GAFCON

Learning from Scripture

2012-01-27T22:18:00.000-08:00

The demands and pressures upon a Bible Teacher as faithful as myself truly are relentless, My Dear Sinners, and these past few weeks have found me tenderly ministering at the deathbed of one of my oldest and dearest parishioners; a man who was not merely a parishioner, but also a friend.

Since I don’t have my notes at hand I can’t recall his name, but his last words shall remain with me always. Although I’m sure you’ll naturally understand why for exegetical purposes I altered them slightly for the funeral sermon (the text upon which I preached was Luke 12:48 – “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required”), and included a moving vision of welcoming angels leading him into the Father’s presence, wherein the deceased’s last-minute (but completely voluntary) decision to name the parish as his sole beneficiary received lavish praise. Just between you and me, however, there’s no denying the plaintive simplicity of what he actually said: “If only I’d spent more time searching for free internet porn.” A regret we can be sure few conservative clergy will share when their turn comes.

And now, as promised in My Previous Homily: while preparing my traditionally dazzling Christmas Day Bible Talks, I hit upon the novel idea of actually reading the Gospel accounts of our Substitutionary Atoner’s birth. Believe me, My Beloved Sinners, there’s no denying I was horrified by what is to be found there: clearly the octopus-like tentacles of today’s liberalism stretch back further than even a relentlessly-vigilant Doctrinal Warrior like myself could have imagined. Using my inequitably perceptive exegetical skills, I guided the spirit into identifying not just one, but three shameful incidents of Christ’s birth blatantly contradicting the Blessed, Holy, and Eternal Scriptures written by St. King James.

1) Jesus’ family had no respect for Scriptural Teaching.As every Biblical Christian knows, the Bible clearly teaches that after giving birth to a boy the mother must not touch anything holy for a total of 40 days (baby girls rate 66 days, which shows somebody had issues long before Forward in Faith started getting worked up about women’s ordination). Yet Luke 2:7 shows that during Mary took Jesus and “wrapped him in swaddling clothes” – a process which unquestionably involved handling Him! Since we know nothing is - nor ever can be - holier than Our Personal Savior, we are left with but one inescapable conclusion: Jesus’ parents had no respect for God’s Word.

2) Jesus’ family engaged in inappropriate relationships.Although Deuteronomy 18:10 doesn’t specifically mention astrology (probably because Mr. Rupert Murdoch had not yet invented newspapers, and those wicked columns which never deliver on their not infrequent promise of an imminent encounter with an exciting stranger didn’t pose much of a problem for the Israelites), it does prohibit God’s People from having anything to do with any form of divination unrelated to the stock market. In a similar vein, 2 Corinthians 6:14-17 categorically forbids True Christians from socializing with unbelievers. Yet Matthew 2:1-12 reveals the parents of Our Sacrifice for Sin actually welcomed 3 magi from the east (in an obvious use of righteous conservative sarcasm the King Saint James version calls them “wise men”) into the presence of their newborn, even permitting them to lay gifts at His feet. Rather than showing these unabashed foreigners the door until they had had the very least prayed the sinner’s prayer and publically repented of their demonic star-gazing ways, Joseph and Mary even permitted them to worship the infant Christ! We can only wonder at what blasphemous and arcane prayers such worship must have entailed: two things at least are certain – there wasn’t any respect shown to the Prayer Book on that occasion, and nobody preached a challenging exegetical exposition upon a reading from Colossians. So their "worship" obviously counted as nothing in the eyes of god.

3) Jesus’ family were irresponsible.When it comes to giving birth, mangers are about as suitable a venue as bus terminals. Let’s face it: the entire process of parturition is deeply unnatural, and any responsible parent does their utmost to ensure labor is thoroughly medicalized, with every intervention possible given the level of one’s insurance. Joseph and Mary’s choice of obstetric setting shows a complete absence of respect for any of the crucial Christian features of childbirth: they had no private birthing-suite, no personal physicians, and prior to the blessed event they didn’t even send everyone in their church little DVDs of the fetal ultrasound. Obviously they either held a distinctly socialist attitude with regard to health care cover, or they were simply poor - in either case it’s hard to imagine a less suitable choice given the importance of the One with whom they were entrusted. In fact, were Our Lord incarnating today they sound just the kind of people who’d selfishly rely on Medicaid to save them from maternal/neo-natal disaster, and that’s no sort of role-model for the infant King of Kings.

The infallible Scriptures were given so that those who like myself have wisely chosen to display theologically-unblemished lifestyles and attitudes might learn from the examples therein. Which is why I’m proud to say that I’ve never given birth in a manger, nor any other edifice constructed for the purpose of housing livestock. Neither should any of you, My Beloved Sinners, if you’re serious about escaping eternal torture at the hands of a loving god. And while you’re about it I strongly recommend you avoid all of Joseph and Mary’s other mistakes. After all – just look at how much trouble their son Jesus ended up causing.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

So how was your Christmas?

2011-12-27T11:40:00.000-08:00

Well, well, well: Christmas is finally over, and Bible-Believing Clergy like myself can at last get back to the more important work of proclaiming the Good News that everyone who disagrees with us will suffer eternal torture. At the hands of a loving god, of course.

Mind you, here at St. Onuphrius’ we have had a most enjoyable Noël. Since Bishop Quinine, like most faux-Bishops, firmly believes in Santa Claus (c’mon – that’s nothing compared to what they believe regarding their own self-importance) things are always a bit more complicated than they might be: finishing the milk and “cookies” he leaves out has in past years left at least one member of the Ministry Team hospitalized until the new year.

This time, however, I hit upon the brilliant idea of dividing the treat into small nicely wrapped packets, which we then kindly delivered to the other members of my local Minister’s Fraternal. (With the natural exception of the Baptist, on account of this hardly being an appropriate occasion to risk violating my restraining order, and the Rabbi: after I last tried teaching him about Christian generosity he responded by organizing an informative dialogue with two Mossad representatives, and waking up on Christmas morning to find myself chained to the wall of a Tel Aviv basement doesn’t quite coincide with my medium-term ministry strategy.)

As we expected, this resulted in most of our town’s Christmas morning services crossing the fine line between “liturgically unprepared” and “bedlam”. I’ve been told the United Methodist felt compelled to munch Twinkies throughout his sermon, while the woman at the UCC simply read aloud the lyrics of The Dark side of the Moon. Although, to be fair, she may well have just been following her denomination’s lectionary. Meanwhile the Methodist was convinced he’d had a personal visitation from Charles Wesley, who allegedly thinks the local District Supervisor “can’t recognize talent when it’s staring him in the face”. (Since the apparition also opined that “if ‘Shine Jesus, Shine ‘ had been around in my day I’d have taken Calvin’s line on hymnody” I’d caution My Beloved Sinners against being too hasty in dismissing the vision entirely.) While the Seventh-day Adventist made a tearful public confession to regularly enjoying a secret Friday evening snack of pork rinds.

The Pentecostal, on the other hand, was hardly affected. Except for occasionally pausing to interpret a glossolalic prophesy supposedly emanating from a potted palm on the side of the podium (“Behold the sowing of tears and the reaping of joy, sayeth the Lord, thou shalt honor My anointed and surrender the whole of thy tithe – plus a bit extra – every single Sunday”), Pastor Morebuck handled it like a pro. Which he quite possibly is, given that prior to receiving the call to ministry he was an accountant with one of the Big Four. Or maybe he just sold condominium timeshares in Florida: there’s not much difference from an ethical perspective.

All of which resulted in an exceptionally good turn-out for our own services: a great many people who would have otherwise been in Godless Christian churches outside the Anglican Tradition were instead blessed with the kind of solid Bible Teaching only ever found in the pugnacious wing of a Communion tearing itself apart over the incarnate God's right to love everyone.

Which brings us to something I intend to share with all of you more deeply in My Next Important Homily. While preparing for the day’s herculean preaching load it struck me how shockingly unBiblical the Gospel accounts of our Substitutionary Atoner’s birth actually are. Clearly the Nativity was actually intended to serve as a “How not to” example of Christian parenthood, and I’m not just referring to the Blessed Virgin’s failure to forgo parturition in favor of a medically lucrative elective c-section. No indeed; the Scriptural narratives are at this point simply riddled with transgressions of basic Biblical principles, and it’s about time they were called to answer for themselves.

Until then, however, My Generous Prayer is that you would all continue to enjoy this festive season’s aftermath. Take care to cherish friends and family, including that strange Republican uncle-by-marriage with an interest in naturism, who’s been spending an unwholesome amount of time locked alone in the bathroom. May the Lord Bless you all richly, and may none of you eat improperly refrigerated leftovers. And remember: if God had wanted us to drink and drive St. Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus would have been accompanied by a late-model SUV and a six-pack. And zebra crossings would be packed with slow-moving Scientologists.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Who said a 69er isn't dangerous?

2011-12-19T05:50:00.000-08:00

Just minutes ago I was awoken by what is technically known to Orthodox Biblical Theologians like myself as “a great disturbance in the force”. Immediately I knew in My Spirit that a great despotic leader had passed from this world into the next. But who?

Since the phone wasn’t ringing with panic-stricken calls from little ++Valentino Mokiwa, ++Henri Orombi, or +++Nicholas Okoh , all asking who would now tell them what to say when addressing Anglicans less preoccupied with killing albinos or gays than the machete-loving faithful of their own peace-loving congregations, I knew Archbishop Jensen of Mordor hadn’t suddenly been summoned to the biggest conference of them all. And since it was too late at night to run down to the supermarket and grab the latest edition of The National Enquirer I was left with no alternative other than to consult the world’s next most reliable news source: FoxNews.

Where, to my utter horror, I learned of the tragic passing of Kim Jong Il - a delightful man whose grasp on truth has so faithfully served as a role-model for so many young Fundamentalists. (Yes David Ould, I was thinking of you as I wrote that– and while I’ve got your attention, could you please post another charming piece of racism on Viagraville? Obviously the reason your previous efforts received so few comments has to do with a temporary outbreak of tact on behalf of the happy throng frequenting the place, and I’m sure a third effort will gain some traction. Or at least earn you an honorary degree from an institution run by people with experience in standing around burning crosses dressed in pointy white robes.)

Yes indeed, 2011 truly has been a sad year for men prepared to make a stand against post-modern relativism. Muammar Gaddafi, Osama bin Laden, Hosni Mubarak (ok – so he’s not dead yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he wishes he was) – they all knew the importance of an absolutist ethical framework. Yet there’s something much spookier: something I predict will become known as the “69 club”. And no, I’m not talking about that nasty little place on the cheap side of town your local Christian Coalition of America representatives visit when they think nobody’s watching, so I want you to all pay careful attention.

Jong Il (or maybe his last name is ‘Kim’ – you can never be sure when it comes to someone who considered dogs a valid source of protein) and Gaddafi were both 69 when they received the one summons nobody can ever claim got lost in the mail - the exact same age as none other than dear old Saddam Hussein. No, unbelievers can call it coincidence, but you and I know better, My Beloved Sinners. And as for Bin Laden? Fifty-four! Which is - as anyone who wasn’t home-schooled by evangelicals can tell you – the number you get when multiplying 6 by 9!

Honestly; anyone confronted by that evidence who doesn’t at the very least feel compelled to visit some of my educational and informative advertisers simply doesn’t have ears to hear. And these are by no means the only members of this supernatural club - although I must warn you against Googling to see if you can find any more – Bishop Richthofen (who a moment ago came into the study to see what I’m doing) has just done exactly that, and you really don’t want to know what he’s now demanding we play in this Sunday’s youth service. (Don't you dare blame me if you've clicked that last link in your place of work or education - I told you Bishop Quinine liked it, so it's gonna be on your own neck if your "purity counsellor" starts asking questions about your internet log.)

No, I can sense the beginning of a wonderful new urban myth regarding evil dictators who would seek to deny people the right to be the person God made them to be. One which really shouldn’t cause the Gafcon secretary or his admirers the slightest discomfort. After all – he’s only 68.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

How dare anyone find this funny.

2011-12-18T22:27:00.000-08:00

“The revisionists are mocking us. And rightly so.”

Matt Kennedy - Viagraville

As any of My Beloved Sinners will know, I have always been little Matt Kennedy’s most vigorous supporter. Even in his darkest hour, when rumors were circulating that attempting to redirect assets belonging to others in contravention to court orders is a crime which could unjustly land the perpetrator in prison, it was I who sought to console the boy by encouraging him to contemplate the endless ministry possibilities to be explored while sharing one’s cell with a 300lb mildly-psychotic weightlifter named “Bubba”. So let me now categorically state that I, The World’s Most Orthodox Christian Leader, Bible Teacher, and Doctrinal Warrior, am utterly APPALLED to learn of him being mocked by godless apostate unbiblical liberal revisionists.

That’s right; I’m COMPLETELY DISGUSTED!!! And I demand to know the identities of these reprobates daring to scoff at my weaker fellow Conservatives. Where do they blog? If I search long enough will I be able to find naked pictures of them on the internet? What routes do their loved ones travel when commuting? And is it still legal to anonymously send one’s opponents packets of anthrax powder through the U.S. Mail? Or has the Satanic Socialist Cabal in Washington put an end to that simple democratic constitutional right as well?

Yet – as fecund as young Matt’s prognostications concerning Layman Chucky may be – it would be remiss of me to not sound a caution in regard to the dangerous relativism of his ill considered remark “And rightly so.” There is NEVER any justification for mirth at the expense of those like little Chucky Murphy. After all, it’s not as if turning Christ’s foolish message of welcome to the poor, outcast, or socially disreputable into a more sensible package of misogyny, homophobia, and shameless pomposity is easy.

No My Sinners: it takes a lifetime of relentlessly thirsting for power (not to mention a deep insecurity about the size and proclivities of one’s you-know-what) to come up with the scenarios currently being wrought across the Anglican Communion (both the real Communion, as well as imaginary ones like those of Bobby Duncan and Chuck Murphy), and I’ll have each and every one of you know that laughing at these immeasurably important figures, or their young, gullible, and histrionic acolytes, is as unacceptable as taking joy in the wisdom and company of animals. Or smiling. Because if this sort of thing is allowed to continue you can mark my words it's only a matter of time before some small child is permitted to call out something about the emperor not having any clothes. Which is undoubtedly why Jesus was so careful to warn us against letting our theology be in any way influenced by children.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Funniest. Complaint. Ever. Times Six.

2011-12-12T18:31:00.000-08:00

“Schism”
1

“I never accused Bishop Murphy of financial wrongdoing. I did accuse him of schism. I stand by that.”
2

“The real issue is schism. Rather than work out personal differences and misunderstandings, rather than fight it out in house, rather than struggle for unity, +Murphy et al, chose schism.”
3

“+Murphy’s actions are schismatic. The only way to deny that is to do what many want to do here…play the relativist card.”
4

“Somebody is taking themselves way to (sic) seriously—not to mention going out of his way to pick at nits.”
5

“Nor should we, if we think schism has occured (sic) in this particular case, be afraid to recognize schism as sin. I don’t think it qualifies as anything else.”
6

As the accompanying links reveal, each of the above gems is the work of the same young man. Who once solemnly vowed to serve the church from which he later tried to appropriate assets. Someone whose hitherto unknown comedic genius surpasses that of all other mortals (although I must admit his sense of irony appears to have been removed at birth)…

My Beloved Sinners – I present little Matt Kennedy of Binghamton, New York!

At which point I must leave, and beg your pardons for such brevity. My presence is required to settle a small domestic matter: it appears the kitchen pot is accusing the kettle of stealing his shtick.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Chuck Murphy has left the building.

2011-12-10T16:18:00.001-08:00

Who’d have ever thought a few short days could make such a difference in the exciting world of Orthodox Biblical Christianity? For almost two thousand years Conservative True Christians have been as close as newly-wed Kardashians, but now, merely two weeks after I posted my important homily on little Chuck Murphy and his faux-Rwandan Anglican Mission in the Americas, it’s all turned nasty.

Indeed, you can be sure I’m not the only one reminded of that moment which always seems to occur at parties you’ve been really looking forward to attending; that point when just as things are getting lively someone goes too far and puts the host’s tropical fish in the cocktail blender. Or thinks the French guest of honor can’t possibly take offense at their hilarious Inspector Clouseau impersonation.

So… with that in mind let me stress from the outset how aware I am that My Beloved Sinners don’t come here in search of reasoned commentary on the circumstances surrounding little Chuck’s hasty departure from his land of canonical residence - they want reliable Orthodox hyperbole . Those seeking intelligence should click on over to Fr. Harris’ Preludium: my vocation when it comes to ecclesiastical reportage is a purely Murdochian one - even if I haven’t as of yet found a way of fully integrating phone-tapping, inane competitions, and semi-nudity into my regular homilies. Thus the question upon which I’d like to specifically focus is the one on everybody’s lips (albeit alongside droplets of spittle, a nasty little lump for which I strongly recommend medical attention, and the dried whitish substance which I must every Sunday morning force myself to believe is toothpaste before passing over the Common Chalice) - What’s going to become of the AMiA churches?

Of course there are really only three possible outcomes, since the fourth – that AMiA congregations realize the silliness of their “canonically Rwandan” claim and are welcomed back into TEC by mature Bishops gracious enough to never again mention what has really been nothing more than a brief spasm of deeply embarrassing immaturity – is simply too far-fetched to be even worth considering:

1) They follow Chucky as the AMiA abandons all pretence of Communion membership, and becomes an independent “continuing Anglican” church. Of which we know there aren’t nearly enough. This has the benefit of conferring a comforting “We’re the only ones in the entire universe doing church right” smugness upon adherents: just ask any member of the Exclusive Brethren why they tolerate long meetings in closed halls filled with people who shun deodorants. On the downside, however, once the last vestiges of regulatory oversight have been lifted from Chucky’s ego it’s an even-money bet these AMiA congregations will soon calling Primate Murphy “Our Beloved Leader” and raising funds to buy a large compound in Guyana. Wherein they shall stockpile Kool-Aid.

2) One of the two AMiA Bishops who not signing the hasta-la-vista-Rwaje letter, Terrell Glenn and Thad Barnum (yep- I know I’m not the first to make this gag, but with a name like “Barnum” how can I resist mentioning one gets born every minute?), is appointed by the Rwandan hierarchy as Chucky’s successor, and things continue as before, albeit under more compliant leadership. Call me pessimistic, but I don’t give this scenario much chance of playing out smoothly: it’s unlikely Chuck didn’t long ago lock down ownership of the AMiA so tightly as to exclude the slightest possibility of anyone ever doing to him what he did to the Church to which he once vowed loyalty. Which will leave AMiA congregations torn between once more changing their name and identity (do you think it’s worth my registering “New Anglican Mission in the Americas” so as to profitably on-sell to the Rt. Rev. Barnum?), not to mention facing associated legal challenges concerning any property they may have acquired, or saving money on signage and continuing to dance to whatever tune Chucky orders put on the jukebox. With their dimes, of course (see scenario #1).

3) Tiring of the whole Rwandan charade, AMiA churches drop the game and hitch their wagons to the ACNA train. This is, as you’d expect, the scenario that’s been waking little Bobby Duncan up in the middle of the night with sticky pyjamas, and there’s undoubtedly more than a few players on the AMiA’s middle tiers who see it as the fast-track to a purple shirt of their own. Yet simply changing the flavor of one’s schism doesn’t make the bad taste go away. Or, in this case, the legal obligations touched upon in option #2. Although wasting money on actions against fellow conspirators would make a nice change from giving it to lawyers fighting one’s opponents.

So you see, My Beloved Sinners, that whichever way things plays out it’s going to be messy. My recommendation is anyone even remotely connected starts stocking up on latex gloves and disinfectant now. Meanwhile the best thing we can all do is sit back and enjoy a little music: for reasons entirely comprehendible to anyone who’s met him little Chuck has always reminded me of my favorite aspects of Elvis – a comparison I’m certain he finds quite flattering. Although I very much doubt Chuck Murphy thinks the next stage of career will involve manning the counter of a 7-11. Even so, whatever happens there’s a prescience about the title of this little number – watch for the uncanny resemblance to Chucky’s own interpersonal skills at 3:0-4:00:

And finally, a rare correction. I began my previous homily by explaining that schism is like eating potato chips: a more accurate analogy would be to have said it’s like eating peanuts. In a crowd of anaphylactics.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

*** STOP PRESS ***

Judging by a release sent to Viagraville (where else?) just hours after my posting this homily, it appears Messrs. Barnum & Glenn (do you think if I asked him politely enough Layman Terrell would consider changing his last name to "Bailey"?) have chosen scenario #2, and dragged their old name (and website) of "Apostles Mission Network" out of mothballs.

Which proves our Chucky truly has locked up the name (and thus, we can also presume, the assets) of the AMiA tighter than the records of a Jensen family company. That the legals of this circus are already delightfully convoluted is evidenced by this absolute gem located about halfway down Barnum's epistle: "The Apostles Mission Network does not seek to proselytize others but only offers support and structure for those who desire to remain resident in Rwanda and to collaborate together toward fulfillment of our mission... "

And how much did the lawyer charge for advising nobody gets caught openly urging AMiA congregations to call in a signwriter and change the letterheads? Whatever the sum, you'd better believe they're currently wearing the kind of smile only ever found on a mouthpiece with a new file that they know is going to get worked on a daily basis for years to come...

