Sunday, April 4, 2010

Holy Saturday

Personally I’ve always considered Holy Saturday to be a bit of a let down. After all the gloom of Good Friday it’s a bit much to expect Biblical Christian Leaders like myself to wait more than a whole day before enjoying the bumper offertories to be gleaned on Easter Sunday. Besides, if the whole atonement business is simple enough for Deacon Dobby Ould to explain in a few short lines there’s no reason for Our Lord to have been so tardy about things. If David Ould can be believed (don't worry, we're only speaking hypothetically here) he could have wrapped the whole business up in under an hour, which I'll admit with advertising could have made a fantastic 90 minute TV presentation.

Still, the break does give everyone a much needed chance to go shopping: three days without an opportunity to purchase whitegoods is probably more than any civil society should endure. Here at St. Onuphrius’ we spent much of the day nailing little Brad Evans’ crate shut and shipping him back to the Institute. Not only did he prove incapable of handling the part we’d prepared for him in our Easter pageant (he was to have played the stone outside Jesus’ tomb, but lacked sufficient personality), but the endless droning on and on about vestments became more than anyone could bear. Don’t get me wrong; I love a good bit of man-lace as much as the next homophobic clergyman, but the boy’s obsessional. Back when Dicky Dawkins could still be bothered indulging in community with carbon molecules arranged in such a way as to display an illusion of sentience there was somewhere Brad could relieve himself of his tensions, but now? Dear me, I don’t know how Matron manages: the woman must have the patience of a saint. Either that she was weaned on the same lemons as Alison Barfoot. Although Matron doesn’t forget to pay her web hosting bill.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

24 comments:

Fr Hugh Jass said...

It takes great intellect for someone like Deacon Ould to summarise the Passion in two sentences. Perhaps Brad would benefit from a visit by the devout deacon at the Institute. Obviously, Matron would detect that Dobby is totally deranged and have him certified. I suggest Brad and the Deacon share a bed on the same ward.

Doorman-Priest said...

He was to have played the stone outside Jesus’ tomb, but lacked sufficient personality.

Hahahahohohoho!

Lapinbizarre said...

Fr Ould's Good Friday sermon (how long will that link stand?) catalogues childhood injuries sustained and survived.

"Throughout my childhood I managed a number of impressive accidents. As well as the usual hot water scalds and mishandlings of knives that most kids get through, I also managed a nice groove in my skull from a flying cricket bat (and you can have a feel of it later if you so desire) and several occurrences of electrocuting myself off the mains. 240 volts through your hand is not a pleasant experience, let me tell you. Do not try that one at home."

Leonardo Ricardo said...

Oh the saga of itty-bitty Brad Evans continues...how I enjoy the idea of recently spat-out tongue sticking/licking giant wads of bubblegum now stuck in he, she, or it´s hair! Finally, the dudette is getting the attention that he, she or it deserves (and demands)...of course it would be here at Fr. Trolls/GAFCON where masterful penning of widom fills our joyous journey into real world insanity and then takes us to the great beyond. Yes, nothing like a brat crating to turn my imaginative juice FULLY ON!

Lapinbizarre said...

The Church of Uganda's web-site has been experiencing problems for some time, has it not? Wholly unconnected to Mr Amahnson's support for Obama, I'm sure.

When I cited the support of the late chairman of Hooters for the De Mint campaign, as an example of Republican Family Values, I should, of course, have linked this.

MadPriest said...

To be honest, Father Christian, I am a smidgeon disappointed in your attitude to Holy Saturday. Rather than shopping this is the day on which all orthodox Christians should be celebrating our Lord's descent into hell and, above all, the day on which the leaders of the church (that's us) should be making and publicising lists of the sort of dead people that Jesus didn't release from Satan's clutches during his bit of harrowing. Really! You need to be flexing your binding muscle a bit more, sir. There is no place for the soft-hearted or merciful in the Kingdom of God.

Brad Evans said...

No, YOUR lord.
I don't live in the Middle Ages; I don't want a lord.
Keep all deacons away from me.
Doorman, keep your real job and stay a bouncer.

The Rev. Dr. Christian Troll said...

Now, now, my son - calm down. Dobby's a long way away from you and your crate, so you don't need DP standing guard by the door.

Just keep trusting in the Lord like a nice boy. And you're quite right, you're not living in the medieval ages, so there's no need to keep wearing that codpiece Bishop Quinine gave you: it's probably also a good idea to stop calling Mr. Little your "jousting stick" - you know how Matron gets when she thinks you're being smutty.

Your Loving Father.

Brad Evans said...

Wow-commenting on dick size; that's got to be anglo-catholic. They still do "comparison shopping" at Nashotah House on Ember Days?
Or is that left to Louie Crew?

mehitabel the cat said...

They still do "comparison shopping" at Nashotah House on Ember Days? Guess they did in your day, Brad. You'll need to ask that question over at SF. I'm sure they'll be understanding in dealing with your inquiry.

Vestments and dicks - why is this so often a twin obsession?

The Rev. Dr. Christian Troll said...

Well done, my son - you're starting to show you have a personality at last. Pity about it being as pleasant as a cockroach on a cupcake, but at least it's yours.

MadPriest said...

Oh no!
Of all the insects you could have chosen you had to plump for COCKroach. I give it no more than 30 seconds before we get another Anglo-Catholic seminary rant.

Brad Evans said...

Leonardo, maybe you and Louie should share a bed in the same ward.

The Rev. Dr. Christian Troll said...

It's not exactly an A-C rant MP, but I think we can still safely consider your prediction as proven correct.

Leonardo: when you and Louis meet for Brad's "hospital party" you'd better make sure I get an invitation - a Doctrinal Warrior like me can recognize a wild evening when I hear one!

Brad Evans said...

Actually, I celebrate your vibrant, cream cheese-like diversity; I think it's great that divorced/gay ex-Catholics and fundies who went to college have a place to talk to their invisible friend(s).
WASPs (and wannabe WASPs) should have their own clubs,just like everyone else.
Anglicanism is, as David Starkey so eloquently put it, the Shinto of the English-speaking world. Now if you could only do something about that median age of 59+,......

MadPriest said...

Brad Evans - our very own invisible tosser.

mehitabel the cat said...

"Anglicanism is, as David Starkey so eloquently put it the Shinto of the English-speaking world."

Starkey is absolutely right, Brad. And nice to see you citing a gay historian. So you can't pin the "Invisible Friend" business on Anglicanism, can you?

Brad Evans said...

Not Anglicanism's fault alone certainly. And I had to nominate an Archdeacon of Hampstead Heath, it would certainly be Starkey+, based on the amount of time he must spend there.
But seriously, you ARE pretty bland. And you should also leave the House of Lords when they get around to reforming it.

Brad Evans said...

English/Anglican=redundant
Anglican/Catholic=contradictory
MadPriest, this tradition exists nowhere.

The Rev. Dr. Christian Troll said...

Brad/Evans=ridiculous

Brad Evans said...

Which means you can prove me wrong?
Incidentally, is there much call among the "flaming community" for the wrinkled?
Enjoy the road downhill!

The Rev. Dr. Christian Troll said...

You've already proved yourself wrong, my son. You just can't see how or why.

Brad Evans said...

Which means precisely nothing.
About as useful as incense.

The Rev. Dr. Christian Troll said...

Only to those with your sense of smell, my son.