Sun, but I’m concerned doing so could cause my CANA brethren to stumble in a way that would damage their eyesight.

Although I do think little Martyn Minns would appreciate us ordering him some Dick Plumper Cream (read the article before complaining about me making this up) for his next birthday. And who do you think might like an Afro Wooper?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Underwear, Credentials, And The Lack Thereof.

As every Biblical Christian knows, you’re not really important if you haven’t been photographed getting out of a limousine while not wearing any underwear. Certainly there are some exceptions to this rule: Carrie Prejean for example, who only needed to mouth a few conservative platitudes, and prove she is indeed a mammal by posing for a few pictures little Donald Trump described as “tasteful” - which given his predilections in architecture and toupees probably doesn’t carry any more weight than Sarah Palin telling someone they have a great mind – but there’s no denying these are few and far between.

In my own case the resulting prestige was well worth a fine, and the publicity St. Onuphrius’ received was priceless. Nor can anyone tell me those fortunate enough to witness the incident suffered any long-term damage as a result: it’s not my fault if the ladies of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir have a problem with God’s greater blessings. And besides, do you think I could have persuaded the paparazzi to attend if they hadn’t been present?

Yet with all the criticism currently being thrown at the dear old apostate Episcopal Church I’m growing increasingly impatient with the fact that nobody’s asking the obvious questions: who are these critics and what are their credentials? I mean to say; Greg Griffiths and little David Virtue are both very bright in their own way, but let’s face it: when it comes to their stature as intellectuals their hardly on a par with Paris Hilton, are they? Bishop Wright may have written a few hundred books, some of which might even have been read by one or two people, but Britney Spears has been responsible for literally millions of articles in supermarket tabloids. And I’ll bet she thinks twice before condemning those who love her: no matter how much +Durham toadies to the Nigerians, they’re not the ones who helped him get where he is now.

Or take Lindsay Lohan. At least she had the good sense to book herself into rehab when she began talking nonsense. Which is more then Kendall Harmon was prepared to do; instead of seeking the appropriate professional help he started blogging at Viagraville. Need I say more?

Like it or not, for many of us the Episcopal Church is also our Mother in the faith, into which we were born of the Spirit by God’s grace. Together we comprise her body. So if someone’s going to claim she's the Scarlet Whore of Babylon we have at the very least a right to first demand to see their credentials. Not the impressive acronyms they hide behind, nor the blogs on which they post their latest rants, but their real credentials. Like how they love those whose spiritual wardrobe might occasionally malfunction. Or whether or not they’re ashamed to be seen in the circles Jesus moved in. Flashing one's rhetoric is not, and never has been, a substitute for the real thing. Which, my Dearly Beloved Sinners, the Scriptures teach is love - not whatever else you might have thought I was going to say.

I might be the greatest Conservative Warrior in history, but I’m not so stupid as to think the Church needs more paparazzi. What we need is more people prepared to clamber out of their limo irrespective of what they’re wearing, or who’s watching, and get their hands dirty caring for those with whom God has entrusted us. All of them – even those who’ve also accidentally misplaced their underwear.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Little Kendall Harmon leaves me amazed.

If there’s one thing that can't be denied about little Canon Kendall Harmon it’s this: he's never said a single negative thing about the wicked apostate Episcopal Church.

Some folk do nothing moan and groan about each and every step the godless liberals take on their way to hell in a handbasket (Hasn’t it been a while since you heard that expression? My, but it brings back happy memories!). Little Canon Kendall, on the other hand, can always be relied upon to say something positive; something empowering and nice about his brothers and sisters in Christ. No matter how outlandish, or just plain just a pronouncement might come forth from Presiding Bishop Jefferts Schori and the other leaders we've been mistakenly sent by God, the least explosive Canon in all Christendom is famous for responding with humility, compassion, and a balanced perspective.

That’s why I’ve been so stunned by little Canon Harmon’s outburst against D025. Who’d have thought that he of all people would object to a little thing like this? Especially given his long history of loving and supporting every other work of the Spirit in the Church to which he pledged his loyalty at Ordination.

Not that I’m not delighted to see him finally acknowledging the importance of rejecting those whom Jesus has called and declared beloved in the sight of God simply because they’re not prepared to lie about their sexuality. Nor have I the slightest objection to little Canon Kendall finally realizing that it’s far more important we grieve the Holy Spirit than risk grieving some big cheese in Canterbury and the bunch of high-muck-a-mucks in psychotically corrupt countries who hate him and want his job. It’s simply that 'K.C.' (as the Sunshine Band on the inner at Viagraville like to call him) was the last person I’d have expected to release a statement criticizing anything General Convention decides.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go. Consuella says it’s important I listen to her story about a boy who cried ‘wolf’. She says that when she’s finished I might like to email it to little Kendall.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Bishop Tom Wright Ignores Beginning of Schism!

The moment I saw the headline of Bishop Wright’s latest Times op-ed: “The Americans know this will end in schism” I wanted to disagree vehemently.