Mamma AMiA!

2011-11-27T19:19:00.001-08:00

Schisms are like eating potato chips: once the packet is open it’s impossible to have just one. No matter how great your resolve, your hand will have dived back for another wholesome handful before the first salty morsel has oozed its oily way to your artery walls. Next thing you’ve got yourself a beer (or, for those who studied at Nashotah House and really enjoy discussing vestments, something colorful in a glass with a parasol), and then before you know it your buddies from Focus on the Family have come by, someone’s slipped a porno in the DVD player, and you’ve sent your Curate down to the 7-11 for another six packs.

Which is why I had no problem believing George Conger when he went public with the news that little Chuck Murphy has been growing increasingly restless in his role as the Rwandan Archbishop’s North American houseboy – a.k.a. “a Missionary Bishop of the Province of the Anglican Church of Rwanda and a bishop of, and chairman of, the Anglican Mission in the Americas” (never forget that when it comes to ecclesiastical titles pomposity is always inversely proportional to one’s true worth in the Kingdom of God). So restless, in fact, that George suggested Chucky’s talking about abandoning his faux-Rwandan status and taking the golden calf that is the AMiA to chew the cud in greener pastures.

Naturally rumors of disloyalty aren’t something Chucky wants flying around until the foundations of his new structure have well and truly set, so the serfs at Pawley’s Island were quickly ordered to issue a release describing George’s exposé as “false”, “erroneous”, and “irresponsible”. Which is more than a little harsh: I’ll admit that whenever I hear the expression “journalistic integrity” the three names that invariably spring to mind are George Conger, Tokyo Rose, and Axis Sally, but in my experience he never speaks disrespectfully of those with a penchant for ad-hoc ecclesiology. Even so, and just in case anyone still didn’t understand how folks are expected to think on the AMiA side of town, Chucky and his supposed Rwandan master followed this with a “nothing to see here – move along quickly” statement.

Which they clearly hoped would settle things, although it appears they forgot to tell this to someone called “Bishop” Terrell Glenn. (Is there anybody in the AMiA not claiming elevation to the Prelacy?) Who then, in the subtle manner delightfully endemic to my imitators, publically announced his resignation from Rwanda’s beacon of orthodox harmony, citing “personal issues” between Chucky and himself.

Not of course, that this would of itself have caused much of a problem – it’s not as if Chucky doesn’t have plenty of other “bishops” more than ready to take over whatever it was that Mr. Glenn was responsible for. Rather it would have been the cat let out of the bag in the ex-faux-Rwandan-prelate’s (phew! – although what’re the odds Mr. Glenn will continue using the title “Bishop”?) penultimate paragraph:

"First, please do not take our decision as an indication or recommendation from me as to what any of you should do in response to the proposed changes in the life of the Anglican Mission as it considers becoming a Missionary Society currently engaged concerning its future."

No wonder there were “personal issues”: judging from this the man didn’t even try believing Chucky’s insistence that “The work and the relationship between the AMiA and the Province of Rwanda remains solid and cherished”. When subordinates start speaking out like that it’s only a matter of time before they start refusing their morning glass of Kool-Aid – and then all the funny hats and preposterous titles in the world won’t keep them in line – will they Chuck? Or should that read "Will they ++Rwaje"?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

11:11 11/11/11 (This post goes to eleven.)

2011-11-11T11:11:00.000-08:00

Some years ago, whilst temporarily suspended from Ministry as the result of a trivial misunderstanding concerning a few threatening letters and a home-made incendiary device (which despite allegations by the godless atheist forensic scientists investigating, was technically not thermonuclear in construction), I was forced to seek employment outside of my vocation.

Although not yet formally known as Global Anglicanism's Leading Doctrinal Warrior, I was nonetheless massively over-qualified for most advertised positions. Indeed: were it not for my brilliant ability to speak authoritatively about nothing for hours at a time (a skill finely-honed through years of Conservative exegetical preaching) maintaining the lifestyle to which I have been called might have proven impossible. As it was, however, I simply proclaimed myself as the world's finest Caucasian feng-shui master, and consultation fees began rolling in from wherever infomercial channels were foolish enough to let me advertise on credit.

Naturally this isn't something I generally make public: these days the big-money end of Evangelical giving prefers their heresies to be of a Donatist/Gnostic kind. Yet there's no denying the legacy of this profitably superstitious interlude on my journey to Orthodox Supremacy, and thus it is that I find myself unable to resist offering all My Beloved Sinners a Special Blessing to mark today's auspicious date. Besides, nobody has ever been able to give me one good reason as to why the Lectionary doesn't formally recognize the contribution made to Christianity by Spinal Tap.

Consequently I present this delightful image for you to all print, frame, and hang wherever it might inspire you daily contemplate the future of our Church. Sent to me directly from the Diocese of Mordor - a place so perverse that I have been told it is currently Spring, and not Fall as is the case in Christian nations - it features little Dobby Ould modelling his Lord Jensen's latest statement in Summer vestments. Surrounding the house-elf (who, incidentally, can't possibly be a racist on account of the fact that he's sired three offspring with an Asian woman - irrespective of the filth he shamelessly endorses) is a splendid collection of evango-fundie ministry tools.

Study it closely, My Beloved Sinners. For this is the future of the glorious Anglican schism.

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

If St Paul's day be fair and clear...

2011-11-01T04:09:00.000-07:00

Despite being cursed with a hopelessly dated interior, I’ve always considered St. Paul’s Cathedral as having a great deal of potential. Granted, the dreadful pipe organ desperately needs replacing with a nice modern electronic unit: would you believe that during my last visit the tour guide actually admitted their monstrosity doesn’t even have a bossa nova button!!!! And how their webmaster can keep a straight face while claiming “Music is integral to the worshipping and educational life of the cathedral” when there’s no plinth upon which three young people and an overweight and highly suspect older one can lead the congregation by strumming on badly tuned guitars is utterly beyond me.

Even so, there’s absolutely nothing about St. Paul’s interior design which couldn’t be fixed with a little drywall from Home Depot. Rip out all the fussy woodwork and boring memorials, lift everyone’s mood with some cheery and colorful synthetic carpet, and before you can say “I know someone who’ll do the work cheap if we pay cash” the place would become a really practical ministry space in which Christians could quibble over the minutiae of Galatians or Colossians unhindered by pesky unbelievers foolishly seeking a sense of the numinous via Christopher Wren’s architecture.

Yet as those of you who sinfully use the internet for more than just studying my homilies and visiting my informative and entertaining advertisers are probably aware, St. Paul’s has recently been in the news for reasons entirely unconnected with the outmoded decor. Rather than a problem with undesirable furnishings, the Dean and his Clergy are facing something much more trivial: undesirable people. And do you know, My Beloved Sinners, the reason why these godless liberal apostates don’t know what to when confronted by an instance of people they don’t like daring to lower the tone of their precious Church property and surrounds? I’ll tell you: because they don’t know Scripture!!!!!!

Every Bible-believing Conservative knows that the Gospels aren’t exactly the most useful part of God's Word, but when it comes to dealing with people loitering around one’s Church, King James left us not just one, but four indisputable accounts of how Jesus handled things. My personal favorite is in John 2:13-16: here Jesus not only sent them packing without so much as a tract explaining that clinical depression is caused by sin, but He even made a whip and gave them a good thrashing on their way out. You can call me old-fashioned, but this worked back in Jesus’ time and, more importantly, works for me today – do you think any trick-or-treating kiddies so much as dared to ring the Rectory doorbell this week? (Although a group of local mothers concerned about Bishop Quinine taking turns to stand on the pavement outside and warn any unsuspecting little ones to keep away may also have played a small part).

Indeed: if the Prelates Knowles and Chartres knew the first thing about Biblical Ministry they’d be outside whipping their unwanted guests until the ingrates either fled in terror or repented of their incapacity to appreciate the importance of global merchant banking when it comes to proclaiming the Kingdom of Heaven. After which their Graces would undoubtedly contact me for help contemporizing their tired old building – did I mention that I can get them a good price on some really lovely and only marginally toxic partitioning?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Love's Labour's Tossed.

2011-10-29T23:36:00.000-07:00

What’s in a name? It all depends: if your name is “Bill Gates” then it’s the confidence that nobody’s going to call the fraud squad when you feel the urge to pass million dollar checks. Or the name “Steve Jobs” means that when you die the world will call you a visionary for selling recordings to people who’ve already purchased them twice before. While, on the other hand, the undertaker rarely breaks out premium grade formaldehyde for people called “Jane Doe”. And if one's family name is “bin Laden” it’s probably best to abandon your lifelong dream of a career at West Point. Or on the Alabama monster truck circuit.

Indeed, My Beloved Sinners: some hack called Shakespeare may well have said “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, but when I told the peroxide blonde who does “special” waxing at Cindy’s E-Z Nailz ‘n’ Beauty in the mall that she is the fragrant personification of Rosa Rubignosa she slapped my face and screamed that a three month course of antibiotics had “done fixed that rash fo’ good an’ any folks sayin’ diffrunt are cruizin’ for a learnin’ from muh step-cousin which won trophies fo’ kickboxing.”

Hence I must now implore you to learn from a recent occurrence within my own Ministry Team. By way of catching up on what had been happening in the parish during my recent absence I was studying the Church office internet logs, when, much to my horror, I discovered Evangelical Eric (my miserable excuse for a Curate) had been googling everything there is to know about someone called “Billy Love”.Naturally, given my decades of selfless research into the sin in people’s lives, I have the gift of spotting a homosexualist nom de porn faster than you can say “Hugh Jorgan or “Dick Hunter. Or even “non-stipendiary Church of England priest”.

Hence I immediately knew – with the unshakeable certainty unique to those whose qualifications are in dubious theology (as opposed to godless liberal faux-sciences like psychiatry, medicine, psychology, or anthropology) when speaking on matters pertaining to sexuality – that my own Curate had been partaking of material featuring people making decisions with regard to their manner of life which involved engorged poles of man-flesh. And incoherent grunting. Needless to say the situation called for urgent pastoral intervention, and the rest of the St. Onuphrius' team were eager to assist (with the exception, I'm sorry to say, of Consuella, who just muttered something in Spanish about us "surely having something better to do with our time").

We began by implementing the the reorientation program Brother Richthofen and his Friends from Seminary have thoughtfully developed after being inspired by this well-balanced young man. (Don’t worry if you can’t make it to the end of his sermon. Neither can Bishop Quinine, who says there is something about the boy’s accent which always compels him to take the parish hounds out for a walk. Although curiously enough he generally forgets to take the dogs with him when he leaves, and only ever seems to get as far as the sports field change rooms.) Yet the wicked Curate continued denying everything. Instead of meekly repenting while we gently beat him about the lower limbs with facsimile editions of the Geneva Bible, Eric persisted in maintaining his innocence.In fact so pathetic were the boy’s shrieks as we (in love, of course) tightened his correctional thumbscrews that I even stopped and listened to what he was trying to say. And – would you believe – he kept insisting that this “Billy Love” is actually a Conservative Bishop in northeastern New York.

That’s right my Sinners; and have you ever heard of such a thing? Then, as if this wasn’t outlandish enough, he claimed this supposed Prelate is actually a faithful disciple of my own Ministry Principles: encouraging Episcopalians to embrace prosperity teaching; being rude (especially to those whom God has appointed to exercise authority over him); fraternizing with dubious friends - not to mention being really obsessed with homosexualists.

Of course we paid no heed to such a pathetic delusion, and while there’s absolutely no empirical evidence to show Eric’s reorientation therapy is proving successful, we all know that a little thing like that isn’t enough to stop our program soon developing into a world-wide and highly profitable venture. Especially since our anecdotal evidence shows it works perfectly, and once his new obsession with suicide settles down into a more manageable case of chronic self-loathing my Curate should be almost as functional as any other emotionally-crippled Conservative. Although it'll probably never be a good idea to allow him to watch figure-skating unsupervised. Which just goes to show how blessed he is that we haven’t been fooled by his fanciful tales of this erstwhile “Billy Love” actually being a Bishop – when it comes to Love one should always give more weight to preconceptions and cultural phobias than to the Gospels and the Holy Spirit.

Isn’t that right +Albany?

I’m Father Christian I teach the Bible.

Yesterday’s Poo-poo (Remember Martin Ssempa?)

2011-10-17T20:12:00.000-07:00

“Today’s news, tomorrow’s fish wrap.” That’s what my dear old mother always said, although she generally concluded the old truism with an additional line less common in these apostate and wicked times: “the day-after’s basis of a tasty seafood bouillabaisse for which your father’s Curate should be deeply grateful.”

Naturally I’d like to believe My Beloved Sinners faithfully strive to emulate my obsession with the most righteous men in Christendom. Yet the reality is that most of you are no less fickle in your admirations than the average evildoer, and when I make a hissing snake-like “Ssssss” sound all too few you respond by heartily cheering “Ssempa!” Indeed, the name that was a mere sixteen months ago synonymous with the inspiring cry of Eat Da Poo-Poo appears now forgotten as a host of my imitators from Rick Warren down try their hardest to avoid making any mention of their former best friend.

Granted, one can still occasionally find news of the most modest man in Kampala since Idi Amin proclaimed himself “Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Sea” – if you only click on one link in my entire homily make it this one - but not even the happy nepotists and house-elves of Mordor, who have gleefully proclaimed Uganda ”the future of evangelicalism” (and you thought the past was miserable?!), seem eager to keep Pastor Poo-poo’s name on everyone’s lips.

Which is why I’m so deeply grateful to the young man who took the trouble to register the Blogspot name Quidra in order to leave a comment on a homily I posted back in June 2010. At the time of his missive’s reception the boy’s profile had been viewed a massive two times: now over a month later I see the count has now already reached five, so he’s clearly on his way to becoming a living global meme for all that Pastor Ssempa represents, and it’s with this in mind that I reproduce his marvelous effort verbatim:

“all u people are wrong about this. but if you think you can tarnish pr. Martin's reputation, you have got it wrong. and watch out because our Lord is watching. you may cover your self with titles as fathers but stop taking your flock astray. do not mess with Pr. Martin for trouble awaits you. so watch out.”

What more can be said? Although I must add that I doubt it’s possible for anyone to do as much for "Pr." (Prior?) Martin’s reputation as he has himself. As the author’s fine grasp of punctuation, grammar, and capitalization illustrates, Martin Ssempa’s congregation is largely comprised of students at Uganda’s oldest university, which last month was closed indefinitely following industrial disputes by both students and faculty. The parish mission statement (“TO PREVENT AIDS AND MENTOR LEADERS THROUGH CHURCH PLANTING ON AFRICAN COLLEGE CAMPUSES”) summarizes the Great Commission with an eloquence Jesus so obviously lacked. But it’s the fact that little Martin Ssempa’s flock at Makerere Community Church refer to their spiritual gulag as “MCC” that really has our sidesman Professor Sigmund jumping up and down…

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

UPDATE: For a fascinating report on the whole mess of poo-poo that's currently little Martin's life visit GayUganda here.

Friday Evening Palate Cleanser (Chocolate Jesus)

2011-10-14T20:27:00.000-07:00

Given the folks at one of my flaccid imitators appear regularly obsessed with the many dangers of an unclean palate it seems only right that we also kick off the weekend with a little aural oral hygiene courtesy of Archdeacon Tom Waits.

Even if as the result of a terrible childhood accident you're incapable of enjoying anything not played by a praise band, at least listen for the reference at 0:27 to "an immaculate confection". If only Graham Kendrick was blessed with such eloquence...

Behold the Captive is Released!

2011-10-13T19:34:00.000-07:00

Just when I was growing convinced the only way my freedom could be regained would involve an earthquake (possibly caused by the small thermo-nuclear device Brother Richthofen’s Friends from Seminary have begun assembling from stolen smoke detectors), a miracle intervened in the form of a threat involving something far more unpleasant. That’s right - Alex Jones!

You see, My Beloved Sinners, once the FBI became serious about the alleged similarity between my DNA and that of an extraordinarily handsome and obviously learned Biblical Christian of whom I’ve never heard, Bishop Quinine contacted a few of the young agents to whom he ministered back when J. Edgar Hoover still took a personal interest in ensuring each of his most senior officers was a man’s man. After reminding them of how much he’d hate to have to tell Alex Jones the truth about what really happened in Roswell on one warm July evening back in 1947 (we all know drinking Thunderbird with mescal chasers can produce the occasional adverse reaction, but how could anyone have possibly expected it to kill the poor bug-eyed little aliens?) they immediately agreed there was no need to further investigate the matter. Especially as retesting found my DNA samples prove I’m actually a 22 year old lingerie waitress, with absolutely no relationship to a certain brilliant Orthodox Leader with unique skills as both a parachutist and parish fundraiser.

Consequently I am now once again free to minister to highways and byways of my wonderful parish. Dear old Ichabod Springs may not be blessed with the beautiful panoramic scenery of Akron, Ohio, and we don’t enjoy the mild, pleasant winters of Minneapolis (nor the gentle, balmy summers of Yuma, Arizona), and we mightn’t, for that matter, have the unforgettable public architecture of Natural Bridge, Alabama, but even so there’s still nowhere else on God’s earth that I’d rather share the sound of my weed-whacker at half-past five in the morning.

Indeed, so charming a place is this town so blessed as to be called my home that there can be no doubt of the role it has played in the Archbishop of Canterbury’s alleged decision to retire next year. For years there’s been no secret about Rowan’s yearning to join My Ministry Team in an honorary capacity (given young people just don’t get excited by the idea of a five hour lecture on Dostoevsky the way they used to - personally I blame video games – there’s no way the parish could justify his appointment him upon a stipendiary basis), and so after the past few years of monkeying around with the Primates (as opposed to primating around with Monkeys?) it looks like the young man finally feels qualified to join us.

But now, My Beloved Sinners, I must break your hearts by returning to tasks more important than teaching lost and ignorant evildoers such as yourselves. You wouldn’t believe the amount of correspondence awaiting my urgent attention – and it’s not just all emails from Russian women proffering psycho-sexual pharmaceuticals at a fraction of the legitimate retail. No indeed, the first task once this homily is evangelistically displayed upon the intertubes will be to advise a delightful little man of the cloth who has been simply begging for my assistance. In fact he may well be someone with whom many of you are familiar: he lives in Charleston and is generally known as by the name of “Bishop Quisling”...

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

9/11/2011. No show today.

2011-09-11T21:32:00.000-07:00

A decade ago today thousands of people were killed in New York. Hundreds more were killed in Pennsylvania and Washington. Some of them were the partners of people reading this; others were their daughters, or sons. Or their sisters, or brothers. Or mothers, or fathers, uncles or aunts. Still others were friends, or colleagues. Or perhaps someone you’d once met at a party, or with whom you occasionally shared an elevator. Most were unknown to you (especially since North Americans comprise only about 70% of this blog’s readership), and quite possibly lived in a country oceans away from wherever it is you call home. Yet regardless of your relationship to them (or lack thereof) they mattered. Not least because they were human, and to be human is to be made of the same stuff as God incarnate.

And today they are gone. But not forgotten.

Maybe someday I’ll find the right words to say more than that: God knows I’ve been trying for the past week to write something more profound, something which might – albeit in just the smallest of ways – offer consolation to those grieving. But nothing seems to come out how I want it. In a perfect world I could bring some sort of meaning to the evil which is death at the hands of murderous young men under the delusion which is fundamentalism (irrespective of the theological façade – Muslim, Christian, Hindu, or whatever – it’s invariably young men who are the most eager to taste blood, just as it is a much smaller group of old men who spur them on, and women who are forced into subserviently keeping the whole diabolical performance operational). But then again, in a perfect world September 11, 2001 would have been just another day.

Nor in a perfect world would fundamentalists continue killing people. Granted, flying aircraft into buildings is (blessedly) rare, but most fundamentalist murderers prefer the vastly more efficient modus operandi of preventing the victims from living as themselves, free from fear, persecution, and shame. By denying their right to affordable health care, or education, or contraception, or equal employment. In a perfect world the obscene sexism of euphemisms like “complementarianism” would be as archaic as the hideous racism of “peculiar institution”. And the Christ who brought hope to the powerless would never - but never - be perversely conscripted into the service of those who would have us believe that the Sermon on the Mount was “Blessed are those who are the doctrinal heirs of the Pharisees”.

But I’m drifting off-topic again. Because all I really wanted this post to say is that those who are gone are not forgotten. And because they are not forgotten, it is love, not evil, which shall triumph. If today you are grieving – for whatever reason – please know that you do not grieve alone.

Father Mychal Judge inspire us.
Saint Mychal pray for us.
Holy Spirit be among us.

The Second Epistle to The Beloved Sinners

2011-09-06T21:11:00.000-07:00

From Fr. Christian Troll, a prisoner for the sake of our Lord Holy Bible:
By the grace of my own righteousness the trifling matter which brought me here is just about resolved,. Unfortunately, however, apostate Federal authorities have successfully sought to continue my detention whilst clarifying an apparent similarity between my DNA and that of someone named D. B. Cooper: obviously they’re completely mistaken as I’ve never so much as even heard of the man, whom I must say does appear to be extraordinarily handsome, and is undoubtedly a remarkably wise and mature Biblical Christian.

