And in the purple corner we have ...

Back in the good old days, before Scripture-denying liberals made it commonplace for women to be prescribed pain relief while giving birth - in blatant contravention of Genesis 3:16 - a popular amusement at county fairs and the like involved placing wild animals in a small cage and watching them tear each other to shreds. Now whilst I utterly abhor cruelty of any kind not involving one’s Curate, it's undeniable that Bishop Quinine has a point when he says the prohibition of such honest folk entertainments is just one more indication of how far society has turned its back upon the old values which engendered the kind of respect for one’s elders reflected in the ducking of grandmothers who dared to voice their opinion, or the pressing of witches.

Consequently I am deeply indebted to the Dearly Beloved Sinner who drew my attention to this marvellous blog post regarding AMiA (the Rwandan border-hopping exercise headed up by little Chuck “I’ll do anything to wear purple” Murphy and his band of merry men) having decided to “walk apart” from Bobby Duncan’s sect, for it shows it’s possible to enjoy all the traditional merriment of watching a sack full of cats fight without a single innocent creature being harmed. About halfway down through the comments (I’ve saved a full copy, so if they get removed – which they probably will – let me know and I’ll repost them here) an anonymous faux-Rwandan really starts the fireworks with a marvellous attack on his Conservative brothers:

“With the GAFCON / FCA initiative and call for a new province, those who had previously found it so hard to abandon ship were ready to set sail on their new yacht. Now with the opportunity to be called Your Grace (he grins every time he is greeted with that title) and to receive a miter and crosier (I have never seen an AMiA bishop so adorned) Duncan FINALLY steps to the fore. However, the group that would constitute the new ACNA was pitifully small and insignificant (without the now decade old and growing AMiA). So, without pride or prejudice the AMiA welcomed the opportunity to help anybody (even those who hate them) support the Anglican Identity promulgated by the Jerusalem Declaration (avoiding the use of the sticky term “orthodox” here).

A year into the new structure, it is very clear to AMiA folks that ACNA is rapidly becoming a cleaned-up Episcopal church. With visions of future committees, Roberts rules, diocesan conventions, and old arguments …”

After a few sharp responses from faithful Duncanites touchingly demonstrating the love felt in return (“There is no way Chuck Murphy will ever accept being anything but The Vicar of Christ in North America. Once there is a "generational change of leadership" (to put things tastefully) theAM will quickly merge with ACNA.”) none other than She-Who-Combs Bobby’s-Wyebrows weighs in. That’s right, Mrs. Psuedo-Primate herself, and let me tell you, Beloved Sinners, hell hath no fury… “I don't mind giving up my husband for the work of the Kingdom but I DO mind reading Crap like this…”

Yet that’s only her beginning:

“ The day the AMia starts doing some church planting is difficult areas will be the day when I cheer you. What about New England? Anyone can plant a church in the South where there is still a church going culture - not so the northeast where they are dying for an orthodox presence. And I don't meann (sic) plant a church 2 blocks away from one already planted an syphon off their people - so your New York City plant doesn't count. No, go into Morris County in New Jersey and try there. Then brag about your expertise and success and I'll be on the front row of congratulations. Right now, be glad I don't know who you are - because you've made me very angry.”

To make her point the comment is then immediately repeated: someone wasn’t being a patient little kingdom wife when she was furiously clicking “Publish Comment”, were they? But it takes more than an enraged Pseudo-Primate’s wife to keep an anonymous faux-Rwandan down:

“I do not know your husband so I can say nothing of his character. My mention of him is as a representative of the party that treats AMiA like a read-headed step child. The bloggers blame Rwanda for the present circumstances…Rwanda was our advocate and hero from the very beginning when no American was willing to lead. AMiA is accused of being power hungry, yet it is not an AMiA bishop that has been elevated at this juncture... … in your angry response (to a nobody on a blog) you, a member of the archbishop’s own household, have betrayed deep resentment and contempt for the AMiA and bishop Murphy personally. Your response provides great clarity to me about what I have witnessed of the persecution of my friends. ”

And so the battle rages on, reminding Consuella of the cockfights which were so popular in her childhood village. Honorable mention must certainly be made of the blog’s owner, a Duncanite who well comprehends the importance of keeping the boss's wife happy: “I am sorry an anonymous commentator offended you here. Obviously they do not speak for me. I think very highly of my archbishop. ”. After which is revealed the best window into the love and mutual respect found behind the scenes of the glorious schism through which you’ve ever peeped:

“… as for "blaming Rwanda" it is merely a statement of fact that the Rwandan House of Bishops in January objected to the set up of AMiA within ACNA. They were the ones who necessitated this change. For whatever reason they want to keep the AM very close to the vest, while the other overseas jurisdictions who have helped us have cheered the formation of ACNA on and helped Archbishop Duncan and our other leaders at every turn in forming the new province.