Not for any particularly intelligent reason, mind you, since I am after all an Orthodox Conservative leader, but simply because anyone as well travelled as he is should be well aware the schism at the very latest began last December, which the point at which little Bobby likes to consider his sect’s birthday. Where on earth is the prophetic gift in saying something is going to end up a certain way when it was already well and truly there seven months ago? On this basis Bishop N.T. is going to have to seriously lift his game before I’ll take his racing tips seriously, that’s for certain.

Yet then to my horror I stumbled across a most intelligent review of +Durham’s piece, written by a young man named Scott Gunn who has the kind of perception that would probably get him killed were he a Priest in big Pete Akinola’s church. And wouldn’t you just know it: he also considers Bishop Wright completely mistaken – although in his case that’s as a result of having systematically analysed the work, not because he appreciates the important Conservative axiom of disagreeing with anyone or thing you don’t understand.

Can you see my dilemma, Beloved Wicked Sinners? It would never do for me to seen agreeing with someone whose evaluation of another’s essay has actually involved thought and insight. What would happen to mindless bigotry and unreasoning prejudice if everyone started thinking like that? Who would be left to post at Viagraville? Consequently I was left with no choice but to perform a complete about face and agree wholeheartedly with Bishop Wright.

Which was, of course, no problem for any GAFCON leader: the ability to perform a seamless reversal of one’s position is essential if one is going to routinely cite Old Testament verses as immutable whilst at the same time enjoying a plate of shrimp or ribs as much as the next non-Israelite. Consequently I’d now like it to be an indisputable matter of record that Bishop Wright is perfectly correct: this will all end in schism. He just doesn’t realise the schism in question will involve whether or not Bobby lets little Martyn Minns where the big hat in five years time. And how those who don’t share +Wright’s view on women in ministry will remain in fellowship with those who don’t.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

D025.

Yesterday evening I was utterly exhausted after a hard day’s Doctrinal Warfare, and went to bed early, without undertaking my customary late night research into the sin that pervades religious affairs everywhere. Sure General Convention is generating more apostate outrageousness than usual, but GAFCON leaders like me can find plenty to be offended at irrespective of what’s on, and I needed to sleep.

During the night I was roused a number of times by what sounded like cheering coming from the Rectory lawn, as well as by the irritating sound of Evangelical Eric howling in his crate, but so great was my tiredness that I simply rolled over, and was soon once again nestled in the sweet arms of Morpheus.

Upon awakening this morning I discovered there had been a party. Bishop Quinine raced into my bedroom (referred to in these parts as “The St. Onuphrius’ Boudoir of Ministry”) with tears of joy streaming down his face, whereupon he presented me with a refreshingly large glass of champagne before running off again, shouting something about “justice at last” and “about bloody time”.

Coming downstairs I found Brother Richthofen semi-concious and singing “Great is thy faithfulness” while clad in a rainbow flag and with the kind of smile normally found only in naïve icons of St. Francis. Strewn through the parish grounds were the slumbering forms of young seminarians, elderly Rotarians who like musicals, women who know everything there is to know about dogs and cats, parents who are more concerned about ensuring their children grow to be the people that God made them to be than they are are about indoctrinating them into hating and fearing anything beyond their own comprehension, and just about every other sort of ne’er-do-well one might imagine Christ unwisely associating with.

Try as I might, not one of them could offer any explanation of this mysterious out-pouring of celebratory joy. I’d shake them, demand to know what was going on, threaten, cajole – I even offered to show them nude pictures of their least favourite conservative blogger. Yet nothing seemed to bring them back down to earth. The only thing any of them could do is keep repeating the same cryptic code: D025.

And whatever this else means one thing is certain; a letter and three digits prove the Church has taken one small step into the future, but one giant leap closer to God.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Talkin' John Birch Paranoid Blues.

As Ruth Gledhill reports, a private member's motion has been tabled this weekend at the Church of England General Synod, calling for Merrie Olde Britain’s established Church to be 'in communion' with little Bobby’s new sect.

In a spectacular example a little knowledge being a bad thing, sweet Baby Blue manages to reappraise this news into the startling headline “Motion to recognize ACNA now before Church of England Synod”, in the process getting the most excited she’s been since Bishop Quinine listed a pair of Bob Dylan’s underpants on ebay. Sadly she was never able to acquire the treasure for which she was so lavishly bidding: the auction was pulled on the grounds of fraud, since the eminently collectable objet d’Bob was actually just some old rags stolen from a hippy Bishop Quinine met in detox, and I fear Dylan’s favourite faux-Nigerian will once again find herself deeply disappointed.

