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.