Storms are just passing wind.

To be perfectly honest I’ve never liked the name “Sandy”. This is unfortunate, since I’ve known some very fine people indeed who are called that, and on one occasion was even obliged to Baptize an extraordinarily lovely child with this name. This required me to feign a coughing fit at the appropriately crucial liturgical moment, wherein I sotto voce substituted the first alternative to come into my head. That just happened to be “Sandinista” – something which may cause a few awful moments in the Kingdon to come given in that glorious place we shall all be known by our true names in the faith, and her parents were dedicated supporters of Reagan.

Perhaps this perfectly rational aversion has its origins in a series of awkward experiences as a child with a swimming teacher of that name. A tall blonde of Scandinavian descent, he had the personality of one of those little metal tools Ikea supply with things that come packed flat in cardboard, with the intelligence of lutefisk. And he refused to comprehend that as one destined to lead the world in Doctrinal Righteousness there was simply no point in my wasting time struggling with his aquatic pedagogy, especially given it was only a matter of time before My Faith enabled me to stroll with confidence upon the waters of his chlorine-drenched domain. In the end things got so bad that my dear old mother had to come and see him after class: by the grace of god she’d forgotten her handgun at home, so we were able to make it look like accidental drowning and nobody was ever any the wiser. Although the next teacher did always treat me with a degree of respect that couldn’t help but make you wonder.

Or, on the other hand, it might be a subliminal reaction to that terrible television show “Flipper”. Most people are aware the son’s name was Sandy – but what they don’t know was that his best friend and diabolical cetacean familiar was actually a female pretending to be a male! That’s right, My Beloved Sinners, the whole show was really a satanic plot to subvert the natural order of creation: what we all thought was this lovely animal made by god to get caught in tuna nets when not rescuing Florida children from an endless collection of criminals (who, curiously given the location, never once included cocaine smugglers) was in fact preconditioning an entire generation to accept the ordination of women. Dismiss as "coincidence" if you wish that this series ran parallel with the heyday of Robinson's "Honest to God" - but no Real Christian is fooled.

Either way, as soon as I learned the name of this terrible storm I knew things were going to get nasty. Now as sure as you can say worse things can happen in Atlantic City than card-counting, my prescient foresight has proven correct once again - surely it’s now got to be only a matter of time before I one day get it right on a well priced outsider at Saratoga). In response to which I must now do what every Great Man of the Cloth is called to do for god’s people in times of fear, despair, and suffering. That’s right: I’ve got to bring you all a three-hour exegetical exposition on the role of limited atonement in St. Paul’s Epistle to the Colossians.

Although I must confess this might not be possible right now on account of the fact that I know many of you are experiencing power outages, and lack sufficient righteousness to have your own Curate to pedal a generator to maintain a satellite internet connection. Indeed, I am so pastorally sensitive that I am even aware many of you don’t even posses a schismatic bishop to whip the Curate should he begin to grow weary (although we all know my fellow Gafconeers are doing everything they can to resolve that shortage, and I’ve heard rumours quite a few ambitious South Carolinians have been downloading the purple pages of online vestment suppliers in anticipation of what they hope might be in the mess down there for them). Consequentially I’m aware, much as you would in this hour of destruction be comforted by a lengthy technical diatribe explaining why god so loved the world that he sent his only begotten son to damn those predestined to not agree with Me, that this might not be quite the most appropriate time for you to all appreciate the Pearls I'm called to cast before swine.

Thus you’re all just going to have to content yourselves with a quick (it’s got to be quick – even the lashing isn’t working anymore, and it looks like Evangelical Eric is at any moment going faint) assurance of my deep concern. Do your best to keep smiling, and never forget that people in California pay big money to eat in places where everything tastes of seaweed.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

PS. The wicked troublemaker who channels this offensive assault on decent people everywhere would also like to let everyone affected by the storm to know that the hearts and prayers of ‘St. Onuphrius’ are with you – God keep you safe, and bring you comfort, shelter, and peace. Blessings all, and never forget the promise that after wind and rain the sun will always come out once again. Take care, ok?

Mourdock's Mentor.

While it’s no secret that I am admired by millions of Sinners around the world (and especially so by Jensen-addled young men – click here and read the comments to feel the love expressed by a pair of undergraduates who serve as splendid examples of the GAFCON vision for the Church you call home), few people can comprehend the pressures involved in being Orthodox Christianity’s Most Doctrinally Sound Leader. Of course I realize that this come a surprise to those sufficiently godly to believe recognize My Unique Gifts as a Teacher, but there are quite literally thousands of persons who, believing themselves equipped with the appropriate genitalia for leadership, aspire to assume the mantle which the spirit and a whole lot of back-stabbing have quite rightfully declared is mine.