Firstly that’s because the motion isn’t before the Church of England Synod: it’s been tabled for consideration by the C of E Business Committee, who will then decide if it merits inclusion on the next Synod’s agenda, where it shall then be debated. Thinking Anglicans (from whom I suspect Viagraville’s Lois Lane took the motion’s text uncredited) thoughtfully link to a page on the C of E site explaining the gastrointestinal process through which private members motions must pass; clearly someone was a little too tangled up in blue to bother reading this before posting her headline. Otherwise she may have noticed that while at least 100 signatures are needed before something is considered for inclusion, reaching this number provides no guarantee it will subsequently proceed to debate. Nor are the motions with the most signatures automatically those chosen. Mrs. Lorna Ashworth of Chichester has indeed obtained more than the requisite 100 signatures – six of whom are Bishops – which does place her well ahead of a request that Deaf Anglicans Together may be made a special constituency, but she’s still running behind a proposal that the Church “produce an on-line library of visual and video resources for worship”. And which one do you think +Rowan is going to be more eager to see on the list next February? On his left hand he’s got someone wanting to collect power-point files, on his right is Anglicanism’s next great civil war. Hmmm…..

What’s more the text actually reads ‘That this Synod express the desire that the Church of England be in communion with the Anglican Church in North America.’ That’s right – “express the desire”. Which means what exactly? That someone important adjusts himself while looking longingly at little Bobby? That the Warden of Walsingham and little layman Schofield sit down for a good old chinwag about how icky women are? That Bishop Nasty-Alley starts getting whatever money still being sent to big Pete Akinola?

As we all know only too well, a vast gulf separates an expression of desire from consummation, and even those with a closure rate as high as mine can still expect more strikes than home runs. When conjugal bliss involves, as it does in this instance, not just changing the communion’s sheets, but rebuilding the bed, bedroom and carport, anything beyond an expression of desire becomes very, very hard to orchestrate. If the Church of England’s less stable elements are real lucky (and the odds are they won’t be) just might be permitted to look come next Synod, but they’re not going to be allowed to touch. Six bishops out of a possible 141 endorsing something this vague isn’t enough for a quick game of tonsil hockey in the corner, let alone make the Anglican Communion’s earth move.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Business in a Christian Land

News just to hand from Nigeria – land of Christian peace and harmony – shows that even the local kidnappers have realised Big Pete Akinola’s show isn’t worth what it used to be.

Along with organised corruption, email fraud, and Biblical Christianity, kidnapping is one of Nigeria’s key industries, and when it comes to extracting a decent ransom there’s no denying that those fellows are Professionals with a capital “P”. So when they start taking Roman bishops instead of Anglican ones, as has just happened to the poor Rt. Rev. Samuel Amatu of Okigwe Diocese, you’d better believe it’s because they know who’s still got a few naira to rub together and who hasn’t. Or, to be more accurate, who’s got access to overseas backers able and willing to part with a little hard currency, and who hasn’t.

Either that or the kidnappers know Big Pete has local connections so heavy that touching one of his crew simply isn’t worth the risk. Then again, it could just be that the old cliché about there being no honour among thieves isn’t so true after all.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Philip Ahsey's blow job.

Like Bishop Quinine, little Philip Ashey likes to “go behind the scenes and blow things up”. However in Clumsy Phil’s case the “scene” probably isn’t behind the sports field dressing sheds, and the only body parts getting blown are his own feet. Because he keeps shooting himself in them.

The latest example of pyrotechnic incompetency from the man whom the AAC hired to perform giant chipmunk impersonations (to see what I mean view his picture here) takes the form of an emailed epistle in which he bemoans the fact that “with such a numerically diminished opposition, TEC leaders have a free hand to draft and pass virtually any legislation they like.”

Now when it comes to mathematics you don’t have to be Einstein to realize that if you urge all those of a particular persuasion to leave an organization, when it comes to a vote on any given issue those of the other persuasion will have the numbers to swing things their way. While this phenomenon may indeed be the result of apostate liberals corrupting arithmetic reality as fore-ordained since creation, it’s also known as basic democracy: if the “nays” don’t vote the “ayes” will carry. Which is, you’ve got admit, proof that even the grey cloud of schism does indeed have a silver lining.

It’s all very well for those who’ve left to join a new sect to rant and rave that those who’ve stayed aren’t doing things their way, but are they really so stupid that they didn’t realize that this is what would happen? Then again, it’s probably better nobody answers that question.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

More trouble in Mordor.

Recently I’ve been receiving some interesting correspondence from Jensenland – aka the Diocese of Mordor – where a number of souls laboring under the belief that celebrating the Eucharist comprises part of Anglican worship have been wondering if it might be possible for Bishop Quinine to assume some sort of alternative pastoral oversight. Naturally I’ve kept their inquiry a secret from the Prelate: given that he still spends at least half his waking hours convinced he’s pregnant the excitement might prove too much for him. Nor would it do much for my own ministry’s credibility if he started soliciting the poor Australians for money to buy baby paraphernalia: it’s bad enough that their real Archbishop suffered delusions of financial competency, but phantom pregnancy might be more than they can handle. Then again, a few booties would have cost them a lot less than the $100 million little Peter Jensen managed to lose.