Not that this should cause My Beloved Sinners any further stress than that you’re already enduring as a result of my current inability to generously deliver internet homilies on a more regular basis. One way or another I’m sure to be out of here soon: Bishop Quinine has purchased a toy helicopter from a Chinese guy at a stall in the mall, and has been making Evangelical Eric continuously practice flying it while watching a video of Breakout: as soon as the young man has finished growing a Charles Bronson moustache (which I regret to say is taking him rather longer than I would wish) the pair of them will be a chartering a full-size chopper and lifting me to freedom before you can say Isaiah 40:31 (or perhaps “Pascal Payet” if you’re not familiar with those few parts of the Old Testament not directly concerned with homosexualism).

In the meantime I must say how terribly boring the news has been from the broader world of the glorious Anglican Schism. After all – it must have been months since little Bobby Duncan announced a new plan to establish 20,000 new churches, or even appointted a few hundred new bishops. In fact the most exciting thing to have happened in Christendom seems to have been Dobby Ould’s recent world trip (what’s the name of the delightful furry rodent renown for deserting sinking ships again?), in which he got terribly excited about some Arizona fundamentalists with a predilection for guns.* I believe on his next holiday our favorite house-elf will be visiting the South Pole, where he’ll be amazed to find snow. Followed by a hiking trip in the forest, wherein we shall all be blessed with a fascinating blog post vis-à-vis his astonishing discovery that bears excrete in the you-know-where.

All of which is in stark contrast to the tremendous victories of my own ministry in here: I’m proud to say I’ve now prepared a great many of my fellow inmates for ordained ministry in ACNA, and their transition from Bishop Quinine’s smuggled contraband (mainly cigarettes and girly books) to the trinkets of the ever-munificent Jack Iker and Bobbie Duncan (funny faux-mitres and rented Adventist meeting houses) should surely be a simple one. Nor very different to that undergone by those who preceded them.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

*If you really must cut and paste: http://www.davidould.net/index.php?/blog/comments/adult_sunday_school_in_arizona_automatic_weapons
The comments following are funny: he is accused of telling untruths concerning his hosts' firearms.

At Last! (A New Prison Epistle)

2011-08-20T22:20:00.000-07:00

From Father Troll, a prisoner of Holy Scripture, unto His Beloved Sinners weeping and ignorant in the darkness of the intertubes:

Grace and Peace to you! Such is the wickedness of these apostate latter days that this Epistle comes to you from prison, where I await trial for no other crime than that of proclaiming the Gospel without fear, compromise, nor compassion for those who would deny the Doctrinally Sound their right to speak on behalf of God. Bishop Quinine has finally remembered to smuggle in some notepaper and a pencil, and thus it is that with my Own Hand I am dictating this to one of the few faithful-but generally-illiterate prisoners gathered about me capable of such an important task - “Scribbles” was convicted for sending menacing letters, and thanks to my pastoral guidance is now looking forward to upon release using his skill and experience as a member of the team at Viagraville.

Nor is he my only convert here. After being cavity searched upon his first visit, Bishop Quinine has dropped by on a daily basis (twice daily if his favourite warden is on duty). Since not even the most indiscriminating of guards is desperate enough to go there a second time, he’s taken to bringing in more contraband than there are whacking pics on an Evangelical’s hard drive. As a result of which My Ministry has been enjoying the kind of respect normally only shown by travel agents to Gafcon Primates. Although the sudden influx is beginning to cause hyper-inflation (services which could once be purchased for a few cigarette ends now cost at least several packets and an autographed picture of the Ould twins - obviously the latter aren’t really genuine, but if Brother Richthofen’s facsimile is good enough for Dobby’s credit card provider it’s fine here) . Consequently the prison’s economy is already a pleasing foretaste of how things will look a few years after Mark Meckler and his fellow party-goers have saved America from the tyranny of just and equitable taxation.

Of course I must also reassure my British Sinners that this exciting new phase in my unequalled walk with Jesus has absolutely nothing to do with looting, rioting, or generally running amuck as an excuse to obtain new sneakers and a plasma television. Although I do think that words simply can’t convey how worthy of our respect those young men and women are for diverting attention away from St. Rupert Murdoch’s unfortunate difficulties. And as for Amy Winehouse’s ultimate sacrifice on behalf of the man whose newspapers fought so hard to preserve her privacy, self-esteem, and dignity… tears well up in my eyes at knowing it’s not just Biblical Christians like myself who love the man who owns both Fox News and Zondervan. Not, of course, that their core market is able to distinguish between the two.

No, it is purely due to my faithfulness to Scripture that things have taken this turn. The Bible explicitly calls us to “Praise him upon the high-sounding cymbals” (Psalm 150:5), and thus I can do no other. Accompanied by the tuneful blasts of my sackbut (“mine horn shall be raised as an unicorn” – Ps 92:10 ) my bold proclamation of Righteousness (in case you’re wondering I tie the cymbals to the inside of my knees, freeing my hands to manfully grasp my sackbut), was deemed in violation of a restraining order corruptly issued in favor of the local baptists, and - as if there’s any hour at which we’re exempt from praising the One who called us to serve the Scriptures - it appears that the irrelevant fact of it being half-past two in the morning caused the acting district attorney to successfully oppose my bail.

None of which should be any cause for alarm on your behalf, My Beloved Sinners, even if it has resulted in you all having been left for more than a month without any Biblical guidance. The reason my trial has been delayed is so that things could wait until the regular DA returned from vacation – a man whom has not infrequently availed himself of the ministry provided by Consuella’s pole-dancer’s fellowship, and whom when confronted with photographic evidence of the same is sure to seek a more appropriate sentence. Naturally since the charge is essentially one of preaching the gospel I can do nothing other than plead guilty, but rather than the period of incarceration currently proposed (I could have been mistaken, but I believe I heard the phrase “throw away the key” being bandied about) I expect something more along the lines of that enjoyed by Little Don Armstrong - charity service and a comparison to Mandela. And of course the charity will be my own “Leaf blowers for Africa”, although if the Murdochs are prepared to establish a suitably fraudulent trust fund I’ve no doubt I would instead be called to act for them as a consultant. In a strictly Biblical context, of course.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Princess Leia's Conservative Conjugal Bliss.

2011-07-12T23:49:00.000-07:00

From a thread at Viagraville (sigh: where else?) following a really special piece by Dobby Ould (double-sigh: who else?) comes a few words of wisdom from a graduate of the Ike Turner School of Marital Counseling who likes to be known as “Jedinovice”. Which you’ve at least got to admit explains why Darth Vader developed so many problems a whole lot better than Star Wars Pt. 1 and those other two stupid prequels.

“My wife was talking to a wife with marital difficulties. She made good suggestions to the woman in question. To each suggestion the retort was, 'I can’t do that. I have my pride.'
'Then you can eat your pride.' My wife said eventually. 'In marriage there is no such thing as pride. Where there is, there is no marriage'.
Bingo.
The natural order is unequal. Rights and Pride are impediments to salvation. Frankly they are impediments to marriage and family!”

Since I can see you’ve all collapsed on the floor it’s probably best we leave things for now. Anyone who thinks the quote can’t possibly be genuine can read it here. If they must.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Oh what a tangled web we weave,,,

2011-07-06T13:49:00.000-07:00

... when our Orders sworn we plan to leave.

A few hours ago a Beloved Sinner left a comment pointing us all to a fascinating post by a gentleman who, while not actually swimming the Tiber, has certainly donned his water wings and waded out further from the shore than could ever be considered healthy.

So fascinating was this post, in fact, that a few hours later our sacerdotal swimmer appears to have had second thoughts, and deleted the piece. Which is a great pity, since it contained an enthralling tale of how the trustees of a well-known Anglican organization donated £1 million to the Ordinariate (that's right My Sinners - One Million Pounds! Which is a whole lot of incense and man-lace in anybody's currency) before then themselves heading off for a spot of synchronized swimming.

Fortunately Brother Richthofen's friend from seminary is wise in the ways of something called "Google Cache", and by clicking here the original piece can still be accessed.

Under legal advice I'm not going to reproduce it here (and yes, I have saved a copy lest the cached version also vanish), but I can't urge My Sinners strongly enough to click here and marvel at the way little Bobby Duncan's tactics can work on both sides of the Atlantic. Or Tiber.

And thank you once again to Child of Light who drew my attention to this gem.

I'm Father Christian and you can give me £1 million anytime.

Sorry Charles.

2011-07-04T00:19:00.000-07:00

"Revisionists will no doubt express various degrees of outrage at the emergence of the AMiE..."

Little Charles Raven of SPREAD arousing Jensenites.

Could be, Charles my boy, but so far all I've heard is schadenfreude and laughter. Which I've got to tell you (since, like most of your ilk, you're incapable of picking up subtleties unassisted), ain't with you.

I'm Father Christian, and my degrees are in the Bible

The Bible Truth is Out There.

2011-07-03T05:09:00.000-07:00

Like any Conservative Biblical Leader, from time to time I also need to sit down and relax in the peaceful goodness of all the Lord’s gifts. Which is why there are few things I enjoy more after a hard day’s Ministry studying sin in all its manifold and lurid permutations than watching Youtube clips of people bashing the bejesus out of each other.

Indeed, there’s something about the earnest features of a sports enthusiast intent upon breaking noses, or the intelligent and compassionate gaze of a riot cop burying his baton in a young protestor’s dreadlocks, that always reminds what of what the Anglican Communion will be when we’ve finally got rid of all the Liberals, Disrespectful Women, Homosexualists, and People Who Think the Gospels Matter. (A list I often abbreviate for the sake of those home-schooled – or educated by Jensenists - to “People Who Think”.)

So it was, a few weeks ago, one evening while Bishop Quinine and I were enjoying a refreshing tankard of mescal and some mushrooms he’d picked in the woods, that we were perusing images of the recent Vancouver riots that it suddenly became clear there was something much deeper going on than just a few hockey aficionados giving new meaning to the term “losing gracefully”. Something Apostate Liberal Christians and their media lackeys didn’t want Bible-believers to know; something darker than anything any of us (except me, of course) had ever seen before. But what?

After another tankard and a few more mushrooms Bishop Quinine grew convinced it had something to do with a secret message in the hose scene from Battlefield Earth, but I knew the answer lay deeper. Casting my mind back to my vast knowledge of biblical proof-texts, the truth became suddenly clear as I recalled Deuteronomy 17:8-10:

“If there arise a matter too hard for thee in judgment, between blood and blood, between plea and plea, and between stroke and stroke, being matters of controversy within thy gates: then shalt thou arise, and get thee up into the place which the LORD thy God shall choose;
And thou shalt come unto the priests the Levites, and unto the judge that shall be in those days, and enquire; and they shall shew thee the sentence of judgment:
And thou shalt do according to the sentence, which they of that place which the LORD shall choose shall shew thee; and thou shalt observe to do according to all that they inform thee.”

Do you see, My Beloved Sinners? The real reason Vancouver’s young people were furious had nothing to with the Bruins trumping the Canucks 4-0: they were actually angry over what had been occurring at the same time as the game, or, as the Bible puts it, “between blood and blood, between plea and plea, and between stroke and stroke”. Which was something so terrible most of my Conservative Imitators were unable to report it - a jurisprudential outrage being wrought upon the little David Short and the few other True Christians north of the 49th parallel! The fine men and women overturning cars and smashing store windows weren’t just burning off excess hormones and obtaining merchandise at the most attractive discount of all, they were alerting the world to a gross injustice.

As the verse quoted above teaches, when an issue comes before any court which involves matters beyond the judge’s understanding, the Bible calls for matter to be referred to the Levite Priests, which was Old Testament terminology for Wise and Mature Biblical-Christian Leaders who Know Everything – men like Me, in other words. This is something of which the young people of Vancouver are all well aware, because I know for a fact that little Don Harvey has personally shared the Gospel with every single one of them. In spite of looking like a late middle-aged lesbian. After all, if he hadn’t do you really think he’d be flying around and telling the rest of the world how they’re doing everything wrong?

Having had their eyes opened to the Truth, these young people were quite rightly refusing to accept the decision of a court entirely lacking in authority when it comes to the question of stealing church property. That the real reason for their anger hasn’t been made public is hardly surprising given the octopus-like tentacles of the International Apostate Liberal Cabal, which have infiltrated and now control every aspect of the media. Including the home-shopping channel – you can’t honestly believe it’s just coincidence that they never ask me to demonstrate those machines guaranteed to give firmer hips and thighs, can you?

Unbelievers may laugh and mock, but now the Conspiracy has been exposed by My Superior Scriptural Scholarship Sinners everywhere can rest assured I’ll be campaigning to have this matter brought before the United Nations. What’s more, given Archbishop Okoh’s profound understanding of that institution (not to mention the respect for the Church he's inspired among U.N. employees) I’m certain he’ll feel honored to help.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Friday Afternoon Palate Cleanser [ON-TOPIC]

2011-07-01T14:30:00.000-07:00

As one of My Liberal Imitators is frequently obsessed with oral hygiene, the Scriptures have guided me to start showing a little consideration for the fleshy interiors of My Beloved Sinners' mandibular regions.

Inspired by a wonderful piece of misleading advertising one of my regular commenters discussed, I’ve selected an appropriately entitled piece for the historic inauguration of this new ministry - watch out for the definitive conservative aphorism at 1:33.

I’m Father Christian and I care about your palatal tori.

Rev. Gander, please meet “Bishop” Goose’s sauce.

2011-06-30T05:56:00.000-07:00

For the past few days I’ve been trying to finish an important homily about the terrible Canadian Liberal Media Conspiracy I’ve unearthed. However, My Beloved Sinners, I regret to say that each time I’ve sat down to finish imparting a little of my Fathomless Biblical Knowledge I’ve found myself distracted by an aching grief in the pit of my spiritual nether-regions.

And no, this discomfort has absolutely nothing to do with the Chicken Tartare I served the Ministers’ Fraternal last week. Not only am I not even remotely foolish enough to have sampled any myself, but as it only killed one or two of those who were you’ll have to agree that a trivial little incident like that is hardly enough to disturb a Teacher of my abilities.

Instead the real reason has to do with the pain currently faced by my Conservative Brethren in Great Britain, the fine folk of Fulcrum; an organization committed to “Renewing the Evangelical center”. (A strange sort of mission statement, since trying to do something about the nut in the middle of those candies always left over after all the nice ones are taken has always struck me as the height of futility. Although one can’t help admiring their ambition.)

That’s right: after years of encouraging acronym-laden groups who meddle in other peoples’ corners of the Communion, the Fellowship of the Fulcrumites is now to be confronted by gatecrashers upon their own doorstep. And they’re not happy. In fact they even have “very serious concerns”, which as everybody knows is Evangelicalese for “we’re madder than Bobby Duncan’s eyebrows”.

Which is hardly surprising. After all, it’s one thing for a bunch of faux-Africans with unpleasant purple gleams in their eyes to cause division in North American churches, but another thing entirely for the little Messrs. Minns and Jensen to set up shop as the “Anglican Mission in England” (Is “AMiE” really that much catchier, or are someone’s marketing guys just getting lazy?) and start fragmenting the Church of England’s already comparatively small wingnut brigade. And just because the creatures with whom one chooses to lie happen to be riddled with fleas is hardly reason to expect one’s own hide might eventually start itching. Is it?

Consequently I know you will all understand how deeply the idea someone should have to reap at home what they’ve tacitly consented to being sown abroad distresses me. After all, the Anglican Communion is like a great big garden, and how could we ever have imagined that the minority of horticulturalists tending that garden who thought it clever to begin breeding triffids would someday find the toxic seedlings turning on the hands by whom they were pollinated? It’s a tragedy the likes of which not even The Amazing Criswell could have dreamed up (speaking of whom, I wonder his prediction concerning cannibalism in Pittsburgh was actually a prophetic foresight of ACNA?). Indeed, given these developments it’s a powerful testimony to My Strength of Character that I’m able to get anything done at all. Especially since I keep laughing so hard I think my sides are going to split.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Do you think I might have upset somebody?

2011-06-22T20:21:00.000-07:00

I love it when My Admirers tell me how much they have been blessed by My Ministry. Knowing how much all of you are also blessed by hearing my praises sung, I have generously felt called to share the following comment, which was a just a few minutes ago left in response to my important recent homily on Viagraville.

Obviously the author feels too humbled by the honor of addressing a Christian Leader of my Fame, Wisdom, Spiritual Maturity, and Modesty to do so any way other than anonymously, but to show how touched I am by their innocent childlike awe I am leaving their syntax, spacing and capitalization unaltered. Although in order to save those of you basking in the light of My Biblical Teaching at your place of work or education from being instantly dismissed and/or forever blocked by godless internet filters I have thoughtfully replaced a few letters with asterisks.

go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself go f*** yourself and you’re a***ole church
and your idiot "faithful"

I'm Father Christian, and I bring out the best in my fellow Bible-believing Conservatives.

Job 5:3 (Look it up.)

2011-06-21T06:45:00.000-07:00

People less Theologically Learned than myself (a group which, let’s face it, comprises pretty much everyone) frequently write and wonder why I devote so much of my inestimably valuable attention to little Peter Jensen and his “Anglican” Diocese of Mordor. “How is it,” they ask as their eyes grow moist with bewildered admiration, “that a Doctrinal Warrior at the very heart of the International Anglican Schism should be called to bother himself with a few financially dubious nepotists who not only make the Phelps clan look genetically diverse, but who also reside on that part of the earth's topography which is undeniably analogous to its nether regions ?”

It’s a valid question, even if I do usually respond by humiliating (in love, of course) the person asking it. After all: it’s not as if there’s anything that special about the way the GAFCON General Secretary runs his fiefdom. At least there isn’t when viewed in the context of such bastions of Christian freedom as North Korea or Burma. And just because the Archbishop of Sydney took his See to the brink of bankruptcy while simultaneously requiring parishes purchase pamphlets by the carton load from a privately-owned publishing company doesn’t mean he’s any more corrupt than, for example, little Don Armstrong. Even if this did result in that company enjoying financial blessings of a magnitude more commonly associated with striking oil, or importing white powder from Columbia. Besides, I’m sure the fact that members of Peter Jensen’s family just happen to be significant shareholders in that same company is of absolutely no relevance.

Nor are the Jensen regime’s house-elves really any more spectacularly sycophantic than those of other sects. Or at least not those sects that don’t consider sarin a sacrament and demand members wax lyrical about “the supreme sacrifice”. Certainly we can all name a certain serial liar (don’t bother clicking it: visitors from this site are blocked, but that doesn’t stop Google-bots indexing my link under “serial liar”, and words can’t describe how happy that makes Deacon David Ould) for whom the judges invariably hold up a “10” when scoring his latest missive for oleaginousness, but that’s nothing any regular at Viagraville can’t also achieve given a few moments alone with a picture of their quintessentially masculine heroes. (Incidentally Dobby, please don’t ever forget truth is a defense at law under both my jurisdiction and yours, and you’ve opened your desperately ambitious little mouth more than frequently enough to give my attorney an inappropriate bulge in his Armani trousers every time he dreams about the day you start screaming “libel”.)

No, the true reason I keep such a careful eye on the realm which has put more words into the mouths of African Prelates than Martyn Minns is because there is simply no other institution on earth with so many leaders capable of making Michele Bachmann look intelligent. Indeed, finding just one such individual of such usefully meager caliber is extremely difficult, yet recently I’ve been following a truly fine blog by one of My Beloved Sinners who is able to uncover from amongst the Chosen Ones of Mordor a new and delightfully stupid bigot on what is almost a daily basis! That’s right – a fresh (Lord, give me strength to resist spelling that as “Phresh”!) Pharisee every morning! Not even Bobby Duncan can manage that, and he’s giving away free mitres as an incentive!

And amidst this plethora of Conservative Christian calumny one of My Beloved Sinner’s links has set a standard which Believers elsewhere in the Glorious Schism can only hope to equal. It’s a piece which is actually a few years old, and I’m really not sure how I missed it. Nor is it succinct enough to quote here – suffice it to say that in a meandering stream of really nasty innuendo it manages to claim that the Lambeth boycott was entirely justified on account of the Church being in ruins because thirty years ago Americans ordained women.

Yes, he is serious. As he is when claiming that in Nigeria and Uganda the Christian Church “looks the same as when it was first built or even better.”

No, I’m not making that up.

Really I’m not.

Look; just read it for yourselves, ok?

In fact I doubt even I could have made up the stuff there if I’d tried, and I’m Father Christian.

Stand Firm Gets Hard On Excorcism

2011-06-06T20:47:00.000-07:00

It has, I am sorry to say, been a long time since little Melanie, Matt, Dobby, and Whats-her-name at Viagraville lived up to their priapic reputation. So long, in fact, that I was just about to send them the name of a good urologist when (undoubtedly in answer to the prayers I never quite got around to offering on their behalf) they appear to have discovered where Matron had hidden the Kool-Aid, and once again managed to get Deacon Wobbly pointing in a roughly vertical direction.

No, I’m not talking about Dobby Ould’s thoughtful presentation of Islamic evangelism. Although given the spectacular inability of his beloved House of Jensen when it comes to winning converts, Dobby’s enthusiasm is really quite understandable: compared with the miserable package he and his fellow serfs of Mordor have to peddle, a religion which merely encourages taping explosives around one’s nether-regions and then self-detonating is an easy sell by anyone’s standards.