Still, as the incumbent of St. Catamite’s, the local Roman franchise, is forever saying about Forward in Faith, imitation is the greatest form of flattery. So when I hear some veritable schoolboy in the Faith such as little David Virtue, or the Primates of peaceful Christian nations like Uganda and Nigeria, stealing what Consuella in a fascinating example of cultural syncretism calls my “shtick”, I just smile and remember that these pathetic-but-cute reflections of myself are but a testimony to the power of skills as an evangelist - Matthew 23:15 not withstanding. Nor is this role as Icon-Mentor limited to a purely religious sphere. Many of those with a vocation towards a lesser branch of politics, that of the secular sphere, also carefully strive to emulate my example: in evidence I need offer but one word: Rick Santorum. (Yes, I am well aware that’s actually two words, but I’d hate for any junior clergy seeking enlightenment upon the Parish office computer to Google the latter on its own.)

Or, for those inclined towards a missionary position and interested in the politics of nonChristian lands: do you really think that without a Conservative Biblical Christian role-model we’d have seen Tony Blair embrace Rupert Murdoch in a realization of how Murdoch’s ethics and integrity should epitomize what a party representing workers stands for? Especially given it was through efforts of people like those whose lives were destroyed by Mr. Murdoch that little Tony Blair achieved power.

Nevertheless, when news reached me this week that Republican Senate candidate Richard Mourdock (I. Will. Not. Play. With. The. Spelling. Of. His. Name.) had made a statement to the effect that women conceiving as a result of unwanted and illegal intercourse should carry such fetuses to full term on account of their existence being a gift from God I couldn’t help but feeling peeved. And not just because some jumped-up treasurer from Indiana let my beloved GOP’s cat out of the bag before a week come Tuesday, after which it’ll be too late for anyone to do anything about the carpetbaggers they’ve been fooled into electing. No: to be perfectly honest (Are Conservative Bible-believing Leaders ever anything else? (Please don’t think of Mark Lawrence when you answer that.) – it’s because Mitt Romney’s latest spokesperson for women gave me no credit for the logic behind his new brilliant strategy for winning the votes of those without the private bits needed to lead others in proclaiming Jesus’ message of salvation, justice, and equality.

After all, I have for years been telling the manager of our local mall that shoplifting is actually a gift from god on account of the way it helps rotate stock. It was me who first started teaching those missing a leg as a result of an intoxicated driver crashing into them that their “disability” is really a blessing on account of the insight they’ve gained into hopping. And it is moir who is always telling parents to stop complaining about kiddie-fiddlers, and to start giving appreciating god’s gift of unlimited free child minding.

Sure little Candidate Mourdock might have taken things further than I (or any other senior Republican adviser) would normally do when not surrounded by people who say “yes” all the time, but his logic was mine, and mine alone. And giving me a little credit would have been the courteous thing to do. Not to mention what it would have done for my Google ranking.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina ...

... somehow I don't think Fred & Ethel Mertz had poor, poor +Mark Lawrence in mind when they performed this adenoidal classic at the Washington Mayflower Hotel: mind you the mayo really has curdled down in Charleston since those halcyon days, hasn’t it My Beloved Sinners? For those of you unaware of the latest development in the sorry, sorry tale of what happens when a Bishop proves to have taken his vows with his fingers crossed I recommend getting up to speed by going here immediately. Mind you, I’ve always said +-Lawrence and I have more in common than might first meet the eye, and not just because no one’s ever seen the two of us in the same photograph. There’s a curious similarity between the mess in which he’s currently managed to land himself and an incident in my own inspiring journey with god. Let me explain:

As a younger man, prior to the spirit’s recognition of my undeniable and inherent gifts as a Bible Teacher and Doctrinal Leader, I enjoyed – as you’d expect – a highly distinguished military career. Many is the sermon in which I’ve covered over a lack of preparation with thrilling anecdotes of the bravery I displayed in defence of My Country, although in +-Mark’s case the uncanny parallel between us relates to a different aspect of my courageous service; namely the small matter of my dishonourable discharge.

In order to understand you’ll first have to pay attention while I explain what things were like in Korea during early ’52. God-forsaken Commies were poised to destroy everything Christians held sacred, and field hospitals like the 4077th were utterly bereft of the Exegetical Expository Bible Teaching so crucial for the preservation of life. Everywhere you looked young Korean girls were dying from thermo-mammarial myocardial infarction simply for want of enough twinky Australian ex-gay pseudo-therapists to warm them, and with spineless red liberals like Senator Joe McCarthy pulling all the strings in the White House my call for a moderate response involving uncontained nuclear warfare went unheeded.