Of real interest, however, was the news that the wives of not one, not two, but three of little Pete’s senior bondservants have recently managed to escape their conjugal prisons, and have exchanged their complementarian prisons for a life in which they are not only permitted to think for themselves, but can even read the Bible when in the presence of men. Aloud!!

Now I’m not talking about any run-of-the-mill Jensen cannon-fodder, nor even diocesan house-elves like Dobby Ould, that would be merely a tragedy, and certainly not worth repeating here. No, these three were about as high up in Mordor’s hierarchy as it’s possible to ascend without being a member of the Archbishop’s family, and at least two were personally responsible for sending the fodder to the cannons. Naturally their Master will be feeding them all into a grinder as soon as he thinks nobody’s watching, since Donatists must never be seen to experience the same sorts of failures and tragedies as everyone else, but so senior are their positions that making them vanish is not as easy as it sounds, since replacements must first be found if the already leaking ship is not to founder altogether.

Beyond the borders of Mordor the Bishop of New Hampshire is being blamed for this sadness, but I believe that internally Cardinal Newman is held responsible. This is, you’ve got to admit, an interesting choice either way, since I wouldn’t have thought either of them would have been too interested in a dalliance with the now no-longer-captive ladies. Still anything’s better than facing up to reality as astutely appraised by the Rev. Giles Fraser (and thank you dear MP for bringing Fr. Fraser's words to my attention).

Let us all pray the soon-to-be-unemployed bondservants are treated with the same compassion they treated others whose disgrace preceded theirs. Or perhaps not: it might be better if we ask that through this sorrow they might so grow in mercy and wisdom that Bishop Quinine is able to reappoint them when he’s stable enough to assume his new See.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

'B033' - Shorthand for "Shut up and stay hidden".

Well little Matt Kennedy and his upright friends have finally got what they went to Anaheim for; at last the talk has turned to matters involving the old rubbity-tug. Doubtless you can also feel the Viagravillains’ frisson of excitement wherever you may be reading this, because we can feel it reaching all the way to us here in Ichabod Springs.

The euphemism apostate liberals have used for their shame is “B033”, which for the benefit of anyone not as obsessed with this crucial issue as the ostensible heterosexuals at Viagraville, refers to a resolution from the 2006 General Convention, urging those who must consent to the election of a bishop not to do so if his or her "manner of life" might increase division in the Communion.

Now I’ve always loved the expression “manner of life”; something about it conveys distain, rejection and an image of piously pursed lips in a way that “flaming queer” can never do. The importance of preserving this sort of language in the Church cannot be overstated. What’s more it has served so well as a tool to keep the broader communion together: just look at the way religious leaders from all the really functional African nations – like Nigeria or Rwanda – were so eager to share communion with the Episcopalians at Lambeth. Given this resolution has proved so successful I can’t for the life of me see why anyone should want to do away with it.

Further there’s no denying that Conservatives like little Bobby Duncan (or Matt Kennedy, for that matter) have kept their end of the bargain with regards to a moratorium on people whose “manner of life” could upset such bastions of Anglican stability as big Pete Akinola or little Pete Jensen – I mean it’s not as if they’ve left to join a new sect or anything. So how dare the apostates in TEC think B033 has passed it’s use-by date – even if that might have been several years before it was originally passed in 2006.

Normally I’d encourage everyone to follow the accurate, unbiased and delightfully histrionic coverage of this matter on Baby Blue Online, but I recently realized she is in fact a woman, and so would hate to cause any of my brethren to stumble by directing them to receive instruction from a woman. Consequently the next best source I can recommend is Jim Naughton at the Episcopal Café’s Lead; his report on the discussion here is nearly as good, although it does lack the hyperbolic adjectives, and his comments aren’t as tastefully soaked in spittle.

Of particular concern to me were his reports of the addresses made by the Rev. Delk of Southern Virginia, Michael Russell of San Diego, Deputy Clark of Newark, and young Deputy Halas of Chicago: with people of this intelligence, integrity, and all-round calibre in the Episcopalian Church, they and the others sharing their sentiments show Conservative Doctrinal Warriors like myself face an uphill battle when it comes to preserving the glorious bigotry which made our denomination so successfully turn its back on the kind of people with who Our Lord so unwisely associated.

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Sleepless in Anaheim.

The news from General Convention is even more alarming than I’d feared. Whilst my Conservative Brethren have been busy moaning about an apostate liberal’s sartorial inclinations, and little Matt Kennedy (who is still miffed because the big bad ‘Piskies wouldn’t give him a badge so he can pretend to be a reporter which is hardly fair, since it’s is not as if he can pretend to be a priest any more either) is getting bored because people are talking about the “mundane business” of “procedural votes” instead of getting on with a good gossip about the jiggy-jig stuff, a certain Bishop’s blog shows the apostates are getting on with the hard work of building and administering a Church that actually seeks to minister to those whom Christ commanded us to care for!

Read it for yourself here and I’ve no doubt you’ll understand my concern: this Bishop unashamedly speaks of young people, disable people, and even foreigners participating in the decision-making processes. Even worse he makes it obvious that those assembled together are actually working! Constructing a framework in which people might serve God and each other!