Rather it’s little Matt Kennedy’s breathless announcement – “A New Diocese in Formation in the Southwest” – that proves the self-injection kit somebody ordered from an unregistered medical institute in Tijuana is working. Certainly the announcement itself is rather prosaic once the link to the details is followed: eighteen congregations in the dynamic metropolis of West Texas and New Mexico have voted to apply to form their own subset of Bobby Duncan’s sect (as opposed to joining one of the existing subsets – which would of course be unthinkable, on account of there already being at least three Clergy in ACNA not yet appointed as Bishops) , but the dialogue that follows is priceless. Let’s follow the thread:

“Fr. Dale” (obviously one of the aforementioned three) serves:

“Why does it appear that there seems to be a lack of transformed lives for those newcomers in our churches?”

And “timmysdaman” returns:

“I would venture (very related to your post)that at least part of the reason is the lack of exorcisms performed on new members. That used to be a normative part of the discipleship/catechesis process”

The subsequent volley is of the standard we once expected from Viagraville; a brilliant exchange with far too many gems to quote them all. Highlights include “I waited 7 years in AMiA to be confirmed… it never happened, nor was it even mentioned once. I would venture a guess that we might find several AMiA clergy that have never been confirmed.” (timmysdaman) and “ I already have an idea for a book that will deal with the failure of the current mental health models to deal with problems the church has outsourced.” (Fr. Dale), but by the time you read this I’ve no doubt many more will have been added (although quite possibly also “moderated” on account of the argument transcending even little Matt Kennedy’s not insignificant threshold of silliness).

But you’ll have to excuse me: a couple have arrived with their baby for a pre-baptism interview, and I can feel My Spirit bearing witness that the very attractive young mother has a Jezebel demon in need of my ministry. While the father, who looks like he may be wearing after-shave, is clearly held captive to ancestral spirits of homosexuality. Undoubtedly his mother had an uncle who was a Freemason. Now has anyone seen my recording of Tubular Bells?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

A New Orc for Aukland Castle.

2011-06-04T03:24:00.000-07:00

Beloved Sinners the world over are grief-stricken as a result of hearing the news that I will not be appointed the next Bishop of Durham. Naturally both Myself and God understand your tears, but I must confess the official announcement came as no surprise, since I have been aware for some time of the coming heartbreak for those dwelling in the fiefdom previously ruled in absentia by little Tom Wright. Consequently I must apologize for not having spared you all this shock: I did indeed considered spilling the beans in advance, but on account of my lacking the Archbishop of Canterbury’s nimble morality when it comes to leaking confidential information this was never really an option.

Still, hard as it is to comprehend in the midst of your tears and sorrow, I must ask you to all try and understand that as as a Christian it would have been impossible for me to accept the position. Not only am I manifestly over-qualified, but very early on in the process it became obvious they were looking for an Evangelical, which is, of course, just a polite label for Baptists who lack the courage of their convictions.

In addition I very much doubt the Diocese would have been able to keep me in the manner to which I am entitled. Just look how the previous incumbent was forced to subsidize his stipend by travelling the world and peddling books. 1 Timothy 5:18 is clear that employees are entitled to appropriate remuneration in return for their services. (Please don’t worry your fallen hearts about my figurative interpretation of the first part of that verse, which is actually a prohibition against muzzling one’s oxen. Unlike the rest of Scripture it’s not about sex, and thus there’s no need for it to be understood literally.) Consequently, as a faithful Bible-believer I have always refused to be soiled by any Church structure not prepared to meet their god-given obligations. And since Auckland Castle doesn’t even have a Jacuzzi, it defies me to see how any Orthodox Leader could ever be expected to base himself there. Although it does explain why Tommy Wright can be so grumpy.

In fact I have no doubt the man finally selected, the Very Revd Justin Welby, will prove an excellent choice. Thanks to Dean Slee the world has now been blessed with a window into the inspiring processes by which Church of England Clergy with ostensibly heterosexual penises are deemed worthy to receive the all-important tap on the shoulder that says it’s time to buy new-colored shirts. So we can all have no doubt his appointment was based purely upon ability. Having attended Eton wouldn’t have hurt either, since even Rowan Williams would know with that on his CV it’s certain Fr. Welby has never been tainted by homosexualists and their manner of lifestyle. After all, Guy Burgess went to Eton. As did Lord Sebastian Flyte.

What’s more, prior to following his vocation Fr. Welby worked in the petroleum industry – anyone familiar with the activities of BP in the Gulf of Mexico, or of Shell in Nigeria will know there couldn’t be a better arena in which to develop the ethical framework required of a successful British Bishop. Furthermore, he was a lay leader at Holy Trinity Brompton during St. Margaret Thatcher’s administration, where he ministered to the young Sloanes who flourished under her rule (largely because they weren’t born in places like the one which is now going to be paying him). It was these same fine people who went on to manage the European arms of the institutions which blessed our world with the global financial crisis.

However I must also agree with those who see reason to qualify their enthusiasm – I too was concerned upon learning “his recreations include most things French” – I’m too busy to recall just where in the Bible god uses the expression “cheese-eating surrender monkeys”, but it’s sure to be in there somewhere. Nor am I for one moment suggesting anyone be anything other than suspicious of those who ignore the fact that this particular species of foreigners were foundation members of the Axis of Weasels. Yet as a balanced man (as even my witless apostate critics will testify) I have to remind you all that not everything French is without merit: do I really need to say the words “kissing” and “letters”? And there can be no doubt an interest in matters Française will help the new Bishop relate to the young people of his See, particularly those rendered unemployed by the closure of regional industries – they might not be able to speak French, but with welfare payments what they are these days you’d better believe that for the most modest of fees they'll do it.

Nor let us ever forget Justin’s father Marcus was a brilliant doctor.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

California, Here I Come...

2011-05-29T01:16:00.000-07:00

Even though I have faithfully heeded the spirit’s call to address the subject a number of times in past weeks, it looks my Sermon this morning is once again going to focus upon the importance of giving generously to one’s Church. This time, however, general parish expenditure will play no part the reasons underlying my carefully-considered exegetical emphasis. (Look: with the price of gas what it is these days, it costs a lot of money to keep my Hummer filled, ok? And it what sort of message would it give to the world if the World’s Most Orthodox Christian couldn’t just drive straight over the top of anyone getting in his way?)

No, this week will see the launch of a special new project – one even more exciting than all the other special new projects I’ve been called to launch here at St. Onuphrius’. In fact this one is so special, new, and exciting, that I can already sense everyone reaching for their plain brown envelopes and cash. That’s because I’ve just learned that Robert Schuller’s Crystal Cathedral is on the market and, My Beloved Sinners, by some miracle of what can only be described as divine timing, this sale coincides with a vision that has come to me - one involving St. Onuphrius’ expansion beyond dear old Ichabod Springs.

Of course nobody should for one moment think my decision to start jumping diocesan boundaries has been taken lightly, even if the idea did just first pop into my head a few minutes ago. Respect for Anglican boundaries is ancient part of the faith delivered unto the saints - one even older than the principle of fearing those different and/or less affluent than oneself. As such it can only be discarded in the most serious of circumstances. Like, for example, those experienced by layman Martyn Minns upon finally realizing his nagging purple itch would never get scratched if he didn’t do something drastic. Or the pressing needs of the former Archbishop of Rwanda, who correctly understood that taking over North American congregations would prove a vastly more lucrative (albeit less spiritually satisfying) substitute for his countrymen’s traditional pastime of butchering the women and children of unrelated tribes.

Needless to say, my reasons are every bit as valid. Firstly; I have always been a great admirer of Robert Schuller: it was his famous aphorism “Turn your scars into stars” which prompted an extremely profitable investment in a chain of tattoo parlours – my “Post-surgery Package” specials revolutionized industry returns. Although I’ve still to experience similar success with his other catchphrase “If you can dream it, you can do it!”, since I have yet to find myself falling down an endless tunnel with Elvis. Although I have on a number of occasions found myself naked in the shopping mall.

Secondly; I have for some time been hearing rumours of the dearth of Biblical teaching in the Los Angeles region. It grieves me deeply to report these were recently confirmed by my discovery that The Friends of Jake - a blog run by a number of people either currently or previously living in California, or who have perhaps vacationed there (or almost certainly know somebody who has once visited Disneyland) - have removed me from their blogroll!!!.

That’s right, and don’t ever dare to think that I don’t notice these things. No stench of apostasy is too subtle to escape my theologically-heightened olfactory senses, and if all you Liberal Homosexualist Christ-following Atheists and your friends think you can escape the two-edged sword of My Teaching that easily you’ve all got another thing coming. One that you ingrates had better believe an Hour of Power on my 236-foot Prayer Tower will teach you for good. (Stop rolling your eyes Consuella – I’m trying to convict these Sinners of their need for repentance!)

Finally, any members of the Crystal Cathedral’s remaing congregation (until now I’d thought only little Don Armstrong or admirers of the Jensen family were capable of shedding 90% of their congregation in just ten years) reading this needn’t worry about my arrival bringing any drastic overnight changes. Bishop Quinine and Brother Richthofen’s Friends from Seminary are already looking forward to bringing Pastor Kok’s Kigdness Korner new vigour (although I’m not sure if that’s because they misheard my saying “Pastor” as “pass the”, or because they’re unaware the man’s family name is spelt a little differently to how they’d assumed).

And admirers of the delightful Kristy Cavinder can rest assured that former Miss California’s liturgical dance ministry will most definitely continue. Although I dare say the girls in the Pole Dancers’ Fellowship may help add a few new moves to her repertoire…

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

++Rowan Gets Biblical (At Last!)

2011-05-26T20:58:00.000-07:00

Isn’t it wonderful to see little Archbishop Rowan has finally embraced a Bible-based model of Episcopal leadership. For years we’ve all despaired at God’s Only True Communion being in the hands of someone more interested in studying Dostoevsky than slapping children with Dobson, but now thanks to Andrew Brown of The Guardian we can rejoice that beneath the tangle of Lambeth’s bushiest beard and brow actually lurks the heart of a True Conservative.

That’s right, My Beloved Sinners: the picture of our Preeminent Primate revealed in the recollections of the late Dean Colin Slee is one of a man (although please understand that I use the term loosely) not afraid to bully, intimidate, and generally carry on exactly like the Scriptures show a Prelate should behave.

Indeed, one only has to turn to Matthew 26:65 to see the temple’s High Priest (a title people in Biblical days used for Senior Clergy before they had the Bible to explain that they should really be called Bishops and Doctrinal Warriors) responding to an outrageous allegation (in this instance coming from some upstart who was merely God incarnate, and clearly nobody of any ecclesiastical consequence) by “renting his clothes”. Which doesn’t mean he leased them to poor people in return for a monthly fee, but that he ripped them while shouting and generally carrying on in a manner which in less spiritually mature surroundings would normally result in a team of burly nurses jumping out of a white van and involuntarily administering sedatives.

Rather than suppressing anger, and endeavoring to see things from the other’s perspective, the example of leadership revealed to us here in the New Testament is that of a man exploding, and ensuring his fury is vented upon those around him. Nor should we forget – lest any Apostate Liberals try to deny the passage’s relevance to us today – that this Priest was Jesus’ Minister, since he was in charge of the Church at which Our Lord worshipped. So obviously this must have been the man who gave Jesus all his best ideas (like that one which is something about making little children suffer, or throwing someone into the ocean with a millstone around their neck), since he was the one who would have delivered the sermon Jesus heard each week. In acting like an emotional thug little ++Rowan Williams has finally shown the world that he’s capable of leading in exactly the same manner as the Clergy in Jesus’ day.

Nor should we overlook the example of little Johnny Sentamu. Not only is it clear that the Archbishop of York has been every bit as nasty as ++Cantaur, but in stepping out with three other members of the Crown Nominations Commission at a critical point in the voting for a quick meeting at the urinal (or perhaps the four of them squeezed into a cubicle) (Page 4, Point 26) he’s displayed an understanding of the very essence of ecclesiastical transparency. And next time Bishop Quinine is reported for loitering near a public comfort station we’ll be sure to cite this example in his defense.

Certainly there has in recent years been a great many people questioning the future of our precious Communion in general, as well as that of little Rowan in particular. Yet now I think we can all say with confidence that the time of uncertainty is past. I predict the dynasty of Williams to reign for every bit as long as that of Caiaphas. Whose descendants I’ve no doubt are collecting tithes in Jerusalem. Aren’t they?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Hasta la vista, baby...

2011-05-18T19:33:00.000-07:00

Isn't it heartbreaking, My Beloved Sinners, to see how Liberals and Atheists are trying to besmirch the reputation of the most inspiring advocate for anabolic steroids to have ever held public office? I'm speaking, of course, of former governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, the man who despite the obvious disability of being born a foreigner, proved that with the help of a well-filled posing pouch, body-oil, and plenty of intravenously injected hormones, nothing is impossible through faith.

I'm referring, of course, to the "outrage" over revelations that the ex-governor impregnated his family's housekeeper - tragic proof of the extent to which Apostate Episcopalians have rendered the world Biblically Illiterate, and compromised our once clear understanding of Scriptural teachings on the family. And in turning their backs upon these examples which were given for all men's edification (in addition to any women who as a result of having been raised in unbelieving households are able to read), these so-called "Anglicans" not yet in schism from Canterbury have reached now plumbed depths so perverse that they would even condemn those humbly walking in the footsteps of our own ancestor in God's salvific covenant.

Those of you who still have Bibles should please turn to Galatians 3:7 (those of you without your own personal copy of God’s Word should simply steal one of the Gideons’ after your next rendezvous at a local motel). Reading what you see there will show that even an Ould twin can’t quibble over the fact that Abraham is the spiritual father of all who would call themselves “Christian”. Then turn to Proverbs 4:1, where you will see the indisputable command for sons to pay attention and learn from their father’s instruction and example. Indeed, so seriously does the Bible take the issue of filial obedience that Deuteronomy 21:18-21 is it quite clear that disrespectful sons must be put to death – something so-called “experts” on the family like James Dobson invariably water down, like the wishy-washy liberals they really are.

No, My Sinners, an obedient son does as his father did. And our father Abraham generously shared the seed of his loins with his wife’s housekeeper – you can read of his faithfulness for yourselves in Genesis 16:1-4. Which is exactly what ex-governor Schwarzenegger did, presumably whilst enjoying a well-deserved break from repetitively lifting things (or one of the many other intensely cerebral challenges which comprise the sport of bodybuilding).

That’s right - he followed the example of our father Abraham! So it’s no wonder that those embracing the homosexualist agenda to allow people to live as God has made them are now criticizing the man Christians know and love as “the Governator”. Anyone wicked enough to hold that the Sacrament of Marriage - an institution which the inerrant word of Scripture clearly shows is for the benefit of one man, one woman, and the woman’s slave(s)/personal staff – was also given as a blessing to loving monogamous couples (including those with similarly-shaped smelly bits) - has clearly abandoned the “faith once and for all delivered to the saints”. As such it’s no surprise that they would also denigrate a god-fearing Republican for choosing to faithfully embrace a Biblical lifestyle.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

If I were Hal Lindsey I'd sue.

2011-05-17T20:34:00.000-07:00

Honestly, My Beloved Sinners; all the attention currently being paid to little Harold Camping and his assertion that this coming Saturday evening is going to be a little more memorable than most is making this old Doctrinal Warrior sick.

I mean really, if God was going to spill any secrets that big, He’d do so with me. The mere idea that I would be left out of a loop this large is ridiculous - let alone the notion that the best person the Almighty could find to call the nations to repentance is some fool who hasn’t even put any Google advertisements on his web site in order to capitalize on all the attention. After all, Harold Camping isn’t even an Anglican, so how he can possibly claim to understand anything of what the Bible teaches? Although, I’ve got admit, neither are little Peter Jensen and his family, and that doesn’t stop them from laboring under the same delusion.

Not of course, that this isn’t proving a fabulous opportunity for us here at St. Onuphrius’. Our special Rapture Insurance® team of Lay Ministers/Sales personnel has been simply overun with enquiries, and their closure rate has hit an all-time high - currently few than one in ten contracts are involuntary, or made to persons deemed medically incapable of understanding what they’re signing. With one paltry down payment (cash only please, although welfare recipients are permitted to sign their check over) people can enjoy peace of mind knowing that in the event of their being raptured any unsaved loved ones will be provided for.

Naturally provisions apply - as with any reputable insurance product – and for the benefit of any of you big-government types out there I would like to stress that any offers made by or purporting to be made on behalf of Rapture Insurance Ministries® pertain only to persons residing in such jurisdictions as where this sort of thing can be got away with and I am in no way liable for any actions made which may appear to be in contravention of this fact. (Sorry about that, but one can’t be too careful about such matters. And there's never such a thing as too much fine print when you're a Conservative. Just ask little Peter Ould. Or Harold on Sunday morning.)

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Breaking News: Martyngale to Sing in Berkeley Square!

2011-05-14T18:34:00.000-07:00

As those Beloved Sinners sufficiently righteous to be numbered among myFacebook friends will be aware, after years of trying Bishop Quinine has finally magnetized his skull plate.* Unfortunately he was in the Rectory kitchen at the time, and the force generated proved so powerful that that our Primate-in-residence was dragged across the room to the refrigerator, to which he has remained magnetically adhered ever since.

In search of a solution to this minor inconvenience he has been feverishly studying everything Charles Berlitz wrote on the Philadelphia Experiment (Mr. Berlitz, for those unfamiliar with his legacy, was to science what little David Virtue is to theology). Whilst so far finding nothing of any help in relation to demagnetization, he currently (no pun intended) has Evangelical Eric constructing a Tesla coil around himself and his conjoined appliance. Once completed and electrified he is certain this will result in the ability to travel freely through space and time – hopefully sans the parish Kenmore.

Mind you, I can’t see what the fuss is. I've never encountered a faux-bishop not floating around with his head in the clouds. For the latest example one need look no further than dear little layman Martyn Minns. Having bailed the CANA “lifeboat” for longer than could ever be reasonably expected of a man who’s eyes still gleam purple with ambitious desperation, he’s now announced an end to his life of simultaneously juggling Bobby Duncan’s sect whilst massaging egos in Lagos.

Instead he’s going to be heading up a “GAFCON Global Coordination office” in London, which among other important gospel essentials like have an impressive desk and a shiny computer from which he will speak with the authentic voice of Anglicans in the developing world, but will also be the planning nerve-center for the most exciting thing to happen to my Google ranking since the GAFCON pilgrimage itself – GAFCON 2. (Don’t worry Martyn: I’ve already registered “Gafcon 2” with Blogspot, and as we get nearer the big day I’m sure there’ll be no shortage of Beloved Sinners willing to post there to help keep Googling media-types heading our way).

Of course the best thing about this exciting news (which I notice at time of writing little Martyn hasn’t bothered to share with his flock via the CANA News site - but hey: what business has any of this to do with those who pay to keep him in the manner to which a faux-bishop is entitled?) is that it means little Bobby Duncan won’t have to cross his fingers any more when saying “Yes – the Province of ACNA is officially recognized in England.” How long after Minns’ has signed the lease on a nice little carpeted hole in the wall do you think it will be before Bobby issues a release to that effect? My money’s on twenty minutes, but Consuella gives him five max.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

*For the curious: Bishop Quinine’s skull plate was surgically implanted as a result of his childhood abduction by vivisectionists, who mistook him for a rare species of hairless monkey. Sold to a Swiss pharmaceutical conglomerate, it was only several months after experiments had commenced that he was identified as human and released.

Mother's Day Sermon, 2011

2011-05-13T13:11:00.000-07:00

Following an overwhelming flood of requests (ok - one of you asked) I present the text of the inspiring sermon I delivered to my packed congregation of enthralled Sinners last Sunday morning.

In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Book…

Few things are more indicative of the Apostate Liberal Malaise afflicting our Church in this dark and shameless age than the lectionary’s bald reference to today as “The Third Sunday in Easter”. That’s right, My Beloved Sinners; were the recognition paid to this Holiest of occasions by our Ungodly Prelates and their Biblically Illiterate Liturgists anything to go by it might as well not be Mother’s Day at all, but merely one of a sequence of Sundays subsequent to the anniversary of some minor event which occurred way back in the mists of time.

However by the Grace of God, and a rewritten Parish Constitution appointing me as Rector in perpetuity, St. Onuphrius’ has been blessed with a Leader who will NEVER succumb to whatever flight of fancy is the latest to tickle the ears of those determined to take you all to Hell in a handbasket, and in this parish the second Sunday in May always has been, and always will be, known by its proper liturgical title: Mother’s Day. Just as it was by the Reformers, and St. James who wrote our Holy Scriptures, and even by St. Paul himself.

Nor should any of you ever allow your wicked hearts and uneducated minds to be led astray by those who would argue that the Church Fathers made no reference to this day, nor proscribed the date upon which all Christian nations ought celebrate it. That’s exactly the kind of picky detail with which those who would seek to destroy the Gospel by reducing the value of my substantial shareholding in a number of firms manufacturing greeting cards would say. Furthermore, don’t for one instant accept the glib protests made by those in Great Britain or Nigeria that their own heretical celebration upon the fourth Sunday in Lent is just as good. It’s Lent, for goodness sake! That’s a time for reflection, piety and increasing one’s giving to Church, not for spending up big on the one from whose loins you were expelled. If these heterodox so-called “Christians” were serious about wishing to celebrate Mother’s Day on a different date to the that which was ordained by God they would at least choose one after ours, thereby giving Bible-believers a chance to offload anything we couldn’t sell on the real occasion.

