I’m well aware, My Beloved Sinners, that it has indeed been a terribly long time since I last Blessed any of you with My vitally important Words of Wisdom. Even so, I’m sure that even those of you home-schooled by Evangelicals will have been able to discern that I have been incredibly busy with matters far more important than the tedious task of ministering to those with whose care I have been entrusted by god.
Indeed, even the most fleeting of glances at the many recent public-relations victories of the Archbishop of Canterbury, little Justin Welby, reveals the crucial advisory capacity I have been undertaking at Anglicanism’s highest echelons. That’s right: after foolishly attacking an upright and perfectly-ethical business in which his church just happened to have invested a paltry £75,000 (that’s about $127,215.00 in Christian money: an amount so small it wouldn’t even keep Layman Jack Iker in man-lace for a season – which sheds some perspective as to what a tornado-in-a-teacup the godless liberals raised over this) Little Justin’s minders came to My Rectory Door on bended knees, much to the delight of Bishop Quinine, who as a Prelate cannot help but inevitably misread the intentions of others.
Naturally My first inclination was to turn them away: it seems like only yesterday that young Thomas a’Beckett showed Me all too well how incompetent Archbishops are when it comes to heeding My counsel. Still, when His Grace’s envoys revealed the plain brown paper bags of used unmarked currency accompanying them as an indication of their integrity the quiet still voice of the spirit began sounding more like a cross between Grover Norquist and the homeless alcoholic who stands outside our local mall every Saturday morning and screams something about shape-shifting spiders stealing his last bottle of Thunderbird. And so obviously as a Man of Faith I had no option but to accept their pleas for help.
Of course you all know by now that my piece of first advice to the most morally-consistent Etononian since Guy Burgess and Lord Lucan was followed to the letter. Little Tory Baucum – an ACNA luminary even the folks at Viagraville couldn’t bring themselves to trust completely - was appointed to sit in a beautifully-upholstered chair at Canterbury Cathedral. In a moment Godless Liberals and their traditional sparring-partners were united in a way not seen since the time I restored order to a Vestry Meeting by firing up a chainsaw and severing several Wardens’ limbs.
More recent media outings have seen My boy abandon the concise logic which in the business world enabled him to buy a charming holiday house in France (scroll to the bottom of the page here for the sort of rambling confusion only an Archbishop can deliver. Words can’t convey the pride I felt when JW (tell me it’s only coincidence that his initials are the same as those of a notoriously anti-intellectual cult) answered the question “You've said the issue of same-sex marriage is a complex one that you wrestle with every day and often in the middle of the night…” with “I have about a million questions. I think really I've said as much as I want to on that subject” (source)
Exactly as Jesus would have put it. Or maybe not.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.