And as for "treating AMiA like a red-headed stepchild," the entire Constitution and Canons of the ACNA were constructed with AMiA in mind to insure they could continue to function just as they have. Far from being sidelined, AMiA was right at the center of the process, being catered to a great deal. If anything AMiA was treated like the "fair-haired child" of ACNA! ”

Indeed: who needs any blood-sports when we’ve got Orthodox fellowship like this to watch? Fox-hunting, bull-fighting, youth fellowship games nights – the lot of them pale into insignificance when compared with Biblical Christianity’s answer to professional wrestling. And the best part is that the show’s only just begun; just wait until you see how exciting things get when all the ambitious men with a predilection for pointy hats realize that as far as Bobby’s concerned his enthronement was like getting a puppy for Christmas (albeit messier and nowhere near as cute) – for life.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

When it's quantity, not quality, that matters.

As a result of my faithful and untiring research into the internet’s sinfulness I daily receive an enormous number of unsolicited emails. Naturally I’m too busy to pay them the slightest attention (although I must confess to occasionally wondering if anyone ever really attempts to purchase Viagra in response to spam from somewhere in Rumania or Nigeria), but when the following email came from somebody with the refreshingly Orthodox name of “Lilliputian Savage” (David Virtue's new pseudonym perhaps?) I could not help but take notice:


Naturally I have already requested a sample. Depending on the quality Bishop Quinine intends using them for scientific research, or else as the basis for a new line of budget pet food. I, however, intend to baptise them all as parishioners, which will make me the uncontested star of the Anglican church-growth movement. Not only will I be bigger than Rick Warren, but with those numbers there’ll be a good case for declaring St. Onuphrius’ a Province of its own. After all: if ACNA can use logic like that so can I...

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Ready, Aim, FIRE! - Canon History.

Since there wasn’t much demand for chimney sweeps on the Serengeti wilderness where my parents served as gun runners missionaries, and as responsible Christians they understood the importance of teaching their young son the value of hard work, I was instead at the age of three apprenticed to a local circus, where I quickly became famous as the world’s youngest human cannonball. It was a marvellous introduction to life’s ups and downs, and one I can heartily recommend to any mother or father eager to give their offspring a solid grounding in Conservative Biblical ethics: any collateral forebrain damage which may occur to your little one is more than offset by the subsequent inability to comprehend reality in anything other than a purely binary capacity.

What’s more I have as a result been left with an abiding interest in cannons, and consequently when the more lucid members of the St. Onuphrius’ Ministry Team urged me to share this article on the history of our New Testament canon with My Beloved Sinners I could hardly refuse. Naturally I haven’t read it myself, since I’ve been far too busy finding out who I need to bribe/blackmail with regard to obtaining little Bishop Wright’s position, but those of you not blessed by God with lives as important as mine are sure to benefit from taking a few minutes to study this essay - my apologies to those of you who are evangelicals or who were home-schooled, but there’s no pictures.

As a leading Conservative, of course, my own knowledge of history is exemplary, and I’m committed to ensuring more Sinners learn of St. James’ (brother of Our Lord, who was martyred in Acts 12:2 and later became king of England) inspiring work translating the Bible back into the original English. Indeed, the journey through which the original canon - given to God’s people by St. Paul in a process which two fascinating young visitors on bicycles recently explained to me involved an angel, gold tablets, and a pair of peep stones – passed down through the centuries unchanged is positively thrilling. Despite efforts of Romans like St. Jerome who sought to obscure God’s perspicuous word by rendering it into a Latin edition called the ‘Vulgate’ (with a name like that any real Christian should immediately sense something immoral), St. James ensured Christian booksellers would never be deprived of their most stable item.