Mother’s Day is a sacred occasion on which every one of you must, in addition to purchasing a handful of the most expensive cards you can find, prayerfully remember not just your own Mother, and - if like me you are a man who has faithfully heeded Our Lord’s command to “Be fruitful and multiply” - the various Mothers of your offspring, but all women who have reproduced. Although you should never succumb to the temptation of permitting your reverence to be anything other than sentimental. This is no time for dwelling upon the pragmatic details of reality, or what members of the gender whom St. John Chrysostom sensitively described as able to "effect nothing of themselves" might mistakenly think shows respect for Motherhood - like affordable health-care, or universally accessible child-care

Rather it is a time to show how much you really value and esteem the Hallowed Calling of the maternal gender - by giving a bunch of flowers, and a new pot-holder. And have I mentioned the importance of buying cards?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Ding dong, the witch is dead?

2011-05-02T23:48:00.000-07:00

Isn’t it what you’d expect from a bearded foreigner? I’d just completed writing an inspired and sensitive epilogue to my important role at the Royal Wedding, and was about to post it when news came through that Osama bin Laden has gone to meet his 72 virgins. Or whatever it is that happens to those choosing his manner of lifestyle when the big broker in the sky makes an option call. (The share market metaphor is especially for my dear little Jensenist readers, who visit on an almost daily basis, and whom I know have been feeling neglected in recent homilies.)

Still, Consuella has been complaining about having heard enough of this epic celebration of democracy, and keeps muttering something about “pan y circo para el pueblo”, so it’s probably better to postpone my original piece for a while. It may be spring, but here in Ichabod Springs the weather’s still not yet pleasant enough for a Doctrinal Warrior to keep his own bed warm at night.

So with no further ado, let me begin by stressing that Bin Laden's death signifies the beginning of a wonderful new era. Henceforth Christians should expect young Islamic men to cease growing beards and wrapping their heads in their grandmother’s tea towel. Instead of starting their day listening to some constipated mullah calling the faithful to prayer, they’ll be taking wholesome cold showers before enjoying a diligent Quiet Time studying Every Day With Jesus. Rather than mindlessly repeating “Allahu Akbar” they’ll be reverentially shouting “PTL!” and telling complete strangers about “the awesomely awesome time of teaching and worship we shared at fellowship last Friday night”.

Consequently it’s obvious this truly is an occasion for celebration. Stop and consider, if you will, how many internet-savvy sinners have today taken a break from their restless quest for nudie pics to glorify Christ by conducting Google searches based around the phrase “dead Osama gore”. And think how much media attention has been diverted away from the popish idolatry of John Paul II’s beatification – no wonder the Romans are trying to rain on the parade.

After all, just take a look at this picture I lifted from The Washington Post of bin Laden’s house:

I mean really; just look at that grass. It must have been weeks since the man made one of his wives mow it. Anyone capable of letting crabgrass go to seed like that is simply a menace to society. And don’t be fooled by the rest of the place, sure he’s got neat bits of what look like old pickup trucks lying around, and that satellite dish looks damn fine, but see how there’s no deck? And no barbecue! That means he was the kind of guy who never invited his buddies around to share the great reception he gets on Fox Sports over a few beers and pork ribs. Which proves beyond all doubt he was evil, and got what was coming.

Of course there’s always someone who thinks the Bible is relevant at a time like this. After finding someone else I wisely stopped looking. People who suggest the Bible has any relevance when It’s not talking about homosexualists, or being used to keep women out of leadership, are just dangerous as far as I’m concerned. Invariably they’re the same type who try and claim following Jesus involves a commitment to some ludicrous ethic transcending the god-given Babylonian precept of ‘an eye for an eye’.

What I am nervous about, however, is that having finally executed a man responsible for the death of thousands, the Coalition of the Willing is going to move on to those responsible for the deaths of millions. And where will that leave the fine upstanding men and women responsible for unsafe automobiles, tobacco, and unaffordable health care?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the bible.

Homeward bound.

2011-04-30T16:46:00.000-07:00

Well, My Beloved Sinners, we’re all safely aboard the aircraft and flying back to dear old Ichabod Springs. I can’t deny that I’m disappointed to have not been able to enjoy a little more time in Britain: it would have been marvellous for Evangelical Eric’s ongoing formation as a Clergyman to have taken him to see something more of his Anglican heritage: the fan-dancing theatres in Soho, for example, where I faithfully served as Chaplain during the dark days of the Blitz; or the "cottages" of Hampstead Heath, where the best and brightest Ordinands have traditionally established networks which carried them up to the very pinnacles of the Ecclesiastic authority.

Then there’s the Tower, where by executing two of his six wives Henry VIII demonstrated the family values which still inspire Orthodox Anglicans today. And the London Eye - is anything as character-building for a young Curate as experiencing the pleasure of looking down upon everybody else? Or with more time we could have visited Madame Tussauds: a portrait taken with an effigy of Lady Gaga is the kind of heirloom which adds gravitas to any Vestry wall.

Indeed: as I sit here I can’t but weep at George Washington’s foolishness at rejecting proposals for an American monarchy. After all, what could be more Christian than the principle of rule passing down to the first-born male (providing, of course, he doesn’t do anything as sinful as wish to marry an American divorcee), and relegating children unfortunate enough to be born without a penis to the reserve benches? And it’s beyond me how any American patriot can believe the bunkum Jefferson and his cohorts sprouted about “all men are created equal” after seeing Prince Charles in action. Or Princess Beatrice’s hat.

My prayer today is that everyone in The Home of the Brave might seize this opportunity to correct the terrible error of their Founding Fathers. May they not just embrace ++Cantaur’s marvelous vision for oligarchy, but also turn from sinful notions like the belief success and privilege are just rewards for hard work, and in repentance realize they are actually rights based upon one’s birth, or getting very, very lucky in the marriage stakes.

Instead of intiative and a can do attitude America needs pomp, and ceremony; instead of education and equality the Land of the Free needs pedigrees, and a servant-class who know their place. That way the world could rest in the certainty that there’d be as much chance of another Obama rising to the White House as there is of the heir to British throne ever having a parent called “Lakshmi” or “Priyadarshini”.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update XVIII.

2011-04-29T20:23:00.000-07:00

Oh dear, My Beloved Sinners, I must apologize for my coverage being terminated so abruptly. I’d set off during the Lord’s Prayer, crawling through the pews in search of a power socket and cable, when suddenly I was seized by a crack team of soldiers from Prince Andrew’s Clapham Common Doggers.

The next thing I’d been spirited away to Scotland Yard via secret wartime tunnels beneath the Abbey, where a charming officer began explaining that even though water-boarding isn’t exactly a British custom, he’d be more than willing to make an exception if I didn’t explain what I’d been doing wriggling between the guest’s legs during the opening bars of “Blest Pair of Sirens" (if there is one thing I’ve long felt lacking in contemporary worship it’s the lack of recognition and respect given to Sirens).

Insisting upon my rights as the holder of a diplomatic passport (if young men from upstate New York can obtain canonical residency in Kenya, there’s certainly nothing untoward in my purchasing Somalian diplomatic status, and given the nation's primary industry is piracy there's actually a natural and oft-overlooked synergy between Somalia and schismatic clergy), I was granted the right to a telephone call, whereupon I immediately dialled Betty’s cellphone.

Would you believe it, however, but here in England it's considered polite to turn one’s cellphone off during formal occasions - even during weddings! I’d certainly never heard of such a thing before, and I’m sure it will never catch on at home. I mean to say; how could people let friends attending a funeral know about a really exciting special at Walmart, or interrupt people attending a film or play to remind their significant other to pick up some milk on the way home? Still, after leaving a couple of messages explaining my urgent need for her to return my call (and allowing my stunned interrogator to hear Betty’s voicemail message as proof that I wasn’t as delusional as he seemed to think I was), I was escorted to a holding cell, and instructed to wait with a number of other obvious subjects of mistaken detention.

And who would have believed it, but there in the midst of the happy throng were Bishop Quinine and Evangelical Eric, still dressed in the tattered remains of their pantomime horse. They’d been spotted by Prince Charles – always a man with a keen eye for horse-flesh – who’d ordered they be bridled and taken to his stables, where he felt they’d make a valuable genetic contribution to his polo-ponies' bloodline.

Naturally Bishop Quinine was elated. Evangelical Eric, on the other hand, began shrieking (to be fair, he was in the costume’s hind quarters), and their ruse was quickly exposed by His Royal Highness’s perceptive ostlers. The authorities were notified, and before you could say ”George Michael” they’d been placed in custody.

No sooner had the pair finished recounting their adventures than the officer who’d questioned me earlier returned. In a pleasingly amazed voice he announced that Her Majesty was on the line, and wished to speak with me. She was, as you would expect, appalled at my treatment, although as a gentleman and a Christian I insisted it was all nothing other than a simple mistake, and that she should let the matter rest with our release; other than casting all those responsible into the Tower of London no further action was necessary.

In fact everything was going so wonderfully that I in closing tapped the speaker-phone button so that she might also convey her apologies to my companions. At which point Evangelical Eric had the foolish compulsion to clear his whining little throat and ask “By the way, Your Majesty, what happened to the groom’s mother, and why isn’t anybody mentioning her today?”

The line went dead, and before I could defuse his faux pax we were dragged away to a cell so deep within the building that were Scotland Yard a mammal I’d say we were taken to somewhere between the large intestine and the colon. Which is not to say things couldn’t have been worse, although Eric found the words written above the doorway to our temporary domicile (“Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here”) particularly distressing.

After a little while (how time flies when one is chained to the walls) another soldier came to tell us we’d be held down here until Long Kesh could be reopened. Which didn’t mean much to any of us, although a small quiet voice in my spirit suggested it mightn’t be a place where the other inmates afforded Reformed Bible-believing Anglican Protestants the respect to which we are entitled. For the first time things began to look as if we did indeed have a small problem, when Bishop Qunine suddenly recognized the soldier:

“Tickles?” he asked, “is that you?”
“Quinners, Your Grace?”
“Of course it’s me, you naughty little monkey. Don’t tell me the rest of the lads have been posted here with you?”

As the two chuckled and exchanged pleasantries it became clear that Bishop Qunine was in fact old friends with the officers and men of our warder's regiment - “Prince Edward’s Theatricals”. After a little more conversation, and a playful slap which would under any other circumstances have made Eric blush, and sent him scurrying away to compose yet another a letter of complaint to the Archdeacon, the soldier whom had by now been introduced to us Sgt Tickerthope left to consult his officers, assuring us that “there’d be no bother sorting something out for old Quinners and his chums”.

Not ten minutes passed before he returned with an impressive array of firm-chested British military types. It turned out Bishop Quinine had served for a time as the Theatrical’s Chaplain: as a battalion specializing in engagements demanding precision cross-dressing his pastoral skills had become legendary, and the expression “polishing the Bishop” had come to have a special meaning dear to the heart (and other places) of every man in the regiment.

A few more telephone calls and everything was sorted. Our terrible lèse majesté would be covered up, and we would be discretely deported along with a camera crew from “Girls Gone Wild”, who insisted they’d been invited to attend the festivities by Prince Harry’s girlfriend Chelsy.

Which brings us to where we are at present: travelling to Heathrow on board one of the Theatrical’s APCs. I'll write some more to you when we’re on the plane, but right now I’ve got to give Bishop Quinine his iPad back. For reasons neither you or I will ever comprehend he’d like to show his old friends the Donald Trump slideshow he put together on the flight over: I suppose someone other than Rush Limbaugh has to enjoy looking at pictures of the old bankrupt.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update XVII.

2011-04-29T03:43:00.001-07:00

Oh dear - my battery's dying. Hopefully I can borrow an extension cord from one of the TV crews...

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update XVI.

2011-04-29T03:29:00.000-07:00

+London just quoted Chaucer - personally I think he should've lightened things up with a reference to the the Reeve's Tale instead of the humorless bit he selected.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update XV.

2011-04-29T03:23:00.000-07:00

Looking around is convincing me that most hats are designed, made, and sold by men who really hate women. Perhaps the Jensen family are descended from a long line of milliners?

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update XIV.

2011-04-29T03:22:00.000-07:00

... and now another old hymn. Surely it's time for bit of balance with 'Shine Jesus, Shine'?

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update XIII.

2011-04-29T03:17:00.000-07:00

All this vow stuff and giving of troth is very nice, but why is ++Rowan wasting this opportunity to tell the world how much we need the Covenant??? And why isn't he proclaiming ACNA a genuine province???!!!

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update XII.

2011-04-29T03:14:00.000-07:00

Number headings all fixed up now, and I hope nobody heard me fight back a sneeze when whats-his-name asked if anyone objected to this union.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update XI .

2011-04-29T03:05:00.000-07:00

Some pompous fellow just kicked the bottom of my seat and ordered to stand as the bride processes down the aisle.

Fortunately I've smuggled in my Taser, and by waving it in his general direction was able to prayerfully persuade him to go away - I've muddled up my roman numeral headings and can't possibly fix them up while standing.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update X.

2011-04-29T03:01:00.000-07:00

The organ and choir are impressive, but for an occasion this big they surely could have organized a praise band. And where's the power-point display?????

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update IX.

2011-04-29T02:49:00.001-07:00

Her Majesty has just entered the buidling - she looks even lovelier than she did on Cat Roulette. I think her husband just told the Dean a dirty joke, although he may have only been trying to hit on one of the Duchesses.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update VIII.

2011-04-29T02:49:00.000-07:00

The crowd outside is beginning to cheer - obviously word has reached them of my presence inside.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update VII.

2011-04-29T02:36:00.001-07:00

Sorry - I take that back. ++Rowan isn't worried: he's just had an eyebrow trim for the occasion, and it's left him looking permanently startled.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update VI .

2011-04-29T02:32:00.000-07:00

The Bride's mother has just entered - ++Rowan looks worried about the UFO that's landed on her head.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update V .

2011-04-29T02:20:00.000-07:00

A young man in a funny red jacket has just walked in, accompanied by someone who looks like he got tangled up in the local music-hall's curtain cords... so now they finally send in the rodeo clowns.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update IV.

2011-04-29T02:10:00.000-07:00

News just reached me of the terrible deaths and damage caused by twisters in the South.

All My Beloved Sinners touched by the storms should take comfort in my promise to pray for you just as soon as I finish devoting my undivided attention to this much more important marriage of two extremely wealthy young people.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update III.

2011-04-29T01:56:00.001-07:00

Less important guests than myself have started arriving - world leaders, family of the happy couple etc.

Hopefully this means something will start happening soon... this might indeed be a fairy-tale wedding, but the brothers Grimm never took this long to get to the punchline.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update II.

2011-04-29T01:29:00.000-07:00

Just over an hour to go, and still no word from Bishop Quinine & Evangelical Eric.

They were supposed to text me as soon as they were harnessed and ready - I do hope that once in their costume they weren't mistaken for Lisa Nolland, and dragged away to some secret prostate conference...

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey: Update I.

2011-04-29T00:47:00.000-07:00

I was right – the elderly Peer on my left had died. A Guard of Honor from Her Majesty’s Drunken Highlanders just wheeled him out and ushered in a replacement – a charming Privy Chancellor who has already engaged those about him in a fascinating discourse on auto-erotic asphyxiation.

Initially I was a little nervous when I saw the soldiers heading my way. Growing restless, I’d earlier attempted to hurry things along by encouraging the crowd to start chanting “Why are we waiting?”, but clearly life in Merrie Olde England moves at a much slower pace than it does in Ichabod Springs. After a decidedly military looking gentleman had approached to explain that his regiment were once responsible for the hanging, drawing, and quartering of dissidents I clearly felt the Spirit calling me to quietly resume using Bishop Quinine’s iPad to search the internet for examples of sin in unbelievers’ lives.

Still, I must say that when it comes to pre-match entertainment the British certainly could learn a thing or two from the Super Bowl. Or at least have hired a few rodeo clowns to keep the crowd amused. Still, all it’ll take is one good wardrobe malfunction to make all this waiting worthwhile.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Live blogging from Westminster Abbey

2011-04-28T21:03:00.000-07:00

Like the other truly important guests invited here today, I’ve been requested to take my seat hours before anything happens. Since the Spirit appears to have hardened the hearts of those either side of me: the elderly Peer seated on my left is asleep (although he may have died), while the Baroness on the right - clearly an Apostate Liberal - ran screaming for the exits when she recognized me, I’ve taken a break from my never-ending work of Evangelism in order to admire my surroundings.

Certainly the décor is very nice, in a quaint sort of historical way, but I can’t help thinking how much more effective it would be from a church-growth perspective if the church wardens covered over all these bare walls and fancy memorials with some tasteful brick veneer. Then they could put up a few nice decorations people could relate to: some firearms, for example, and a few mounted heads of dead animals - I realize England no longer has any lions and bears to hunt, but surely the London Zoo would spare a few for a cause this worthy.

Hopefully Bishop Quinine and Evangelical Eric will be able to follow their instructions: naturally there were no seats available for them in the Abbey, but anticipating this we brought along a very fine pantomime horse costume. Our plan is that once dressed they allow themselves to be harnessed up alongside the bridal carriage, thereby enabling them to also enjoy a first-hand experience of this wonderful day. Unfortunately our rehearsals had all involved Bishop Quinine occupying the animal’s rear, and as flight-related oxygen deprivation flight has rendered Evangelical Eric temporarily unable to walk in a straight line without assistance they’ve had to exchange positions. (He’s also developed the delusion that he’s a professional Morris dancer, but as long as he isn’t allowed to wear anything with embroidery and bells this shouldn’t pose a problem.) Still, we all know how accomplished the British upper-classes are when it comes to handling horses, so I’m sure things will work out.

Before closing, I must thank the nice young reporters who have allowed me to log into their wireless network: all they’ve asked in return is for me to permit them to install a small and discreet camera to the tip of my shoe, and try my hardest to maneuver it in such a way as to take pictures up the bridesmaids’ dresses. People can say what they will about Rupert Murdoch, but there’s no denying he’s really brought out the best in the British journalists.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

A Mile-High Message.

2011-04-28T03:53:00.000-07:00

I’m afraid, My Beloved Sinners, that my next few homilies are going to be brief, since I’m currently winging my way to London, on account of having been invited by a charming young lady I met on Chat Roulette to attend her grandson’s wedding. Naturally I’d request you all keep this confidential, since you how jealous my Conservative internet protégés can get. Also there’s a small matter of international security, as well as potential complications arising from the fact that my friend’s husband will also be in attendance.

Not, of course, that there is anything untoward about my relationship with Betty, whom I’ve actually known for a great many years prior to our chance reconnection. There we both were, happily clicking through the passing parade of interesting individuals one meets on Chat Roulette (my goodness, it’s not just time that so many of the gentlemen at that site have on their hands), when suddenly each of us immediately recognized the other, and it was uncannily as if tiny packets of data were passing between us through the internet. Naturally one thing led to next, as it so often does when two people have have so much in common as we do, and before you know she had arranged for me to be be enjoying what regular passengers on board British Airways refer to as the "Tom Wright" end of the plane.

Besides, “the Duke” as she calls her husband (clearly John Wayne enjoyed a bigger British following than most people realize), will have started knocking back the Chivas Regal Royal Salute (at just under $22,000 a bottle it’s the least British tax-payers can do) long before any of the guests arrive, and his minders will be far too busy trying to prevent him making small talk within earshot of the media to worry about a handsome old flame like me tomcatting around the royal pews.

But first we’ll have to get there, although so far the journey has proceeded smoothly. In order to avoid the paparazzi I’ve brought along an entourage (isn’t that what all celebrities do to remain incognito?), and while wishing us bon voyage Brother Richthofen mentioned to Bishop Quinine that if he misbehaved during the flight he’d be manhandled into his seat and handcuffed. Hence I was understandably fearful he’d find the temptation to act up more than he could resist. However by the grace of god he got away with shoplifting an iPad from the airport duty-free store, and thanks to the in-flight wi-fi has spent the whole trip happily downloading pictures of Donald Trump. At least it’s kept him quiet, but I think that perhaps Steve Jobs should have put the gizmo’s much vaunted oleophobic coating inside the screen.

Meanwhile I trust my other travelling companion, Evangelical Eric, is fairing equally well. Consuella was adamant that the temperature inside an aircraft’s cargo bay drops well below freezing at cruising altitude, so Brother Richthofen and his Friends from Seminary tossed in a blanket whilst stuffing him in his suitcase. Unfortunately just after takeoff I remembered reading something about there also not being any air in the hold, so I do hope the foolish Curate doesn't selfishly spoil this wonderful occasion by dying en route as a result of oxygen deprivation. Still, he is an evangelical, so provided any neurological deficits resulting from sustained hypoxia are restricted to his cognitive processes, there’s no real risk to his prospect of long-term ecclesiastical advancement.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Taking Liberties with Peter Ould.

2011-04-25T14:51:00.000-07:00

Judging by the number of vanity searches for variations of “Rev. Peter Ould” landing here in the past few days – all from the same south English IP address – little Prostate Pete is still unemployed. Not for long, however, since as part of my undying pastoral concern I instructed Brother Richthofen and his friends from seminary to search for appropriate positions for the young man. Although why they insist this can only be done with Google’s “safe search” feature disabled is beyond me.