My Dearly Beloved Sinners, I have no doubt that despite being as wicked as I know you all are, even you understand that conferences, conventions, and rallies devoted solely to pompous triumphalism aren’t supposed to accomplish anything. They’re supposed to make the people sitting at the top tables feel more important. Rather than building the Church, they should give important people a chance to slander that into which God called them, and to which they - if ordained – swore an oath of loyalty. Not even I – and words can’t convey how it pains me to admit this – could have imagined the apostates could have sunk so low as to actually seek to use the General Convention for positive purposes.

Perhaps things will improve, and little Matt will eventually get a chance to hear everyone talking about sex - hot, sweaty, forbidden one-on-one action. If your as concerned as I am about little Matt's disappointment you could try posting some words of condolence on his mournful Viagraville thread, although for the next few days anyone wanting to contact him might find more success here.

If anyone does see him please give him my regards, and let him know that things could be worse. Sure the delegates aren’t as obsessed with sex as he and his Viagravillains would like them to be, but on the other hand he could be back in Binghamton with his wife and family, obediently serving in the congregation he’s mislead. And we can all sure that’s nowhere nearly as exciting as hoping to find filth in Anaheim.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Little Phil Ashey & AAC Priorities.

I’ve just finished reading little Phil Ashey’s report on the Presiding Bishop’s opening address to General Convention, and let’s not mince words here: I’m every bit as horrified as he is.

Firstly, and in clear contrast to what Jesus said about following Him being a purely individualistic thing, Presiding Bishop Jefferts Schori had the gall to suggest Christianity must be expressed in some sort of communal fashion, which involves placing the needs of others before our own!!!

Clearly, unlike little Phil and his righteously self-centered friends in the American Anglican Council, the wicked apostates running TEC haven’t grasped that true faith must be all about oneself. That’s why the Presiding Bishop is able to criticize those who claim “salvation depends on reciting a specific verbal formula about Jesus” - because she is obviously ignorant of the fact that Jesus didn’t mention anything about loving your neighbour: the important thing is to be able to parrot the magic incantation “Jesus is my Personal Saviour” just like He taught us to do time and time again in Scripture. Somewhere. Maybe in one of the Epistles.

However the best thing about little Phil’s inspired report is the way he cuts directly to what he's found most objectionable about proceedings so far. No namby-pamby contextualization, no liberal attempts at offering a reasoned evaluation, no; after a three line opening paragraph Phil unashamedly attacks what really bothered him, and in so doing reveals what a man of priorities he really is...

...he didn’t like the color of the jacket worn by the person giving the introductions.

I’m Father Christian and I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

Tractarians canonize Benedict Arnold.

The most wonderful development to have come out of the Orgy of Orthodoxy currently winning British hearts and minds is the way those at the pointy end of the Church’s candlestick have been so eager to abandon their Anglo-Catholic brethren abroad.

While a commitment to the rich via media of Anglicanism is all very well, and the reverent beauty of our ancient liturgical tradition is indeed precious, Keble and Newman’s pragmatic heirs are showing that none of this is so valuable that it can’t be tossed out of the window the moment little Peter Jensen appears with an offer to save them all from death by girl germs.

Keen-eyed observers will have noticed little Pete is a lot like that kid you knew who was always coming around to your house, but who never invited you to come and play at his. Years later you realised there was an explanation for this: his mother was a radical nudist and the “magic bracelet from King Arthur” he spoke about his father wearing was actually a court-ordered tracking device. The reason little Pete always comes to meddle in our churches and we're never invited to visit his is because those not of the extreme Anglo-Baptist end of the Anglican spectrum are forbidden from preaching or presiding in his empire – something he’d rather wasn’t mentioned when he’s trying to talk up the glorious unity that exists among misogynist homophobes.

It's also something that's curtailed the vocation of many young Australians mistakenly not convinced Jesus wore a polyester leisure suit, but given little Peter’s conviction that “the Gospel itself is at risk in the Roman Catholic church” he can't afford someone spoiling everything by, for example, questioning the official policy that Cardinal Newman “taught us to lie”. As little Pete’s Dean (& younger brother) says: “the average Australian pagan is being led to believe that genuine Christianity is to be found within the Roman tradition”; and the last thing this delightfully sectarian-but-newly=impoverished atmosphere can afford is a stray chasuble bringing about the end of Christianity.

Selling your fellow believers up the river in return for personal gain is a principle dear to the heart of every Conservative Biblical Christian, and British Anglo-Catholics are entirely justified in supporting someone on record as saying “I have serious misgivings about what sacramentalist ministry does to the clarity of the gospel”. Indeed, there are hardly the words to express how exciting it is seeing those to whom the Oxford Movement’s legacy has been entrusted now embracing GAFCON’s glorious disregard for anyone other than oneself.