Indeed, by entering the field of publishing St. James also inspired Martin Luther, who despite being foreign was so excited he nailed 95 copies of James’ own epistle to the Wittenberg church door, which in turn so upset the Pope that he left England in act of schism. As a result Henry VIII’s marriage failed on account of him getting divorced and chopping his ex-wives heads off (some fellows will do anything to avoid paying alimony), and the Communion we know, love, and are constantly threatening to leave, was born. But I’m too busy to tell you any more: read the story for yourself...

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

My Durham Application.

Click to view full-size image.



Personally I think the job's as good as mine.

Rekers' Vision Lives On!

Until now it must be noted that neither myself, nor my less orthodox imitators, nor any other of the servants of the ceaseless internet struggle to ensure salvation and grace are only made available to those who don’t need them, have mentioned the recent minor misunderstanding concerning “Mr. Family Values” George Rekers.

The silence has, of course, been entirely appropriate. Only an apostate liberal would find anything untoward about engaging one’s travel assistants through a site with a “Warning - Over 18’s Only” splash page, and even deigning to comment on the innuendo concerning Dr. Rekers’ recent vacation and intensive one-on-one evangelistic mission would lend the improbable falsehoods currently circulating a dignity they clearly do not deserve.

Nevertheless, it’s come to Bishop Quinine's and my attention that there are indeed a great many gullible rich bigots prosperous and faithful Biblical Christians who believe every word of Massage George’s statement concerning the current “misleading internet reports”, and we feel it would be remiss of my duty as the World’s Foremost Doctrinal Warrior to not reach out to those supporters of Dr. Rekers feeling hurt by the reports circulating about a man they knew and loved (albeit in a different sense as certain young men).

Consequently I want to assure everyone who’s ever given money to support Professor Rekers or any of his shopfront “charities” that if they now redirect their offerings to me I will personally make certain the good work he has begun continues. Between myself, Bishop Quinine, and the other members of the St. Onuphrius’ ministry team, we will ensure every last cent we receive is spent perusing online images and profiles of attractive young people, meeting them in person, and letting them lift our luggage in which ever country the Spirit may see fit to lead us.

That’s right: Satan may have used his Scripture-denying serpents to bring down a mighty servant in the war against people seeking to live as God has made and loves them, but quicker than you can say “Viagra and two martinis please” another Biblical Leader has been raised up to stand (kneel/lie down/reverse cowboy) in his place, and My Beloved Sinners, that Leader is me!

So please, if like us you’ve been devastated by Dr. Rekers’ crucifixion, don’t let grief prevent you from continuing to support his vision. Send your money - all your money - to St. Onuphrius’ now before it’s too late for the young men and women to whom we are desperate to minister.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

PS. As an exclusive deal for all those faithful conservatives who have in good faith accepted Dr. Reker’s explanation I also have an exceptional opportunity to invest in Florida real estate. “Everglades Eden” (formerly known as Itchworm Swamp) is a delightful area which, should health department regulations be someday amended to permit public access, will make a wonderful location in which to either retire, or build the vacation dream home you’ve always longed for – what parent doesn't want their children spending every summer fleeing ‘gators in knee-deep mud?. As a special gift the first 50 purchasers will also receive title to their very own bridge in Brooklyn…

Nobody knows Ethics like a Jensen!

It’s true: this site probably does feature Archbishop Jensen, Lord of Mordor and Ganglion of Gafcon, more frequently than is really appropriate for a family orientated ministry. Still, desperate times call for desperate measures, and since the fact that you are able to read this is a strong indication you probably weren’t home schooled my belief is you need all the fundamentalist role-models I can offer you.

Consequently I must waste no time bringing to your attention this fascinating article, which was sent to me by not just one, but two Dearly Beloved Sinners dwelling in the Land where the Evangelical Shadows lie. Evidently state schools there have decided little Peter and his house-elves should no longer enjoy a monopoly when it comes to teaching ethics, a move which has understandably outraged Orthodoxy’s most unsuccessful gambler, and when confronted with a choice between the ethics of Sydney “Anglicanism” and those of the godless socialist-atheist state parents have been wickedly electing to entrust their children to the care of those who are not self-anointed Chosen Ones.