As a result I’m delighted to now announce we’ve found the perfect appointment for our little jobless Ould: with one of Mordor’s two officially sanctioned gay straightening ministries. That’s right Liberty Christian Ministries Inc. - undoubtedly so named because of the liberties they take with Christians – are advertising for a “Pastoral Worker”.

Truly, My Beloved Sinners, it sounds a fascinating role. Read the advertisement for yourselves and I sure you’ll agree that the world’s leading expert on Biblical bottoms is exactly the man they’re looking for – not only does he believe “no one is really gay” (I always knew Liberace was actually just a straight guy who liked sparkly clothes), but at the age of 23 Peter Ould even once felt the fleeting urge to “snog” someone on MTV. So it's obvious: he clearly knows everything there is to know about homosexualism.

As the advertisement includes a telephone number (+61 2 9451 7572) I’m encouraging everyone to call and explain how much these evangelical homosexualist straighteners need little Peter Ould. And don’t worry about a little thing like the time of day: I can guarantee the tired and rather stressed gentleman who answers the phone will be delighted to receive another call from someone singing our favorite post-gay’s praises.

Neither should any of you forget to send a supporting email to the address also provided: david@davidgpeterson.com. Brother Richthofen and his friends have felt called to contact every internet café in Nigeria with a request that signs featuring this email address, accompanied by a brief explanation in the local patios (“Dis bois be bigtime mugu”) be prominently displayed next to each computer. This way as well as receiving a veritable tsunami of encouraging correspondence, Peter’s future employers will stand to obtain millions through inheritances from tragically killed aunts, the long-lost clients of dubious bank employees, and billionaire virgins confined in Sierra Leone refugee camps.

Indeed: the more I learn about the inspiring incorporation that is Liberty Christian Ministries, the more it impresses me. Take, for example, this excerpt from an address by someone called the Reverend Francis Chalwell (I swear that really is the name they give the good evangelical, and that I didn’t just lift it from a lesser known Georgian novel), to last year’s AGM: “Liberty does not seek to change anyone's sexual orientation.”

A similar claim occurs about halfway down another page on their website entitled “How You Can Help” (naturally sending money features prominently, while “minding your own business and concentrating on the things Jesus told us to worry about” doesn’t rate a mention): “At LCMI the goal of change is not reorientation into heterosexuality.” Such fine proclamations couldn’t be more correct – they just want people to feel guilty about their sexuality, and to hate themselves as much as Liberty says God hates them.

Or on the other hand, perhaps they’re just called “Liberty” because of the liberties they take with the truth.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

A Doctrinally Sound Easter Sunday Sermon.

2011-04-24T00:54:00.000-07:00

Christ is risen: He is risen indeed!

And a wonderful thing it is too: if not we wouldn’t have been able to light our Paschal candle this morning, and in his frustration Bishop Quinine might have then started playing with matches again, which would mean we’d never be able to insure the Rectory.

Even so, it’s important for Biblical Christians keep a sense of perspective about our Lord’s resurrection. The barrier between death and life may have been shattered, and the veil which once separated the sacred from the profane forever rent in two, but Sinners must never start thinking this changes anything of consequence. God may have separated you from your sins as “far as the east is from the west”, as the Psalmist prophesized millennia before our SUVs came with factory-fitted GPS navigation, but this doesn’t mean He has necessarily forgotten about your wickedness. And even if He has, as long as Faithful Reasserters like myself can squeeze a stipend out of His people, preferably along with a regular supply of business-class tickets to conferences somewhere warm and sunny, He’ll always have someone to remind Him.

Indeed: there are even those who take things so far as to claim that in conquering death Christ actually accomplished some sort of decisive victory – as if there no longer remained any question about who really won the terrible struggle for humanity which culminated on this day. These are the same “teachers” who ludicrously insist that the Resurrection transcends questions of culture, hair color, sexuality, gender, marital status, and whether or not one likes Hellman’s mayonnaise. These Apostate Liberals whom, under the guise of slogans like “Love Wins”, presume to suggest that God, through the wonder of Jesus' Resurrection upon this day, has been reconciled with those less righteous than Conservative Christian Leaders such as myself. Which is as patently ridiculous as claiming that those who mourn shall be comforted, or that the the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to the poor in spirit.

Never forget, My Sinners, that although our Father in Heaven is loving and fair, it doesn’t necessarily follow that He’s also consistent. That He told us to forgive our enemies is hardly justification for presuming He has any intention of forgiving His, and a selectively literalist reading of the Scriptures proves He can’t wait to enjoy watching the eternal sufferings of those whom His Son’s all-powerfull victory, or, if you prefer, His Son’s perfect atoning sacrifice (I’m including this alternative especially for my Jensenist readers in Mordor, who’ve never heard of Aulén’s Christus Victor on account of it not being published by a private company in which members of their Archbishop’s family are major shareholders) failed to save.

After all, it’s not as if omnipotence doesn’t have its limits. Nor, even if Jesus was adamant that within His Father’s house are many mansions, should you ever go so far as to presume this means there's room for just anyone. Christian salvation is like a wedding, albeit one in which it’s the father of the groom who's holding the shotgun. Those brides scared enough to say "I do" have the promise of a great honeymoon in the sky – providing, of course, they remain steadfast, and never get caught being the person God made them to be, nor laughing out loud at suggestions little Bobby Duncan really is a Primate. While those not sufficiently frightened to go through with the wedding; those who leave the Groom standing alone and rejected at the altar in His divinely-rented suit, will be blasted by His Father into everlasting hellfire. Because let’s face it: the miracle of Easter might be impressive, but it’s not as significant as, for example, getting a comment approved by the elves at Kendall Harmon’s.

Remember: if God had really considered the Resurection big news He would have announced it through exclusive releases to George Conger and little David Virtue. Neither would - had He had the foresight to consult Leaders of my caliber – Easter Sunday continue to inspire and transform the lost, bewildered, disreputable and disrespectful in exactly the same way as it did almost two thousand years ago.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Book which was crucified,
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

“We are not very confused…”

2011-04-16T04:47:00.000-07:00

Like me, seasoned observers of Morality’s Homeland^® have been delighted to see little Archbishop Okoh-after-Akinola is at last trying to fill the void left by the retirement of his predecessor, the primate known to Bible-Believers and Sinners alike as Big Pete Akinola.

Signs of his promising rise to GAFCON maturity first appeared a month ago, when, ++Okoh let slip concerns that his faux-Nigerian Clergy in the U.S. were becoming “unruly”. At the time I sniffed long and hard around this morsel, only to come up with nothing more substantial that a few rumours concerning little Martyn Minns’ failure to send as much filthy American lucre back to Lagos as had been expected. Although one of My Sinners did report having heard of more than a little agitation in Abuja that many of the former priests welcomed into the CoN (I defy anyone doubting the existence of God to explain the Church of Nigeria’s acronym) have turned out to view their new-found African heritage as nothing more than a temporary ecclesiastical flag-of-convenience, and are making no secret of their plans to dump it just as soon as something a little more Main Street, U.S.A. comes along.

Now his latest release, that for reasons I can’t begin to fathom has been largely ignored by those Righteous Men comprising my Gathered Brethren, but which has been admirably reported by someone committed to sinful precepts like grace, justice, and balance, shows exactly why little Nicky Okoh was able to rise to the top of the incorruptible meritocracy which is Nigerian society.

Indeed, My Beloved Sinners, it’s a diatribe truly spectacular in its ability to ignore the need for systemic change. When questioned about judicial corruption, for example, His Grace tells how he finds it “difficult to comment upon because I haven’t caught any judge in bribe taken, I haven’t seen anybody, so I can hardly say categorically that the judges or one judge is corrupt”, but that “If there is any certain judge and it is proved that he has misbehaved the law should take its course.” (How much would it cost to find a Lagos street kid who could explain to him that that in Nigeria the judge is the law, and whatever the judge wants is its course? A quarter?)

Yet all this hedging is just a prelude to the body of the address, which is a fascinating response to the question undoubtedly burning in the hearts of Nigeria’s poor and disenfranchised: “HOMOSEXUALISM WHAT IS YOUR NEW?” (sic) The penultimate paragraphs of this section feature a fascinating reference to his forebears’ charming traditional predilection for killing twins at birth - the following are his words, grammar, and syntax cited verbatim:

“But the question we continue to ask is that the gospel came to us and identified areas where we were not living well and the gospel corrected us, the gospel transformed our lives, for instance we were killing twins here and when it was exposed to us that we were wrong, we dropped it.

The irony of the situation now is that the people who brought this are now telling us that such things are right but thank God we are not very confused we are not confused at all.”

Of course you’re not, Your Grace. With statements that lucid it amazes me that anyone could even begin to think you’re confused. Although I do`have just one tiny question: as well as inciting you and your parishioners to re-establish a delightful ancestral association of multiple birth with infanticide, is the Bishop of New Hampshire and his global conspiracy of supporters also behind your country’s persecution of albinos and pandemic child prostitution? Or did you guys come up with those two on your own?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Poor Peter Ould (Nobody jump to any conclusions now - mmmkay?)

2011-04-10T22:28:00.000-07:00

Upon recently hearing that the Priest of Prostate, little Peter Ould, had left the lovely Hertfordshire Church which he made internationally famous as the world’s leading (and quite possibly only) Conservative Institute of Biblical Bum-fun, and moved to Canterbury, I quite naturally assumed it was because the Archbishop-of-Archbishops had finally realized it was high time he moved on and let someone who knows everything have a go at the job. Either that or one of His Grace’s aides-de-camp persuaded him to relax a little, and brought in a young Clergyman with the skill to really get those eyebrows twitching.

Consequently, My Beloved Sinners, you can all imagine my utter horror when it was explained to me that little Pete hasn’t been promoted to higher (or lower, depending on one’s perspective regarding such matters) service. No, the shocking truth is that the Rev. Peter Ould and his favorite gland have moved because he is unemployed.

Not of course, that there is anything inherently shameful about that. Not even for a young Conservative who has frequently spoken of his admiration for St. Baroness Margaret Thatcher. After all, if unemployed people were really as terrible as she made them out to be she wouldn’t have created so many of them. Even I have been unemployed on a number of occasions, generally just after being released from incarcertation. Although there was the time when I felt called to explore the Rastafarian side of my spirituality, but given the cut-throat jealousy of the world of Conservative Blogging it’s probably better we don’t mention that. Besides, there’s absolutely no proof I ever inhaled.

Mind you, if I recall what happened when one of My Dearly Beloved Sinners found himself unemployed, the appropriate thing to do on such occasions is to publish a piece at Viagraville making all manner of outlandish allegations concerning their circumstance. After all, given that many people are unaware of the true reason little Peter has left Christ Church, it would surely better to better to set the record straight before tongues really start wagging – if I may be excused for using a not entirely palatable metaphor given the number of prostate references already in this homily.

Thus my advice is that littlest Pete instructs his brother Dobby to post something outlandish and utterly untrue, in order to dissuade people from engaging in further speculation. Such as, for example, that the lad was caught in flagrante delicto with the quintessentially equine Lisa Nolland. Although on second thoughts, perhaps not. People would never believe such a thing: Dr. Nolland's standards are higher than that. Nor does she have a prostate.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

An Open Letter to Gollum of Mordor*

2011-04-08T20:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Gollum,

Please forgive my delay in properly responding to the insightful comments you left on my earlier homily, but those of us called to serve in apostate liberal churches, where those in charge lack your Archbishop’s brilliant financial acumen, and Bible-believing clergy like myself can but dream of a diocese in which hundreds of millions of dollars worth of assets can be squandered without any of the men responsible being held accountable, find ourselves particularly busy at this time of year.

This is because of an appalling revisionist innovation called “Lent” – which I have been told is virtually unknown in your own “traditionally Anglican” Diocese of Sydney. It’s a terrible time: instead of teaching the Scriptures, Ministers are called help their fellow humans (ie. what Bible-believers like you and I call “godless sinners”) stop and consider their lives in relation to God without so much as a single reference to the really big problems confronting the world today – namely other people’s sexuality, and the Holy Spirit’s insolent refusal to ensure someone has a penis before calling them to the Priesthood.

Even so, don’t think that I haven’t been too busy to check the site logs and see you regularly calling by here. Few things give me as much joy as knowing how much my teaching blesses those who don’t otherwise read anything not produced and sold by a privately-owned company in which at least one member of their Archbishop’s family is a major shareholder.

Nor has the past month seen any lessening in my admiration for the speed with you raced into the blogosphere to rejoice in the defeat of the miserable sinner who was so wicked as to try and sue one of Lord Volder-Jensen’s favourite house-elves for defamation. Certainly Jesus said something foolish about seeking out one lost sheep in a flock of one hundred, but given your transparent joy in this victory I think we can all rest easy in the knowledge that nobody’s ministering to him now.

Not that I’m actually sure if you and your fellow serfs minister to anyone other than yourselves. I’ve recently received a wonderful DVD from one of My Beloved Sinners, which I am told is presented to those visiting what the captives of Mordor euphemistically call the “Cathedral” – and believe me it’s fascinating! From the delightfully subtle overview of Sydney diocesan history (Did the world really change from monochrome to color when little Peter was elected?) to your racially segregated worship (just like St. Paul insisted upon separate gatherings for Jews, gentiles, Greeks, Romans, & Slaves) the Jensen family is unquestionably reasserting some of the most novel additions to Anglicanism the world has ever seen. And don’t get me started about the wonderfully named “Katheral Kids” – how did your Dean ever manage to resist the urge to add the word “Klan” to that delightful group’s name?

In closing, however, I must express disappointment in your suggestion that some might respond to this astonishing breakthrough in the use of character assassination as a tool for pastoral care by suggesting the Judge “appears to have foolishly fallen in with the Jensen mafia”. Everyone knows that these days you Sydney evangelicals are hard pressed buying a little positive newspaper coverage. There’s no longer any way you can afford to buy a Judge.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

* An enthusiastic propagandist for little Peter Jensen’s “Anglican” Diocese of Sydney, who was insightfully identified as “Gollum” by our regular reader and contributor Fr. Maxwell Smart. Some have even dared to hope that he is the same young man (whose meteoric success is purely the product of his own immeasurable talent) who wasted no time in gloating over this matter here.

So far I have been unable to ascertain if the Rev. Dominic Steele - a house-elf whom I am informed is even more beloved by the young man’s family than is our own dear Dobby - at the heart of this matter is the same individual of that name whom a certain David Ould of Neutral Bay described as “incompetent” on a now closed blog. For reasons which couldn’t possibly be related to the longevity of his career little Dobby has grown uncharacteristically silent when questioned.

Little Don Armstrong – What’s there to say?

2011-03-26T20:54:00.000-07:00

It’s no secret that I take great pride in being the most narcissistic leader in the history of Conservative Christianity. Indeed, my grasp on reality is to tenuous that by comparison Bobby Duncan’s pretentious claim to provincial status is a mere fleeting whimsy. When it comes to self-obsession I set the standard to which even the Ould twins can but dream of attaining. And it was me who taught the Archbishop of Canterbury everything he knows about plain speaking.

Yet after reading this link - sent to me by a most Dearly Beloved Sinner – the awful truth is dawning that in our midst may be One whose bootlaces not even I am worthy to tie. Or at any rate I wouldn’t be if he wasn’t such a slip-on loafers kind of guy. Stolen loafers.

That’s right: for those of you who haven’t already clicked the clicky I’m talking about ACNA’s favourite felon - little Don Armstrong. Who after spending years protesting his total innocence is now insisting with the same fervour in an interview with little David Virtue that the verdict which resulted in him being ordered to repay $99,247.00 while undertaking 400 hours community service “made good sense and was correct”.

There’s just too many gems to list them all. Naturally the piece reflects Mr. Virtue’s typically unique reportage, but this time there’s something more… a kind of brilliance, perhaps… or maybe just the sort of delusional arrogance rarely seen beyond the walls of federal institutions for serial recidivists. My personal favourite is the way the minister of “the only traditional Anglican parish in town” avoids explaining exactly what he’ll be doing during those 400 hours. Although letting slip that he managed to finangle his followers into paying the bill for his defence comes a close second.

No doubt each of you will find your own special moments in this masterpiece, and I’d encourage you to share them here. To start things rolling here's one selected by Bishop Quinine:

How large is your parish?
About 500 families.

Like the Bishop says, obviously the stress of it all has prevented Donny from realising he’s no longer in court, and can now stop lying.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

When the people of Christchurch have friends like this...

2011-03-08T03:12:00.000-08:00

By now even those of you relying on Fox News to keep informed will be aware that Christchurch New Zealand was recently struck by a terrible earthquake. Hundreds have been killed or injured hundreds, and thousands of families left homeless. Indeed; among those affected by this tragedy have been a number of My Beloved Sinners, whom will no doubt be greatly comforted to know that I been personally praying for them through this time.

Obviously word of my incredibly generous and pastoral response has travelled, because in response little Peter Jensen, Lord of Mordor and Archbishop of Sydney, issued a press release announcing that he would also be praying. This was in turn sent to me by no fewer than three Beloved Sinners, all of whom were amazed by the penultimate paragraph:

“The special relationship forged in conflict while facing common enemies means that our hearts go out to the citizens of Christchurch and that we have a special reason to pray for them.”

Naturally I consider it entirely appropriate that in a time of grief such as this a Christian Leader should speak of “conflict” and “enemies”. What better an occasion is there to remember hatred and division than when people are mourning, and their lives devastated? Yet it can't be denied that I was also disappointed little Peter failed to be more explicit. Having never made any secret of his ambition to export the unique permutation of Gnostic Puritanism he so quaintly calls “authentic Anglicanism” (a boast his Forward in Faith allies-of-convenience must love hearing) to neighbouring dioceses, his sudden coyness in this regard is curious: who exactly are the “enemies” of which the GAFCON Committee’s favourite faux-primate speaks? Female Clergy? Homosexualists? Women daring to read the Bible aloud in the presence of men?

Aware that My Beloved Sinners deserve an explanation, the St. Onuphrius’ Ministry Team decided to call the contact at the bottom of the release: Russell Powell – the “Archbishop’s Senior Media Adviser”. Sadly upon his answering it became immediately clear that little Peter’s serfs are not used to their master’s press releases being taken seriously. Nor – if the very drowsy voice on the other end of the line was any indication – is the Senior Media Adviser’s workload such as to oblige him to get out of bed in the morning. In fact the poor man sounded so sleepy that I initially feared Bishop Quinine was mistaken in his insistence that the time in Australia was currently half past eight in the morning (a not unjustified suspicion given we heard him muttering “carry the nine and multiply by the square root of thirteen” whilst calculating), but subsequent checks ascertained we were indeed calling at a time less professional media advisers (i.e. those working for organizations where losing $160 million is deemed something for which those responsible must be held accountable) consider “mid-morning”. Although given the head honcho's track record I dare say Russell Powell isn't the only serf in Mordor to have lost faith in the old adage about “Early to bed and early to rise” rendering one “healthy, wealthy, and wise.”

Finally, once he’d regained some semblance of cognitive function, came a response which made the wait worthwhile. Lord Volder-Jensen wasn’t talking about his usual Anglican enemies, but about international ones. The people of Sydney and Christchurch, Sleeping Beauty continued, fought on the same side through both world wars, and the Arch-faux-primate was referring to these conflicts – something which “would have been immediately clear any Australian or New Zealander”.

Obviously I was overjoyed at hearing this, despite wondering how I’d break the news to the Beloved Sinners who’d sent the link that they’re clearly not really citizens of their respective countries, and their parents must have lied to them regarding their birth places. After all, in this time of sorrow little Peter Jensen had realized there’s something even more sacred than hating Apostate Liberals – killing foreigners. Our conversation continued:

“So Archbishop Jensen was referring to a time when the people of your two nations joined to kill Germans and Japanese?”

“Yes.. er… I suppose you could put it that way.”

“And now the Archbishop is comforting the bereaved, homeless, and frightened by reminding everyone how much your countrymen enjoyed killing Germans and Japanese together. If only more Christian Leaders understood the importance of recalling bloodshed and war in times of suffering!”

“Er… Yes... Sort of...”

Things somewhat tapered off from there - obviously the Senior Media Adviser wasn't used to engaging with a Doctrinal Warrior of my caliber. Yet as among those missing and presumed killed are twelve young Japanese students I can with absolute confidence declare that, given his amazing sensitivity and tact, we can all now expect little Peter Jensen's next project to be an evangelistic campaign in the streets of Tokyo. Featuring screenings of this.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Libya - the James Dobson Influence.

2011-03-03T19:39:00.000-08:00

I will begin this important homily by thanking all the Beloved Sinners on Facebook who have faithfully complied with the Bible’s teaching in 1 Thessalonians 5:12-13, and taken the time to wish a very happy birthday. Nevertheless, I must remind you all that the Scriptures make it clear that simply being nice to the Wisest and Most Humble Christian Teacher in history isn’t enough: 1 Corinthians 9:14 makes it clear that “those who spread the Good News should earn their living from the Good News” (or at least it does if you search through little-known fundamentalist translations until finding one you like), and anyone who doesn’t immediately recognize this as a command from god to send me something of immense value is clearly nothing more than an apostate liberal. Even if, as some of you correctly noted, it isn’t really my birthday, since I was of course born on a leap year. Which makes me a virile youth of only 23, and explains not only my radiant vigour, but also the obvious appeal I have for young people everywhere – especially those who send unsolicited emails from the Ukraine requesting marriage.