After all, those in Sydney foolish enough to think they have a God-given right to worship as Anglicans have only themself to blame. Who cares if a few million people on the underside of the world are without access to the Sacraments? The important thing is that people without penises are kept in their place, along with those whom while possessing the said organ are no longer prepared to lie about what starts it twitching. What's a little betrayal among friends in relation to a really important issue like this one?

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

What's in the basket?

While following Ruth Gledhill's exciting report of the Be Faithful soirée I could not help but admire this charming picture of three authentic exponents of traditional African Christianity and their retinue.

Now I'll have to admit my gaydar has never been as finely tuned as that of, for example, the boys of Walsingahm Shrine, but take a closer look at the handsome young chap sitting on little Bobby's left:



Is it my imagination, or has someone just been caught in the act of sizing up Mr. ACNA's package? I don't know who this fine Conservative lad is, but something about his expression suggests to me that whatever things might have been on his mind when his picture was taken schism certainly wasn't one of them.



And let's be honest: with that many Conservative men standing firm in one place who could blame anyone for letting their mind wander a little. Although I would have thought that with all the athletic evangelicals in attendance this handsome chap could have found some more interesting trade than little Bobby. Then again, what did Kissinger say about power?

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

This man wants you to Spread.

Just when it seemed like all the good names for Biblically orthodox web sites – ones like Hustler, or Giant Jugs, or Tight Butts – had been taken, along has come someone who proves there’s still plenty of potential for ministry on the old internet. I’m speaking of course of little Charles Raven, who’s interestingly titled movement and site SPREAD proves that even if evangelicals are determined to destroy the Church of England, they are at least committed to preserving the tradition of saucy British double entendre.

Now there’s no denying little Charles has issues. Nor that an illustrated discussion of those issues could probably not be sold to minors. But please, let’s give credit where it’s due: there aren’t many men with the degree of tactlessness necessary to call an organisation devoted entirely to their passion for a heady cocktail of bad theology, misogyny, and homophobia Spread. He may look meek, mild and only reasonably unpleasantly beady-eyed, but there's no denying he's not shy about letting us all know what's on his mind.

Sure it’s an acronym for something (isn’t everything in Conservative Christianity these days?), but a lesser Biblical Christian would have abandoned the name when they realised it makes their crucial contribution to the world of Orthodoxy look like something published by Paul Raymond. Not the Rev. Raven; throwing cultural awareness to the winds he pressed on regardless. Perhaps in doing so he sees himself as standing against the tide of secular colloquialisms? Or perhaps he’s so spiritual he’s never heard of the more profane connotations. Then again, maybe “Spread” just appealed to a part of himself he prefers not to discuss in public.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Next act please...

Now that the North American Anglican nut tree has finished shaking their proverbials their transatlantic admirers are having a turn. Normally I’d be delighted by this news, since I’ve always said it’s impossible to have enough excuses to escape the mundane realities of one’s parish for a few days of mutually masculine backslapping, but to be perfectly honest what I’m hearing about this event is leaving me feeling more than a little flat.

It’s not the reports from such dubious progressive sources as the Church Times that organisers haven’t exactly been awash with applications from prospective attendees, nor that the list of those who’ll be sitting at the top table is so dreadfully predictable that even Bishop Quinine’s “gift of prophecy” could have picked it. No, the real problem is the speakers. Dr Chik Kaw Tan, and Bishops Nazir-Ali and Jensen for the evangelicals; and Bishops Broadhurst and Ackerman for the "Wardens of the Walsingham Shrine" (JCF - I saw your comment at OCICBW and wholeheartedly agree: this euphemism has to become part of the general Anglican vocabulary!).

Certainly, these gentlemen are all undoubtedly worthy, and have impeccable track records when it comes to campaigning against ministry by those with inappropriate (e.g. non-penis) genitalia. Nor have any of them ever wavered in their opposition to those who, whilst having the approved genitalia, are not prepared to lie about the causes of what might be best described as a “status shift” in the corporeality of their divinely sanctioned organs. Yet, my Dearly Beloved Sinners, let’s just face it - We’ve heard it all before!!!.

No music hall can afford to keep trotting out the same acts year after year. Where are the fresh young faces? Where are the thousands of fundamentalist Muslims conservatives are leading to Christ every single day? Why aren’t the millions of people Nazir-Ali has set free from the bondage of their God-given sexuality being given the stage to tell their stories? Why can’t we hear from the countless women whom by the power of little Peter Jensen’s gospel have been delivered from the burden of leading churches, and whom are now lovingly serving their husbands and lord in the peaceful town of Stepford?

It’s only understandable that the familiar faces want to keep hearing the sound of their own voices, but if the schism is going to be a threat to anyone it’s going to need to show some involvement from more than just the usual suspects. And it needs entertainment - something spectacular, like Fonzie jumping the shark. Although it’s increasingly coming to look like they jumped the shark some time ago.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Happy 4th of July!!!!

