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.