Meanwhile, I must tell you all that I have extremely busy advising an old friend of mine, Colonel Gaddafi, or as he prefers to be called for reasons of brevity, “The Brotherly Leader and Guide of the First of September Great Revolution of the Socialist People's Libyan Arab Jamahiriya”. Now, before anyone jumps to any unwholesome conclusions, I am indeed perfectly aware that he is foreigner (and consequently am always most diligent about washing my hands after we’ve spoken), but let’s not forget that he also hates homosexualists and Osama bin Laden, makes billions of dollars a year from oil, and is personally responsible for the death of thousands of innocent people. Which means that were he not foreign he could well be a member of the Bush family. And besides, how could anyone who looks like this not deep-down really be a member of an Anglican schismatic group?

In fact our relationship goes back to 1986, when St. Ronald Reagan bombed Libya. A small explosive device of only a couple of megatons happened to hit one of Gaddafi’s daughters, allegedly killing her, and the President’s office understandably contacted me for ethical guidance in the wake of this minor collateral event. Of course I was quite easily able to put everyone’s minds at ease, since the child had clearly already been born, and I’ve always maintained that the Bible makes it quite clear that killing a child is only sinful if the infant is not yet born. After that – as opponents of Obamacare are making quite clear – you can do what you like. Especially if the child is poor, or not white.

Having resolved matters at this end, I was then requested to contact the wackiest thing to come out the desert since Wile. E. Coyote cured his obsession with that annoying bird in the hope that my sapiential counsel might help prevent a reoccurrence of the events which led up to this unfortunate misunderstanding. And believe me, My Beloved Sinners, our meeting was initially quite tense, since - as anyone who has ever tried reasoning with the Archbishop of Sydney’s younger brother can testify - psychopathic dictators are not used to listening to anything other than their own praises.

Still, after a little while I was able to shift the subject to a topic of great interest to him; namely that of disciplining his country’s citizens or, as he prefers to call them, his “children”. It just so happened that I had brought with a quantity of material by none other than little James Dobson, and you’d better believe there was no way Muammar could resist peaking at anything called “Dare To Discipline”. From there it was only a short step my thrilling retelling of the famous Dachshund incident, after which it was clear I’d made yet another convert. Although not even I can deny that the way the Lion of Libya afterwards kept chuckling over the phrase “whipping the wiener” was just a tad creepy.

Even so, as a result of our epoch-changing meeting I can with confidence reassure any who may be worried about events currently taking place in that charming. Since that day I know for a fact that Gaddafi has been an enthusiastic devotee of Dr. Dobson’s parenting style, and what we’re seeing today is nothing more than a loving father teaching his willful and rebellious offspring that there are such things as “boundaries”, and that these need to be respected. Sure instead of a firmly administered spanking he’s using Kalashnikovs and some strange fluorescent chemicals which melts skin, but that’s really just a small matter of logistics. The principle is the same, and it’s one I wish every parent would embrace: nothing teaches a child to love you like thrashing them to within an inch of their life. Or on occasion a little bit beyond. It’s really just a matter of plain common sense, isn’t it?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Divorce & Adultery - A Valentine's Homily.

2011-02-14T16:20:00.000-08:00

On Valentine's Day, a time when those less righteous than myself are traditionally tempted to dream of matters of the flesh, it's always worth remembering the words God dictated to the prophet Malachi, who then told King James: “I hate divorce” words which Biblical Scholars traditionally see as proof of The Almighty having had experience dealing with the typical family law attorney – an encounter which undoubtedly preceded His invention of “smiting”.

Jesus, like many offspring of those who’ve had the privilege of paying a divorce lawyer’s mortgage, was no more enthusiastic. He explained permission for couples to divorce was only given “For the hardness of your heart” - a statement which has always intrigued me, for in my experience it’s the hardness (or otherwise) of an entirely different organ that contributes most to divorce. Consequently, since many in Jesus’ audience had probably never received those helpful emails offering to sell discount Viagra, it’s probable He chose to use a metaphor they could understand. Or perhaps Mary Magdalen had a brother who’d recently started practicing as a cardiologist, and He was kindly drumming up patients – the truth of the matter is a mystery lost in time. But what we do have are Jesus’ Words, and Conservative Christians must do with these what we can.

Which is why we must always understand that when a person looks at a woman and finds her arousing that person is committing adultery – exactly as if they were themselves either divorced or in the act of Biblically Knowing a divorced person. And please read the text before claiming it’s acceptable if the object of desire is one’s spouse – the Bible says “a woman”. So all you men who like men here can breathe easy (or pant, as the case may be) for now, although I’m afraid the lesbians should understand they’re definitely included - anyone yearning for someone whom God designed to pee sitting down is an adulterer.

More so, when studying the Scriptures we must always examine them in context, and it’s important to note that the Bible’s uncompromising teaching on divorce in Matthew 5:31-32 follows immediately upon a passage advising sinners to pluck out their right eyes and chop off their right hands rather sin (Matthew 5:29-30) – a practice which I urge those less righteous than myself adopt if they wish to consider themselves as leading a Bible-centred lives.

Indeed: Apostate Liberals can squirm and deny this all they wish, but the text is plain for all to see, and there’s nothing to suggest any shift from figurative language to literal at the start of verse 29. No, My Beloved Sinners, the Plain Meaning of the Word is beyond dispute. So I urge you all this Valentine’s Day – an occasion which we all know is actually about looking at others - don’t give flowers, or some other bauble which will only turn to dust. Instead give those you fancy a meat-cleaver, and a sharp, pointy stick – that way you’ll soon know if the object of your desire really takes the Bible as seriously as they claim. Just don’t get any ideas about me being in any way liable should they decide to use it on you first.

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Peter Ould: A Tailpiece.

2011-02-05T20:24:00.000-08:00

My Beloved Sinners: there are so many matters in urgent in need of my attention that it seems remiss of my to devote yet another homily to the Rev. Peter Ould’s proctological ponderings, but since you’ve all raised so many questions in response to my last post this old pastorally tireless heart of mine demands I address these before moving on to less important subjects, such as the Democrats’ appalling victory over those of us committed to ensuring the majority of Americans continue receiving the very best in unaffordable third-world health-care. Or perhaps even the ruling-which-my-brethren-cannot-mention - although then again, perhaps it’s best I leave at least one scoop for little David Virtue.

So with no further ado, and because answering your questions in a post rather than in the comments field where they were asked is a great way of keeping the traffic rolling in on a topic that’s certainly brought some interesting visitors (just what exactly the person who arrived as a result of Googling “anal bible sex teacher animal” was hoping to find is probably best not explored) let us proceed:

Dr. Harrisburg, the pioneering nuclear psychiatrist who visits here often, but never leaves comments for reasons of professional ethics (either that or because he’s afraid they’ll enable the Atomic Energy Commission to trace him), is convinced the piece is in imminent danger of removal in a wave of remorse, embarrassment at what it reveals about the author’s obsessions, and because his employers at Christ Church, Ware might be less than delighted to learn of the parish’s international fame as the home of .British Evangelical bum-fun. This may prove correct, but as I explained to the good doctor over a refreshing glass of Radithor on ice, Google’s cache facility has ensured Prostate Pete’s prose of pleasure will remain forever available here.

Meanwhile Dr. Harrisburg’s colleague on the other side, Professor Sigmund, has been drenching their consulting rooms with ectoplasm in an attempt to draw attention to the fact that Peter has now terminated the discussion, closing at the entirely unsymbolic figure of 69 comments. As Professor Sigmund said (spelling his words through the receptionist’s Ouija board): “Not even I could make this stuff up”.

Fr. Orsen Carte emphasized the fact that Peter Ould’s Bishop, the Rt. Rev. Dr. Alan Smith strictly adheres to God's Regulations requiring celibacy outside Holy Wedlock. This is, of course, something of which there can be absolutely no doubt: with a nosey little curate like Prostate Pete in his Diocese the poor Bishop risks being reported if he so much as dares to pee sitting down. Anything more than three shakes and His Grace will be facing charges of conduct unbecoming a Clerk in Holy Orders. But how comforting indeed must it for +St. Albans to know if he should find himself called to marriage the Curate of Ware will be standing right behind him, ready to show Mrs. St.Albans everything she needs to know.

Apropos of nothing which could possibly be related to Peter Ould (a point Consuella insists I need to make for legal reasons), Fr. MadPriest, was reminded of Ted Haggard, who recently announced that if it wasn't for "his faith he would be a bisexual" and wondered if by batting for both teams one can in fact double the chances of hitting a homer. This is an interesting question and one that a certain very handsome friend of mine explored at length when he was a much younger man – purely for the purpose of Biblical research, you must understand. Unfortunately my friend – who was, of course, undertaking this research purely out of academic charity, and in an unquestionably Orthodox spirit of prayer - found that rather than increasing his chances it merely doubled the number of rejections. And now please don’t ever mention this research again, or else my friend will be forced to go “post-gay” on you with his attorneys.

Finally, Fr. Tobias observed that, like Peter Ould’s preferred conversation starter, heterosexual intercourse has also not infrequently throughout history resulted in a very risky and potentially damaging and deadly outcome, namely childbirth. Whilst this may indeed be a valid point, one can hardly criticize Rev. Ould – or, for that matter, any Conservative Bible-based Evangelical, for ignoring it. After all, the associated perils only apply to women. So it’s not as if anyone of any value in the Communion needs to take them all that seriously, is it?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Peter Ould brings up the rear.

2011-02-02T19:09:00.000-08:00

As everyone knows, Conservative Biblical Bible-believers are not obsessed with sex. Just because we talk about it at every opportunity, write about it incessantly, and recognize that a day in which a Christian hasn’t discussed sex is a day wasted, is in no way to be understood as evidence of any kind of obsession. Whatsoever. Sex is simply something we feel Jesus forgot to treat as seriously as He should have, and we’re just faithfully seeking to make up for His error.

Which is undoubtedly why the famous post-gay advocate Peter Ould has just given the world a post devoted entirely to bottom play titled “Conversation” (since the Ould lads often block links from Biblical blogs you may have to copy and paste http://www.peter-ould.net/2011/01/31/a-conversation/ into your browser to share in his idea of NSFW titillation). After all, what else does a young Curate who professes to no longer having any interest in playing at Liberace’s end of the piano have to think about? And who better qualified to discuss the medical aspects of what everyone knows all homosexualists (including the female ones) do all the time (except, perhaps, when they’re being bashed, murdered, or vilified) than a Curate with no medical training?

In fact so profoundly impressive is Peter Ould’s rectal recitation that a leading Conservative British blog is urging grateful readers to contact Prostate Pete’s Bishop and tell His Grace how much they appreciate the Curate of Ware’s commitment to colonic conversation. This is a marvellous idea, and I urge all My Beloved Sinners to do likewise. I have personally emailed the Rt. Revd. Alan Gregory Clayton Smith to congratulate him on becoming Britain’s First Bishop of Bum-Fun, and there can be no doubt he’ll be almost as delighted to receive similar encouragement from all of you.

Not, of course, that there is anything particularly new about engaging in theological conversation regarding one’s favourite position. Here at St. Onuphrius’ my Wednesday evening class in Foundational Theology has featured fortnightly seminars on the “Reverse Cowgirl” for years. Still, I have it on good authority that Peter Ould - whom, as I may have mentioned, really isn’t obsessed with sex - will be very soon moving away from his customary anal fixation, and into the hitherto un-evangelically-explored territory of the “Angry Dragon” and “Dirty Sanchez”. (Google them if you really must, but don’t say you haven’t been warned. And whatever you do, please don’t do so at your place of employment. Unless you work for fundamentalists, in which case in 5 years time when all the fuss has died down and you’ve managed to build a new life you’ll thank me for getting you out of there.)

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

You've done it now, Matt Kennedy.

2011-01-29T15:50:00.000-08:00

Few Beloved Sinners will be aware of this (largely on account of you having lives of your own), but back when little Matt Kennedy was being evicted from the Rectory which he was so unjustly prevented from stealing, the Boy Wonder of Binghamton was concurrently facing a second equally devastating catastrophe: his wife’s cat had inexplicably sought to escape from a life of captivity in the Kennedy household. With his typical pastoral acumen, the young layman knew exactly what to do: he implored his Facebook faithful to commence praying for the return of Mrs. Kennedy’s lost pussy.

Naturally upon being informed of this by a fellow member of the Episcopalian Commentariat I immediately commenced work on a homily notifying my global readership of the greatest calamity to have faced the Communion since witnessing unbelievers being hung, draw and quartered ceased to be classified as family entertainment. Yet only moments later came a second notification from my esteemed source: little Matt had taken exception to our assisting his search for the errant kitty, and demanded we cease and desist, implying that our concern for his wife’s wayward pussy was in some way not “classy”.

Now as a Conservative Bible-based Orthodox Schismatic Anglican “classy” is, I must confess, a somewhat foreign concept to me. Nonetheless, sensing that Mr. Kennedy was inferring that the subject of my homily would in some way cause weaker brethren such as himself to stumble, I decided to abandon the work in question. Yet thanks to the Mr. Kennedy’s unsurpassable experience in ministry, as revealed at Viagraville (where else?) Christendom remains unenlightened no longer. That’s right, being “classy” involves using the murder of a man far, far greater, and far, far braver than little Matt can ever hope to be as an excuse to equate mutually loving relationships between consensual adults with pedophilia. It involves demanding the government refrains from involving itself with trivialities like health care and education, but observes and intimately controls what consenting adults choose to do in the privacy of their own bedrooms - imprisoning and executing those whose love follows paths different to those down which Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy and their moggy meander.

In short, we've now all seen that being “classy” involves showing one’s true colors, which in the case of Matt Kennedy and his evil ideological consorts include bloody hands and a corpse-green heart. And so, in a spirit of pure gratitude for their transparency, I respond by dedicating to them the following:

The gloves are off now Pharisees. You ain’t seen nothing yet. Don’t say you haven’t been warned. I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible. You're not, and you worship Moloch.

Mmmmm...

2011-01-28T02:16:00.000-08:00

Brother Richthofen's Friend From Seminary and I were just checking back through this site's logs, and were enthralled to see that a comment blocked by the blogspot spam filter had been sent via the servers at Mordor's flagship, Moore Theological College.

Railing against internet anonymity, and including a link to an article featuring more of the same, the comment - you all know where this is going - had been posted anonymously.

Which just goes to show that whatever it is that little Peter Jensen's teaching his army of young Pharisees we can all be absolutely certain of one thing: it sure as hell ain't irony.

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Texas Courthouse Blues.

2011-01-22T22:49:00.000-08:00

God’s with Iker all the way,
He’ll keep the queers and women away!

It seems like just yesterday that we all were all gathered at Stand Firm round the macho-fire (on account of Melanie, Dobby and Matt’s insecurities nothing over there can be called camp, not even the fire) chanting this inspiring ditty. Yet today finds my dear little Viagravillains speechless with grief at Judge John Chupp’s astonishing ruling that theft is wrong.

Mind you, it’s not all bad news. Firstly, there’ll almost certainly be an appeal lodged, so my Beloved Sinners can all stop worrying the poor ACNA lawyers might be compelled to remove their snouts from the trough and seek more legitimate means of making the repayments on their Porches.

Secondly, and even more promisingly, Judge Chupp did agree with general principle of Layman Jack Iker’s 1994 affidavit. So it’s not as if he’s entirely opposed to everything our favorite Texan schismatic says. Although since that general principle involved Happy Jack insisting the Episcopal Church is by definition hierarchical it’d probably be better to not place too much hope in the possibility of this beautiful connection developing into something more substantial.

All of which means that while those of you who got “God Won’t Let +Iker Lose” tattoos don’t need to immediately start tracking down a good dermatologist who’s handy with the laser, it’s probably not a bad idea to start asking around. And if you’re a clergyman in Fort Worth who followed his boss into Bobby Duncan’s cult it would be wiser to get it done now, while you’ve still got a parish that can afford your stipend because it isn’t forced to sink every cent into renting meeting halls from the local Seventh Day Adventists. Remember: tattoo removal is never cheap, and getting it done now will give the scar time to fade. So you won’t feel anywhere nearly as silly when it’s finally time for you to come back into the Church which you promised God you’d serve.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Taking matters in hand.

2011-01-20T17:46:00.000-08:00

As my Beloved Sinners all know, I have for many years been urging Conservative Biblical Christians to get a grip on things and pull themselves together. Sadly two faux-Nigerian brethren at Truro Church were taking my teaching just a bit too literally, with the result that from now on they’ll both now have to pay for their own internet access when enjoying a little one-handed research into other people’s sinfulness. Which mightn’t be easy: finding a job is difficult these days, and for reasons I’ve never fully comprehended having “Masturbating Minister” on one’s CV just doesn’t inspire prospective employers the way it ought to.

Harsh as it may seem, little Martyn Minn’s decision to send the ornery onanists packing was the only available option, since Scripture plainly teaches that looking at rudey-pics and getting caught (please note the emphasis) is the only sin for which there can be no forgiveness. Our Lord’s words in Matthew 12:31 reveal Him mistakenly revering to the unforgivable sin as “blasphemy against the Holy Ghost”, but that’s only because He lacked the sophisticated Biblical understanding of today’s Conservatives. The plain meaning of His intention is obvious to any scholar not prepared to be sidetracked by arguments that the Gospel isn’t all about sex, and Layman Minns has once again shamed apostate Episcopalians with his decisive commitment to kicking those who have already fallen.

It is important to note, however, that a diligent exegesis of the passage leaves no question about the fact that action is only required if the matter is made public. Let’s face it, there isn’t a man in ministry (other than myself, of course) who hasn’t at some point in his life twisted one off while looking at something naughty-but-strangely-exciting. Little Bobbie Duncan, Donald Harvey, Jack Iker - it’s a certain bet that every one of them has at some time in their life danced the palm-polka with a nudie pic of someone. Or perhaps something, but please don’t meditate upon the details – all the bleach in world won’t be able to remove that stain from your mind’s eye.

Consequently if the act alone was all it took to disqualify a man from ministry the only Christian witnesses left would be myself and a few other convincing liars. And perhaps James Dobson, although I personally have always considered that story about him beating the dachshund is actually a euphemism for something else. They’ve all done it, but what they haven’t done is get caught. Which makes all the difference.

Indeed, if word should ever get out that Clergy are every bit as human as the next person, and that even the most dignified and respectable leader experiences the occasional yearning to play an improvisational melody on their trouser organ, then all our high moral ground would be irreversibly cut out from beneath us. No longer could we embarrass and shame young men far more intelligent than ourselves into submission. Bullying and demeaning those less powerful than ourselves would become next to impossible: every time we opened our mouths to pontificate someone might remember we’re subject to exactly the same foibles, urges, and enjoyments as everyone else, and before you know it a ripple of snickering would render the bubble of our gloriously pompous dignity forever burst…

… and then if that happened people might start realizing that we’re all just trying to get by as best we can, and criticizing another on account of their sexual complexity is as stupid as pretending any of us really understands our own. God only knows where that might lead…

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Regarding personnel....

2011-01-17T20:54:00.000-08:00

Since delivering my previous homily I have been positively inundated with emails (well actually there were only two, but it sounds better if I adopt an Evangelical approach to accuracy) demanding to know why I reversed my previous decision to appoint Deacon Dobby Ould as St. Onuphrius’ next Curate, and instead reinstated the young and foolish Rev. Evangelical Eric.

Prior to answering I would first like to stress that appointing Mordor house-elf wasn’t my idea. Rather it was revealed to me by the spirit in the course of much faithful prayer and Bible Study. The blame for what is clearly an error of discernment must be placed entirely at god’s feet – whom, given His appalling record when it comes to making the sun rise on both the just and unjust alike, has clearly very little skill when it comes to selecting good from bad.

The final straw was a post at Viagraville, in which the naughty half-Austrian has once again managed to upset the wholesome and well-balanced fraternity frequenting my own site’s esteemed imitator. Although I do believe those who accusing him of being anti-Catholic are going a bit far: after all the boy only described conversion to Catholicism as “a move that denies the Scriptural gospel “, so it’s not as if called them sub-Christian (the quote’s at the bottom of the link). Or started claiming lay-presidency is “authentically Anglican” again.

Now as everyone knows, I cannot and will not abide anything which upsets the inhabitants of Viagraville. Whether we’re discussing the rank and file, or the blessedly immoderate moderators: Melanie, Happy Sarah, or little Matt “Calvin’s Chasuble” Kennedy, makes no difference to me – when someone brings distress to that happily united throng they’re finished as far as I’m concerned. Irrespective of much other’s might praise the writer for producing “smarmy tripe”, or admire them for engaging in the admirable Conservative practice of teaching others about things of which they clearly know nothing.

After all: just look at my own example. Do I ever upset anyone? Obviously not! Do I inflame and distress those clearly less intelligent and more sinful than myself? Never! Nor, therefore, will I ever accept that sort of behaviour from any of My Ministry Team. Not even from a lowly and dishonest Curate. Even if there is no denying that his ability to relate to his fellow Conservatives is almost effective as his ministry to atheists.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

He's back...