In order to celebrate today I have specially created this inspiring image for my Orthodox imitators like little David Virtue, or the wild & crazy gang of persecuted martyrs at Viagraville. I trust it will help them always remember how fortunate they are to be living in a democracy which permits people to voluntarily place themselves and their families in hands of a religious dictator. A place where the expression “land of the free” can be twisted to justify the appropriation of another church’s name and property (albeit only until those courts still to hand down their findings do so) on the basis of bigotry and bad theology. And somewhere in which disrespectful bloggers are free to ridicule their vain-glorious pretensions to be anything other than a bunch of sexually insecure little men determined to drag the Gospel and everyone who's been touched by it down to their own miserable level.

For those of you who count themselves as among my Dearly Beloved Sinners, this picture forms part of different celebratory gift, since there'll be a prize for the first person who spots it having been used as a mark of respect on a conservative site. Yes, I know that may take a month or two, but it’s been named and tagged in such a way as to ensure it’ll show up on the kind of Google image searches little Bobby’s faithful run when struck by a sudden craving for an image of their favourite flimflammer. At the moment I’m unsure of what the prize will be: perhaps I’ll mail the winner Evangelical Eric for a week (2nd prize is two weeks), or perhaps it might be a limited edition Father Christian sweat-shirt (for some reason I find the notion of people sweating beneath my image strangely arousing, but that might just be an after-effect of the Independence Day breakfast Bishop Quinine prepared for us all: he insisted they were mushrooms, but I still think they looked more like toadstools). Whatever I decide on, I’m sure you’ll be delighted, so keep your eyes open and email me here as soon as you think you’ve found something. My tip for one of the first places to watch is here, although I wouldn't put it past little Bobby to use it himself.

Lastly, I want to deliver a special warning to any Rectors intending to hold a church fireworks display this evening: DO NOT LIGHT THE FIREWORKS YOURSELF!. Fireworks are dangerous, and it’s for risky activities like this that God gave us Curates. Each year more people than you can imagine blow fingers - and even hands - to kingdom come, and what would be the point of your new high-speed internet connection if that happened? Let your Assistant Minister risk his palm and digits: you need both hands in good shape for those times when everyone’s been ordered to not disturb you while you’re “researching your sermon”. Remember; “one handed surfing” is awfully difficult if you’ve only got one hand.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Sarah Palin: a Nixon for our times.

“I have never been a quitter” announced the man many Christian Conservatives quite rightfully believe to have been America’s greatest President. If only he'd not said it while in the process of quitting his words might have carried a bit more credibility, but then again, President Nixon also said a number of that my fellow Bible-believers prefer to not discuss, but at a time like this I can’t think of a more appropriate Republican to quote. That’s because news from north has just reached my ears that Governor Palin has not only decided to not seek re-election, but has tendered her resignation – effective as of 26 July – from the office which is rightfully hers.

Now the cynics among us might suggest that she’s only doing this because of the fact not having candle’s chance in an Anchorage blizzard of winning next time around, it makes more sense to desert her sinking ship while there’s still time to start pestering party officials in the lower 48 to give her a chance to deliver Obama an even bigger majority in 2012.

Yet I believe the real reason is that she’s finally seen the light as taught by this delightful woman, who happens to be the spouse of Pastor Brokenbrow (thank you Alice Grumbacher) – the Baptist pastor whose hobby involves making a nuisance of himself at DHS checkpoints. Words fail me when it comes to describing Mrs. Brokenbow’s logic (is it just me, or does the way that elsewhere on her site she frequently refers to her husband not as “Steven”, but as “Pastor Anderson” also strike you as not so much ‘faithful’ and ‘endearing’ as ‘creepy’?) – read her take on Palin’s involvement in politics for yourself. That way nobody will accuse me of making things up.

Either way, in quitting Sarah Palin has shown the spirit of a true Bible-believing Conservative: while faithfully spouting ideo-babble she’s made a huge mess which she’s now leaving for somebody else to clean up. Whether it’s Vietnam, Iraq, or Alaskan mismanagement – you can always rely on a religious conservative to create enough work to keep idle liberal hands busy fixing things afterwards.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

He's not deposed; he only smells that way.

A most Dearly Beloved Sinner has just brought a marvellous little blog to my attention, and believe me when I say that what I’ve found there has been more than enough to warm the nether regions of a mighty old Doctrinal Warrior like myself.

I must admit I was initially a bit concerned about the site, called “And Now For Something Completely Different”, since the little Gafconeer responsible keeps talking about something called “Monty’s python”, which obviously seemed some kind of code for an unhealthy obsession with a small part of his Bishop’s anatomy - and when you realise his “Bishop” is none other than little layman Schofield you’ll understand my unease.

Consequently I was indeed relieved when Brother Richthofen and his friends from Seminary explained that the blogger, who is also the happy-clappy Rector of a congregation occupying property stolen from the Diocese of San Joaquin, is actually only obsessed with a group of English comedians. Which explains why Fr. Riebe (as his colonic-irrigator and parishioners address him) takes such pride in posting this clip of someone called Mr. Creosote being interviewed by an earnest young Biblicist: those unfamiliar with Mr. Creosote may also wish to view an earlier appearance here.