It was then that, in the way that will now be so familiar to all of you Sinners sitting faithfully at my feet, inspiration placed her hand on my wise and fearless shoulders, and I realized the solution lay not in bloodshed, but in Conversion. Rather than kill all the Commies (as entertaining as that might sound) what we needed to do was introduce them to the joys and freedom of Llissez-faire capitalism. That way rather than wasting all their energy doing the evil things Commies call fun, like organizing gymnastic displays in praise of the Beloved Leader, they could start engaging in righteousness-nurturing Christian activities, like inventing junk bonds, or selling Florida swamp-land to trusting retirees.

Yet my senior officers saw things differently. Rather than heed my brilliant advice, they told me to “follow orders”. That’s right, My Beloved Sinners, they actually believed that being part of a hierarchical organization involved something called a “chain of command”, and that having sworn to serve and obey with loyalty and respect I was in someway bound to take my vow seriously! Exactly like the apostate TEC have unjustly been expecting +-Lawrence to respect those to whom he promised obedience!!!!

What follows in my inspiring journey of faith is something of which only those laboring under the delusion that a man of Doctrinal Inerrancy is answerable to anything other than himself and his own preconceptions could fail to respect. Like Bishop Mark, when faced with the choice between keeping my word and doing what I really wanted to, I took the only option available to a Conservative Leader: I did what I felt like. Which in this instance involved teaching the North Koreans an important lesson about Capitalism and the Free Market by selling them armaments and military secrets –a lesson which a few legalist apostate liberals in the Pentagon had the temerity to label “high treason”, but which Orthodox South Carolinians and their fan base will instantly recognize as my having fearlessly followed a higher authority of my own inspired invention.

What I find most charming, however, about +-Lawrence’s move is the insistence his departure from the Episcopal Church automatically means everyone else in South Carolina – both clergy and laity – have also left. Even though it’s patently obvious not all of them agree with him. It reminds me of something I once taught a much more enlightened commanding officer of mine to say during a much earlier stage of my service: “L'État, c'est moi”. Although in Bishop Lawrence’s case I’m more than a little worried that he actually believes it.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

They’re not drug cheats – they’re just naturally hairy.

Truly, truly I say unto you, My Beloved Sinners: isn’t the current scandal involving Lance Armstrong and elite cycling simply terrible? Mind you, I’ve always said God should have included something in the Bible about never trusting anyone who makes a career out of wearing lycra. Which is not to suggest there is anything wrong with that delightful fabric per se: I myself possess a lovely lycra alb/chasuble combi-set which parishioners seeking my favor are always telling me looks most becoming. It’s just that – as any of those utterly unambitious men shortlisted for the position of Archbishop of Canterbury will tell you - there’s a vast gulf between doing something professionally, and doing it because of one’s vocation. Which is why we should all trust them completely as they each make the customary claim to have absolutely no aspirations concerning the fanciest gazebo in Lambeth.

Still, watching the latest debate between that fine young Orthodox Conservative Christian who is going to be the Next President of the Only True Christian Nation (with the exception of Nigeria, Uganda, Kenya and wherever it is that little “Bishop” Chuck Murphy is claiming canonical residence this week) and that other fellow who probably isn’t even an American made me wonder if all this attention on young men with an extraordinary predilection for sitting on the hard little saddle of a bicycle isn’t somewhat misplaced. I mean for goodness sake: the Tour de France involves rushing around France for twenty-three days without so much as once dropping by some nice little place with a few Michelin stars for a modest repast involving goose fat and a few dozen bottles of Château Mouton Rothschild, so expecting any fine square-jawed American boy to cope without a little something special spinning through his veins is, as far as I’m concerned, simply unBiblical.

No, if society wants to get serious about drug cheats and blood-doping we need to impose mandatory testing in those places where there obviously is a problem. After all, have you ever witnessed what goes on in a joint session of Congress? Don’t anybody dare try and tell me that all the testosterone flying around in there is natural: I’ve watched enough Sylvester Stallone movies to recognize ‘roid rage when I see it. Just think how the ratio of posturing to accomplishment would change if our leaders were all required to submit a little jar of their finest and freshest for analysis each morning.

Although my one concern is that having imposed the same standard upon those holding the highest office in the land as is expected of those who do something really important for a job, like rolling around in a big sweaty group behind someone wearing a yellow jersey, people might then get the idea of expanding the testing regime to those leading our Churches. Not, of course, that a clean-living Doctrinal Athlete like myself has anything to worry about, but I can’t say that there aren't doubts about some of my brethren at the cutting edge of the Glorious Realignment. Which mustn’t for a moment be taken as implying ++Rowan and -Bobby’s eyebrows are merely a side-effect of something purchased from a 380lb bodybuilder with prosthetic testicles who was once placed 3rd runner-up in the Mr. Olympia finals. It’s just that it’d probably be better for everyone if we didn’t know for sure.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.