"So long, farewell, aufwiedersehen, goodbye...." (До свидания!)

Across the universe, in every nook, cranny, and crevice, people are weeping. Women are tearing their hair with grief; men are beating their chests while asking how things could have ever come to this. On Wall Street important young financiers look up from sheets of numbers with tear-brimmed eyes, and at the Hon Hai Precision Industry Co. (better known to you as Foxconn) factories in Shenzhen young girls regret signing contracts forbidding them from celebrating the miracle of global capitalism by leaping from their dormitory window.

And the reason for such sorrow, My Beloved Sinners? That you need to ask not only illustrates the depths of your depravity, but also how little attention you pay to little David Virtue’s “exclusive” announcement of Archbishop Deluxe Rowan William’s resignation of the throne of Canturbury. (Yes – little Mr. Virtue really did claim his tub-thumping is an “exclusive” – which more than justifies my forthcoming exclusive announcement concerning a discovery that rain falls in a primarily downward direction.)

Indeed, on Saturday, when I popped into the mall for a few pints of Crème de menthe (nothing keeps a Sunday 7.30 am congregation on their toes like swapping the Communion wine for something green) small children were still shrieking in sorrow (either that or they were frightened Bishop Quinine could be nearby) and their parents were clearly still in shock a day after ++Cantaur broke the Communion’s heart. Or at least they would have been in shock if they knew anything about Our Sacred Communion and the One True and Narrow Road along which its Orthodox members are marching unto salvation. As it was they appeared simply too busy with the task of enjoying the lives they’ve been given – but I’ve no doubt they would be as burdened with stress as any Biblical Christian if they would only repent and accept the truth that sets all Sinners free to wallow in guilt while obsessing about their church’s leadership.

Curiously enough, ++Rowan’s heart-wrenching decision to turn his back on a life of academic and theoretical leadership and devote more time to academia and theory came just after someone with the newly registered moniker of “Turnip Ghost” (six views when I first looked) left a comment on my previous Important Homily, revealing the fascinating news that “You need the Anglican covenant or Rowan Williams will lose a great deal of credibility.” - who’d have possibly thought our Beloved Bearded Primate still had any credibility left to lose? Especially when just three little words (“Bishop”, “Jeffrey”, and “John”) had settled that particular question once and for all.

Still, there’s no accounting for what you can learn on the internet, and I’ve found myself agreeing with something I read around the blogosphere to the effect of poor Rowan being left with no alternative other than to fall on his sword in the wake of the Covenant To Ban Homosexualist Bishops and Other Bad American Stuff failing to rally the world in a collective spirit of “Yay – let’s have more rules to exclude folk”. Since motions of no confidence aren’t really the kind of indaba encouraged in the rarified heights of Lambeth, the “No Covenant” votes have come about as close as we’ll ever see, and it looks like the message has been clear enough for the Archbishop of Canterbury to understand. Possibly because a Guiding Hand ensured it was in 19th century Russian, perhaps? Although I can’t personally recall Dostoevsky ever actually using the term “lame-duck”.

At which point I’ll have to leave you all for now: I’ve got to finish my personal letter of support to ++Rowan, thanking him for all he has done for the Church, and begging him to reconsider. Gifted wordsmith I may be, but finding the right words to convey our respect, gratitude, admiration, and appreciation isn’t easy: the opening is fine, but what do I say next after “Gee Rowan – it must suck to be you”?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Thank you (& an explanation).

Today’s important homily must begin with a specially gracious thank-you to all my Faithful Facebook Friends around the world, who so thoughtfully sent the best wishes for My Birthday this week. Doubtless you have all been heartbroken by my failure to reply earlier, but I know you will be comforted by the knowledge that I have been simply too busy with crucial matters of Ministry.

This is because, as even the most Sinful of you will already be aware, as a virile man of 23 birthdays I am utterly irrestistable to Christian women seeking a husband through whom they can live a subordinate life of vicarious Ministry. Combined with the ancient Biblical practice (at least I think it’s in the Bible: like any Conservative I must be careful to not actually read the thing too often or too closely lest the it interferes with My Theology) of February 29 being an occasion when those not divinely gifted with a penis are permitted to propose marriage, and you will of course thus all understand my need to keep a low profile on the otherwise blessed occasion of My Natal Feast.

Biblical Christians everywhere will be relieved to learn, however, I survived the day with my status as a Bachelor for the Bible intact as Layman Schofield. (Now there’s a name you don’t hear around the blogs anymore. Isn’t schismatic fame is a fleeting and fickle thing?). Of course you and I know that’s a result of my faithful prayers being obediently answered on account of My Righteousness, but Consuella – who in the days leading up to the 29th was overheard muttering something foreign which sounded like ”Si alguien se casa con el viejo loco que va a ser yo” - foolishly insists it has something to do to with the security cordon she arranged to be provided by her relations and business associates. As also does Bishop Quinine, who I’m told was shouting something not dissimilar as he patrolled the Rectory grounds with his blunderbuss.

Then to make matters worse there’s been a small difficulty with my godless liberal apostate Bishop – not our schismatic “Anglican” Bishop of course, but the one representing the Whore of Babylon to which I swore obedience and loyalty at the time of My Ordination. It’s the kind of petty dilemma my complementarian admirers will relate to perfectly, and is typical of the kind of challenges all-knowing young men like myself face when dealing with prelates who foolishly think a lifetime of ministry and theological study has somehow equipped them with the experience to see things more wisely than us.

It all started when I was overheard referring to His Grace as “as an idiot from Satan” in what I must stress was a strictly private conversation. After all, how was I to know he also reads the local newspaper? As my official explanation makes clear, the alleged insult only referred to his functional status. Ontologically he’s undoubtedly perfectly intelligent (at least as far as Bishops go), and I truly cannot for the life of me see why he’s become so angry. Indeed, that he cannot conceive of a functional idiocy that does not also imply an ontological idiocy is a sad testament to the paucity of His Grace’s theological education.

Mind you, this kind of ignorance is exactly what I predicted would happen. The writing was on the wall for all to see the day seminaries became seduced by revisionist fads like the Nicene Creed, and abandoned the timeless wisdom of St. Arius.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.