Which surely, more than any other example I can recall, stands as evidence of just how morally corrupt – how utterly spiritually bankrupt – the apostate liberal west has become. Here are parents handed the opportunity on a platter to have their children instructed in ethics by the same religious leaders who treat women, GLBTs, and divorcees as second-class citizens, who last year frittered away a paltry $160 million on dubious investments (and who still haven’t disclosed what exactly it was they did with their parishioners' money), and whom profess to represent historical Anglicanism whilst simultaneously advocating lay presidency, border crossing, and laissez faire liturgy.

I ask you: what responsible mother and father wouldn’t want their little one taught the moral values of the same people whom last November announced they’re closing down the state’s only residential school for profoundly disabled children on account of it being too expensive, but whom can continue sending their leaders around the world (“If it’s April we must be in Bermuda, or is it Singapore? Or both?”) to participate in conferences dedicated to ECUSA’s destruction? And doesn’t every loving parent want their child's development in the caring hands of those not ashamed to be hustling for funds to support the compassionate child-witch and queer killing churches of Uganda? Or how can any young one develop an ethical approach to life without a solid example of what an entire family can accomplish through nepotism?

Fortunately the article shows Dobby’s Master isn’t taking this threat lying down. In response to the terrible risk of tomorrow’s potential converts having been equipped with the ethical skills to tell the difference between right and wrong, and able to recognize a nasty hate-filled Pharisee when they see one, Sydney Anglican diocese is doing the first thing that Bible-Believing Christians should always do when confronted with the possibility of people seeing through their smoke and mirrors; “it has created a fund-raising website”.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Positions Vacant: The Durham Diocesan Website

A screenshot (click to enlarge):

And in detail (ditto):


I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

PS: Your cloaking page isn't hiding your identity at all Dobby. Brother Richthofen's friend from Seminary can still see every one of your visits, and we still find the frequency of those visits hilarious. Things must be a bit quite in Mordor on a Friday night, hey my boy? Or have you just been dreaming about carrying Fr. Jass' luggagage again?

Toshiba Customer Service – The New Standard in Evil

Beloved Sinners who have only ever partaken of the Communion wine in moderation will recall that last October I purchased a magnificent new multi-media laptop. Splendid in every detail (except for the fact that it came with an operating system so inherently evil it could make Bishop Spong believe in child witches), I rejoiced in the fact that my Important Ministry Research would in future be blessed by widescreen graphics rendered with such haste that I would scarcely have time to adjust myself, irrespective of how loose fitting my cassock may be.

After a small hiccup in January, when installing the operating system that was allegedly my computer’s idea (in which case, machine, let’s leave the ideas to me in the future, mmkay?) things were running more or less smoothly until one morning about a month ago, when that beautifully panoramic and hygenically-cleaned screen refused to work, plunging the machine into that state which the Scriptures term the “outer darkness”.

Yea verily, there was indeed much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but thankfully Consuella was able to find my receipt and warranty card, and a call to that nest of Satan calling itself Toshiba Customer Service deceived me into believing the device would be repaired free of charge within - at most – one week. While the forked-tongued serpent from Toshiba even promised to arrange for the recalcitrant device to collected by courier at no charge, this would have further delayed proceedings by several days, and as the repair facility is within easy driving distance I instead delivered it myself that morning, arranging to again collect it in person when repaired.

With hindsight I should have foreseen trouble when the impressively robust gentleman at reception said things should take “about 14 days” – naively I queried this 100% increase, but my concerns were dismissed with a muttered cliché about “turnover time varying”, and finding myself without a ready supply of bananas I thought it better to not push the point and risk antagonizing him.

The first week passed, and the office desktop computer struggled valiantly to fill the gap; relieved no doubt to be promoted from its usual role of file-sharing torrent server (the number of Ministry Tools to be found out there is indeed quite impressive – as I dare say Peter Ould well knows). Then another week passed, and I begun receiving cryptic messages advising Toshiba were “awaiting parts”. Then another week passed. Flowers began to bloom, and young boys became men as their voices tremulously began breaking. Maybe I never really had a laptop at all.

Finally I received a message that the accursed implement had been repaired, dispatched and delivered to me. Yesterday.