Yet not only is Fr. Riebe a fan of British comedy, he’s also been trying to produce a little humour of his own. In a truly hilarious piece entitled In Response to Being Deposed the merry-making Gafconeer claims “the rest of the bishops of the Anglican Communion” regard those who like him have now become Bishop Creosote’s ringwraiths as “STILL priests and clergy in good standing”. Sure: and 3 out of 4 people honestly can’t tell the difference between butter and margarine. Except the proportion of provinces recognizing little Bobby Duncan’s sect isn’t 3 out of 4, but closer to 1 in 5, but hey: since when has amateur stand-up been too concerned with details?

The best, however, comes a little further into the routine: “it is like the CEO of IBM trying to fire the executive staff at Xerox”. This would be so true if the Xerox employees had been previously employed by IBM, and thought themselves entitled to take the office building and contents when resigning to join Xerox. Which no doubt occurs all the time in Fr. Riebe’s over-heated reality – if not in the world everyone else lives in.

Indeed, I’m seriously considering adding this to my list of Gathered Brethren, and it’s a detail on a form letter from little Bobby which And Now etc. obsequiously reprints that really shows why: the letter is signed +Robert Pittsburgh, and not ++. Either little Bobby doesn’t really believe he’s a Primate, or Fr. Riebe can’t bring himself to extend the façade that far. And either way one of them is correct, even if medication could well be of help to both.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Happy Canada Day, eh?

Special greetings to all my Dearly Beloved Sinners north of the 49th Parallel, as well as those of you in places like Montreal, Toronto and Ottawa who may be geographically a few degrees south, but are as patriotically north of that cartographic divide as it's possible for a soul to get. Blessing to you all!

As a treat, I'm pleased to be able to inform you all that by way of a national birthday present the British Government has announced that they've relinquished all claim upon J. I. Packer, so you're now officially stuck with him in perpetuity.

Additionally, the people of Australia have said you can keep David Short for as long as you want - but when you've had enough of him they wonder if you could please not send him home, but perhaps instead arrange for him to be cast adrift on an ice floe?

What's more, the people of the U.S. would like you to know you're welcome to have as many ACNA bishops as you'd like, and if you take more than half they'll outlaw the telling of Canadian jokes and do their best to stop people mistaking you for Americans whenever you travel.

And lastly, Evangelical Eric is more than willing to accept Celine Dion in exchange for all of the above. Does a national birthday present get any better than that?

Je suis Père Christian et j'enseigne la Bible.

I think we have a problem, Lagos.

As every orthodox post-colonial Christian knows, Africa is in no way a homogenous mono-culture. Instead the continent actually encompasses a vast array of ethnic, social and linguistic groups, who come together to form a total of 47 widely differing countries and 12 Anglican provinces. Yet at the same time, as every faithful Gafconeer also knows, African Anglican leaders – unlike their apostate western counterparts – are universally pure in doctrine and practice.

Indeed; these uncorrupted and incorruptible men serve as role models to us all, and it is to them we must turn for guidance when it comes to reasserting the values of our homophobic and misogynist forbears. After all, if our great-grandparents lived in a world of repression and hatred who are we to aspire to anything more?

Yet as an Orthodox leader steering our faithless and reprobate church against the tide of justice, I must confess that I am increasingly finding myself confronted by a new quandary: just which African teaching is it that I am supposed to follow?

I say this because, as many of you have undoubtedly already been horror-struck to learn, the Diocese of Accra, in the Province of West Africa has decided to permit the ordination of women to the Priesthood. This means they are now firmly upon the same slippery slope as Rwanda, Uganda and Kenya, and directly at odds with Nigeria and Tanzania.Yet since all of these churches are directly guided by god, which one is correct?

Obviously they can’t all be right: it’s a central tenet of orthodoxy that whenever two parties have conflicting opinions one of them must be walking in perfect truth and light, while the other must be spawned in sin and dammed for all eternity. Yet unlike the forsaken west, these are all conservative Gafcon churches; their Primates are members of the Gafcon Primates Council, and consequently they are by infallible when it comes to matters of doctrine. So how can we determine who is the heretic and who represents the Communion’s sole last hope?

Bishop Quinine says he contacted little Martyn Minns for an answer, who reportedly responded by saying that at times like this one should always just ask “What would big Pete Akinola do?” (WWBPAD?) Yet I’ve seen what Rwandans and Ugandans are capable of doing when they get angry, and to perfectly honest I don’t think the parishioners of either province would be happy learning that they should be considered inferior to the Nigerians, or that someone else’s big-man is bigger than theirs.

No, perhaps the strategy most Bible-believing Anglican leaders are taking really is the best: under this approach the African churches are always right, providing their position is the same as that of white conservative upper-middle class western males. The moment any African bishop deviates from this guideline they can be ignored in favour of another prelate more supportive of one’s own prejudices. After all, one African church is pretty much the same as the next, isn’t it?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.