Rejecting such preterist notions of the parousia, I made a bold stand for Orthodoxy, which was in turn denied by the false prophets of Toshiba, dwelling as they do in a reality a which can only (at best) be described as “alternate”. My prior agreement to collect it in person was discounted as “impossible” on account of the repair facility “being renovated” (if so then the construction work is being undertaken on a purely spiritual level, because a subsequent visit revealed no sign of any such work whatsoever), and further attempts to ascertain something remotely resembling the truth were met with a repeated directive to “contact the delivery company” since the matter “no longer had anything to do with Toshiba”.

By the Grace of God the delivery people proved helpful – the wretched gadget wasn’t sent yesterday at all, but collected the morning after Toshiba had sent their message. And sure enough, late this evening a noble messenger did indeed disturb the Rectory hounds by ringing the bell and delivering a parcel containing my computer. Which does indeed appear to be working, although it was also accompanied by an angry note explaining the full testing procedure could not be undertaken because the password wasn’t supplied. Do I need to mention that Toshiba also returned the large piece of paper I’d given them, upon is written in letters at least 3 inches high “Password: XXX” – the same piece of paper to which I had drawn the attention of the man with whom I’d originally left the accursed contraption?

Next time I’m getting an Apple. Or even just making do with an abacus, a box of crayons and a large writing pad. Anything but buy another Toshiba.

My Next Calling?

Evangelical Eric, my miserable excuse for a Curate, has been heartbroken since news broke of Bishop Wright’s startling resignation from the See of Durham. Nor is he alone in his grief: I have been literally inundated with tear-stained emails from devastated Sinners pleading for me to in some way intervene and persuade young + Dunelm (it’s not “Durham” when used as a name, my illiterate Sinners) to reconsider his hasty decision.

By some remarkable co-incidence, however, almost every one of these requests has come from people employed within the travel industry; the only exception being a funds manager that the previous week taken a strong position in British Airways – the poor lad is now terrified the inevitable loss will leave him so irrevocably branded as incompetent that the only future position he’ll ever be able to obtain will be that of porfolio management in the Diocese of Mordor.

While of, course, nobody can help that poor fellow, I’ve been reassuring my other grieving correspondents that +Nicholas Thomas' interesting move into academia, whereby rather than actually teach anyone he intends “to head up various broadcasting projects to bring the results of good biblical (i.e. “his”) scholarship to a wider audience”, should actually lead to an increase in His Grace’s frequent flyer miles. The Royal Burgh of St. Andrews may indeed have given the world golf shoes, but anywhere that cavalier about their possessive apostrophe is hardly going to be capable of sustaining enough bookshops to keep our man in purple permanently occupied giving out autographs. Besides, given that this next stage of his career is undoubtedly going to include writing his own book on Dostoevsky in preparation for his next occupational ambition, and it’s going to take a real lot of marketing to convince anyone to buy another work involving foreigners who probably didn’t even hate homosexualists, you’d better believe the boy’s got some serious promotional globe-trotting ahead of him.

Naturally I’ve already been approached about accepting an invitation to become his replacement. It appears the Wardens of Durham have been inundated by applications from a certain Deacon Dobby Ould, who as the world’s most experienced clergyman (a title he recently took from little Matt Kennedy on account of the Boy Wonder from Binghamton having been officially rescheduled as “sub-Christian” on account of repeatedly refusing to forbid his wife preaching – those unfortunate enough to be caught up in the Cult of the Self-Righteous Shepherd need to have something to brighten their Sundays), is convinced the position should be his, and so those responsible for ensuring Her Majesty is not in some future meeting with her most senior clergy subjected to a tirade concerning substitionary atonement and his brother's prostate are desperate to fill the big bed in Bishop Auckland as quickly as possible.

While yet to formally decline their very sensible offer (you’ve got admit the title “The Right Reverend Father in God, Christian Troll, by Divine Providence Lord Bishop of Durham” would undoubtedly go a long way in overcoming my current difficulties in obtaining membership at our local Blockbuster Video outlet), I did express concern regarding my unavailability on the grounds that I’m not prepared to live in the Diocese. Although the clergy of Durham have informed me this wouldn’t make me in any way different to the previous incumbent.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.