2011-01-16T01:34:00.000-08:00

Sinners everywhere will be rejoicing to learn that I have now returned, refreshed and ready for another year of Biblical teaching and Condemnation. At some point during our parish celebrations to mark the Feast of St. Rasputin (n.b. Does anyone think Metropolitan Jonah would appreciate an invitation to be our next guest of honor? After all Jonah and St. Rasputin are both Russian – ok... well actually Grigori was born in Siberia, and Jonah in Illinois, but this time of year there’s not that much difference between the two, and they both have crazy looking beards) a couple of ~~mindless Nazi bureaucrats~~ friendly representatives from the Department of Homeland Security dropped by to discuss my Christmas gift to the happy cave-dwelling mountain folk to whom Evangelical Eric had been called to serve in a missionary position.

Obviously what had occurred was all a simple misunderstanding, since the same folk who so accurately predicted the end of the Cold War and who gave everyone advance notice of the 9/11 attacks couldn’t possibly be wrong. Still, given the situation Lynne Stewart currently finds herself in it seemed better to stay on the safe side of people capable of deciding the cost of building a virtual south-west border fence was too great after spending $1 billion. Consequently I hastily struck a creative deal involving perjury and the personal details of several Viagraville regulars - as little David Ould demonstrates, there’s nothing wrong with telling lies to help advance one’s own cause.

After which it seemed prudent to depart post-haste to the ends of the earth (is there any country ending in “stan” not a basket case?) and bring my erstwhile Curate back from the mission field. And I can’t stress enough how charming the wild and woolly tribesman proved to be. Like any Conservative Christian I’ve always kept my contact with foreigners to a minimum, and yet there’s no denying God must feel something towards them. Otherwise He wouldn’t have given His Son a Latino name.

Indeed, the more I bargained for the foolish lad’s return the more obvious their similarities with Sinners like yourselves – or even with Saved Christians like me. Certainly some of their finer doctrinal points are clearly ludicrous: for example they believe that God’s ultimate Scriptural revelation was in Arabic to a man named Mohammed (even God would have a hard time finding someone not called Mohammed in those parts of the world), when everybody knows science has proven it was given to King James in English. Yet when it comes to hating women and homosexualists they’re right up there with David Virtue, or any of the better known members of the Jensen family. Even if an old man couldn't stop chortling whenever Bishop Quinine said "Lawrence of Arabia".

Consequently we all got along wonderfully, even if I’m afraid my wanting to relieve them of Eric wasn’t much of a witness. Although technically their hostage, I’m afraid even dangerous terrorists find having an Evangelical Curate in their midst exhausting. While eventually able to negotiate a substantial sum in return for taking him away, the resulting impression upon my heathen friends was that westerners must be collectively stupid for tolerating treasonous clowns him in their midst. At which point I thought it tactful to not mention Sarah Palin.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Last minute presents.

2010-12-24T14:51:00.000-08:00

When it comes to giving presents, the Scriptures are perfectly clear: the only person to receive gifts on that first Christmas morning was Jesus. That’s right, My Beloved Sinners, you won’t find any account of Joseph and Mary leaving out any little knick-knacks for the postman and Bethlehem refuse collectors. Nor did Jesus hand the wise men a few discount CDs in return for their gold, frankincense, and myrrh. In fact the Bible unambiguously shows the giving was strictly a one-way transaction, with the loot going only to the wisest and most righteous person in the room.

Consequently I’ve always maintained it’s entirely incompatible with Scripture for me to purchase presents for anyone. As Christ’s Vicar, and clearly the most mature Christian in any context or gathering, a plain reading of the Bible indisputably refudiates (thank you Sarah!) the notion that anyone other than myself should be receiving gifts.

Even so - as I’m sure little Chuck Colson tells anyone impertinent enough to remember Watergate - there are times when a true leader compromises the battle for the sake of winning the war. Which is why I take Consuella’s threats regarding what will happen should I ever dare practice what I preach in regard to Christmas giving. Not that I’m afraid, of course, but our regular exegetical studies in the Song of Solomon are too important to risk discovering she really isn’t bluffing when she threatens to “show me what a Lambeth boycott really is”. (And if I ever get my hands on the pagan who wrote Lysistrata so help me… ) Consequently I never fail to give the members of My Ministry Team generous and thoughtful gifts, and this year I was planning to get them something both contemporary and useful: the Apple iPhone Manhattan Declaration app.

As I use a Windows Mobile device (there’s something about having one’s cell phone routinely freeze and require resetting that truly helps maintain a Conservative attitude of dissatisfaction with life) I’m not that familiar with how these Apple things operate, but I know enough to recognize little Chuck Colson and his developers came up with something technologically wonderful in this. A kind of digital gaydar, the program demands user answer a serious of questions: give the wrong answer and your phone starts flashing while a siren screams “HOMO ALERT HOMO ALERT”. Connect the optional electrodes and transformer kit, and this is pleasantly accompanied by painful shocks to the physical extremity of one’s choice.

Yet just prior to my ordering these pragmatic presents my attention was belatedly drawn to a message from a faithful Facebook friend advising that this helpful piece of digital homophobia has been withdrawn by Apple. That’s right, Mr. Jobs has personally stopped his company from selling this compassionate hate-app, and Conservative Biblical Christians like myself are simply furious at this blatant violation of our right to the freedom of speech.

Mind you, freedom of speech isn’t something Apple should ever extend to those wanting to sell applications featuring images of people’s smelly bits. This is a matter of principle - the principle not being one of general freedom of speech, but the Conservative right to say whatever one wants, irrespective of how offensive and hateful it might be.

Not, of course, that I wasn’t prepared for some sort technical difficulty – as I already said, my regular exegetical studies in Song of Solomon with Consuella are too important to risk losing. And besides, I always thought there was something suspiciously fruity about Apple. So rather than a vicious & theologically doubtful present I’ll instead be sending Evangelical Eric the explosives and detonators he asked for (actually the request came from the Islamic tribesman he’s currently staying with – they sent me a lovely portion of one of the lad’s ears as a keepsake, which I’ve now hung on our Christmas tree as a truly unique decoration), and Bishop Quinine will be getting sea-monkeys again. Every year he always gets so excited by the picture in the advertisment, only to be disappointed when the little crustaceans finally hatch, but there’s something about his optimism that for me really sums up what Christmas is really all about.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Suffer the little children.

2010-12-23T13:07:00.000-08:00

Christmas is still a few days away, but this year House Republicans have given a present early to one of the neediest and most underprivileged groups in the world – wealthy old men.

That’s right, My Beloved Sinners, despite have romped through the Senate with 112 co-sponsors, thanks to the faithful work of Republican Congressmenthe bipartisan International Protecting Girls by Preventing Child Marriage Act was stopped as dead in its tracks as most of those young brides will be once their ~~purchasers~~ loving husbands have finished with them.

Biblical Christians everywhere should indeed give thanks that the right for men to enjoy an exploitative and lecherous life of pedophilic matrimony has been so bravely defended from this bill, which would have authorized the President to provide assistance through NGOs engaged in the wicked, wicked practice of promoting female health. Sure its rejection may result in lives of abuse, misery, and utter degradation for countless children, and more than a few young girls may needlessly die. Yet as every Conservative should know, what’s a little collateral damage when considered against the more important right of dirty old lechers to do whatever gets their rocks off?

We’re also indebted to the pro-coathanger lobby for muddying the waters. Prior to the vote Reps. John Boehner and Eric Cantor circulated a memo advising that the bill would fund abortions and "overturn pro-life laws" – even though it actually contains no mention of abortion of family planning. It's dishonesty like this that should make every Believer proud to stand with those leading the struggle to keep children suffering.

Naturally the Godless Liberals, whose twisted hermeneutic would deny that Mark 10:13-16 explicitly teaches children should suffer, are getting worked up about the Republicans’ heroic stand. It has even come to my attention that there’s a petition at http://www.change.org/petitions/view/tell_the_house_stop_stalling_and_protect_girls_from_child_marriage which thousands of apostate sinners have already signed. Since I’m sure none of you, My Beloved Sinners, would ever consider opposing the right for parents to sell their daughters to rich old men, I’m absolutely confident none of will follow the shameful example set by my Consuella, whom I regret to say has also been misled into adding her name to the list.

That’s right, so deceptively credible are those who would deny rheumy-eyed pervs the opportunity to enjoy a little invigorating conjugal bliss with a sweet-bodied 12 year old , that their arguments have even persuaded members of my own household! Look for yourselves, My Sinners, but be careful to not let what you see convince you there’s anything wrong with girls and women suffering. After all: when has Christmas ever had anything to do with standing up for those not rich and powerful?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

A Christmas message from a faux-primate in Pittsburgh

2010-12-20T17:24:00.000-08:00

Dear Father Doctor Reverend Christian,

Golly Gee I’ve had such an exciting this year what with being just like a real primate and all so I thought I’d just send you this quick note to tell you all about how I really am just like a real primate. The way things are going it won’t be long at all before I’ll be needing to take off my shoes and socks and count when people ask how many other primates think I really truly am just as real as they are.

Not that everything has been easy. The Rwandans in America said they want to keep pretending to be in Africa, and people have told me they might’ve been crossing their fingers when they said they’ll be my bestest best friends forever. Nor has little Peter from Sydney been able to come and play as much as he used to, on account of him have wasted all his allowance on investment advisors’ commissions he doesn’t want to talk about. And Jack Iker’s been worrying about some of my clergy giving him girl cooties, while Royal Grote and whatever his Protestant Reformed pack are calling themselves this week aren’t talking to me because Forward in Faith are. Although actually they aren’t much either,since they’re all too busy dreaming about going to the Vatican so as to get away from Homos once and for all.

Still, it'll take more that a little thing like ecclesiastical civil-war to stop my club now! Next year I’ve announced the wonderful news that we’ll be planting ten thousand hundred billion ninety new churches, which is even more than last year’s wonderful announcement of fifty million hundred new plants. And I’ve announced that I’ll be appointing thirty-seven hundred million thousand new bishops, all of whom will also think I’m a real primate. So there!!!

Meantime there’s just one more thing I must tell you, and wowee - it’ll really shut up those liberals nasty liberals who keep saying I’m not a real primate. This one time during the year when I was on an airplane going somewhere to do grown-up primate stuff just like real primates do, the flight attendant came and personally gave me some colored pencils and a Gold Junior Pilot badge! You can bet your last patootie that’s not something they do for Lady-high-and-mighty Presiding Bishop Jefferts Schori.

++Bobbie Duncan PRIMATE

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Four Rules of Praying Like A Pro.

2010-12-14T21:20:00.000-08:00

I regret to say so, but at this time of year it’s common for many less mature Clergymen to lower their standards and permit amateurs to pray aloud in Church. Personally I feel this makes a mockery of everything Biblical Anglicanism stands for, since you can be absolutely certain Martin Luther and the Reformers didn’t give their lives on the Cross for our sins in order that just anyone might stand up and talk to God.

Still, far be it from me to prevent any of My Beloved Sinners from showing their congregation how Conservative Christians should really sound. Simply by following these four important rules you too can intercede as well as any professional with a lifetime’s worth of bogus degrees and credentials from every internet shopfront in Christendom. In fact I wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised to hear that by paying close attention more than a few of you end up enthroned as ‘bishops’ in ACNA by the end of January!

1) Remind God of the Basics.

While the incarnation and atonement might be pretty big deals to you and I, God tends to forget about them. Maybe that’s because He’s so busy ignoring starving children in order to help us find a parking space at Home Depot when we’ve got to purchase a new snow blower in a hurry. Or perhaps because seeing all those Youth Pastors masturbating when they think nobody’s watching (How Our Lord must weep every time one of them gets in the shower!) leaves Him too distressed to remember soteriological trivia.

Whatever the reason it’s our duty to remind Him at every opportunity. While you’re at it include as much Scripture as possible, since it’s also unlikely He’s as well versed in that as you. The following illustrates what you should be aiming for: “Almighty Father: As Your Word states in Romans 5:10, You have reconciled to Yourself all those who trust in the atoning death of Your Son, who by the shedding of His blood on Calvary established a New Covenant. For You have revealed in the ninth chapter of Hebrews…”

2) Use Incomprehensible Language.

Public prayer is the one instance when nobody’s going to think you’re telling an Amish joke if you start using ‘Thee’ and ‘Thou’. Although don’t think speaking ‘King Kames’ is all it takes to pray like a professional. The more complex and meandering your syntax the better, and there’s no such thing as too obscure a theological term if you’re serious about making an impression. Feel free to make words up if you can’t remember any genuine ones: in the very rare circumstance anyone dares question you afterwards just give a a faint-but-patronising smile and explain they needn’t concern themselves about such matters until they’re “ready for the meat of the Gospel”, but in the meantime you recommend they read something obscure by Pusey or Packer, depending upon, of course, which end of the Church you happen to reside.

Try this “... and thus, Eternal Lord, we beseech and magnify Thy anti-nomian parousia in estimation of the pompatus of love, O Father, reflecting not but that we might, but rather therefore that we might…”

3) Affect an Accent.

Let’s face it, when it comes to Anglicanism sounding English always adds credibility. If ++Rowan Williams spoke like he came from Arkansas all this talk about an Anglican Convenant would have disappeared years ago.

But don’t think just any English accent will do. It must be upper-class, or else you're simply wasting everybody's time - and just because God is eternal is no reason to believe He doesn't get bored just as quickly as the rest of us do. Cockney is fine if you’re trying to lead your Congregation in a rousing chorus of Chim Chim Cher-ee, or sell them stolen watches, but forget about it when it comes to prayer. Nor is drunken Scouse effective, although a crazed Scottish “Gezz aw yer bunsens ur i'll gie ye a Glascaw kiss.” can work wonders when it comes to the collection.

Under no circumstances should you ever attempt an Australian accent. The congregation will panic, and run out in search of the dingo they believe has taken your baby.

4) Betray Confidences.

This is the part that keeps everyone listening. “… we pray also for Mrs. Johnson from the Altar Guild, who has been struggling with immoral thoughts as a result of watching the firm young man next door shovel snow from his driveway…”. Since you’re praying nobody will ever dare label your words as gossip, so you’ve got a free pass when it comes to getting even with anyone who’s been getting in your way.

Don’t be shy about dropping names either, since you only have the prayee’s best interests at heart and it's easy to justify any pain you cause by saying that God knows exactly who they are anyway. Yet remember that some of the most effective prayers leave everyone guessing about the subject’s identity: “Let us commend to Your fatherly goodness the young person who came to me requesting prayer concerning a deeply shameful personal matter...”

In fact there's not actually any need for truth to play any part in things at all. Simply making it all up can work wonders when it comes to getting what you're asking for: “…we also entrust to your care, gracious Lord, the member of our Vestry who has been observed secretly associating with those who have chosen to pursue a homosexual lifestyle, and we ask that all your Servants may be blessed with wisdom in their dealings with this young man, so that he may by Your Mercy be wise in his choice to seek life instead of death.”

God mightn't be fooled by this one, but providing your Parish is Conservative enough it's guaranteed to never fail when it comes to keeping pesky wardens in line.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

I'm Orthodox: Fly Me!

2010-12-12T03:12:00.000-08:00

Like me, you’ve probably all been wondering why little Bobby Duncan and his Senior Cultists keep racking up frequent-flyer miles at a rate normally only enjoyed by drug mules and Bishops with successful publishing deals. (Yes, Beloved Sinners, there is a difference. At least I think there is.)

After all, now that their sect is established there’s surely no need to keep the circus on the road, and as every single one of their clergy and parishioners knows more Christian Truth than any other person alive (with the exception of myself, of course), it’s hardly as if they can learn anything by having guest preachers visit. Besides, with more prelates than parishioners the contents of their collection plates must be getting stretched pretty thin as it is, without the added expense of ensuring the bodies of ACNA’s upper echelons spend as much time as possible in the same clouds in which their heads reside. So why do they keep feeling such an overwhelming compulsion to minister to the personnel of America’s airports? Surely it can’t just be a secret attraction to the young men and women at the stands selling racy paperbacks?

Thanks to Bishop Quinine this mystery is now solved, and we are all greatly indebted to him for his research. After conducting Matins last week he felt a clear calling in his spirit to enter the phrase “sex tapes and leaked nudie pics” into Google, which as an obedient and faithful servant of the Scriptures he then did without hesitation. And just just look at what he found!!! (Don’t worry: the link is completely work-safe, although Matt Kennedy may have some problems explaining the title when Hostillium completes her daily check of his browsing history.)

That’s right: going through airport security now involves letting someone point a camera at you that takes pictures exactly like what you’d hoped to see when as a kid you sent away for those x-ray glasses advertised in the back of comic books. And after reading this account of what people whose careers advisor encouraged them to leave school and stare at an x-ray screen for eight hours every day have been doing, Bishop Quinine couldn’t get down to our local airport fast enough.

That’s right: every morning he’s been buying himself a ticket on the cheapest flight available and walking in and out of security as many times as they’ll let him: after completing his scan he claims to have left something behind in the car, or that he needs to purchase urgent medication (which is probably closer to the truth than anyone realizes), or that he’s received a call from a desperate parishioner – whatever it takes to get back out those doors and in line for another examination. Then just prior to take-off he cashes in his ticket and comes home in time for Evening Prayer. Before falling asleep exhausted with the kind of happy-but-troubling smile you only ever seem to find on schismatic Bishops.

Which is undoubtedly not unlike what the ACNA travelers are themselves getting up to. Nor are thrills simply restricted to exhibitionism: when Bishop Quinine’s feeling particularly romantic he opts for the new ‘enhanced’ body pat-down procedure instead. If that isn’t tailor-made to meet all the requirements of today’s repressed Conservative leader I don’t know what is. Hopefully we can all expect them to soon start looking a lot more relaxed. Although I suspect TSA officers will soon be demanding higher pay.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Stop Supporting Real Missionaries!

2010-12-10T16:58:00.000-08:00

I am greatly indebted to Fr. Orsen Carte from Bible-believing Anglicans - a site personally recommended to me by somebody called David Ould (Christianity’s First Omniscient Deacon™) - for drawing my attention to young Michael Jensen’s desperate plea for a few thousand of everyone’s hard-earned.

It seems Conservative Evangelicalism’s Crown Prince has been invited to share his empowering message of misogyny and bigotry with the people of the Balkans, a place Beloved Sinners will immediately recognize as being in desperate need of more religious division and hatred. Rather than dip into his own extremely generous and secure stipend (a rarity, I'm told, these days in Mordor) he’s chosen to give missionaries an extra special Christmas present by diverting funds away from those whose ministry and families are dependent upon donors' generosity.

In fact I’m so impressed with young Michael’s thoughtless determination to continue in his father and uncle’s tradition of faithfully applying Matthew 23:15 that I’ll be emailing each member of the Macedonian Cabinet to congratulate them on issuing the lad with a work visa, since a Biblical Christian like Michael Jensen wouldn’t even consider misleading immigration officials by undertaking the pretense of being a tourist. Naturally I’ll be paying particular attention to Muslim politicians, as it’s their constituents who stand to benefit most from some rousing Calvinist Bible-study and a return to sectarian violence, although I’ve heard the Orthodox churches are always happy to welcome someone moving onto what they traditionally see as “their” turf.

Perhaps we should also arrange for there to be some sort of present waiting for young Michael when he arrives. Since I’m sure the cavity searches at Skopje Airport are a little more vigorous than those my Sinners tell me are not infrequently enjoyed by certain Moore College faculty members and students in the changing rooms of a nearby swimming pool, he’ll be bound to be cheered by finding a little something waiting to show how much the rest of the world appreciates Sydney Anglicanism spreading its tentacles.

I’m sure if we write to the Macedonian Minister for Defence Zoran Konjanovski he’ll be happy to let us provide young Michael with something useful for his trip, like a Kalashnikov and a small jar of plastic explosives. Just watch this video to see how friendly and helpful he looks: Konjanovski (he likes to be known by his surname only, and it’s probably safer to not risk upsetting him) is the warm fellow in dark glasses who lets Natasha from the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show do most of his talking. Surely he’ll be simply thrilled to learn he’s been predestined to eternal damnation for permitting a woman to teach?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

What did you do in the war, Archbishop Okoh?

2010-12-03T12:24:00.000-08:00

As everyone should know, prior to leading orthodoxy's homeland little Archbishop Okoh enjoyed a distinguished career in the Nigerian Army. While his military past is often cited by his many faux-African admirers, the glorious ways he and his fellow soldiers defeated the insolent Biafrans are sadly rarely mentioned. To redress this injustice I offer My Beloved Sinners the following:

No doubt little Martyn Minns feels tremendous pride in his friends when viewing what they so eagerly got up to...

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Oh the Pain!

2010-11-29T20:10:00.000-08:00

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT????!!!!!

Dearly Beloved Sinners, not five days have passed after I introduced my little uncomplimentary complementarian friend to the world, and already he’s complaining of criticism and invective being thrown his way.

Why anyone would possibly want to ridicule such a fine young man, who owes his success and security of employment to exactly the same kind of talent that has brought Kim Jong Un to the world’s stage, is utterly beyond me. In a heartrending post the young heir recounts the challenges faced by his family’s fundamentalist predecessors, who he says have “been asked to stand between savagery and civilisation” since 1788 (no wonder their legs are feeling tired) “in what appeared to all as a godforsaken corner of the world only good for exiles and aborigines.”

Oh the pain! How can the heart of any woman whose vocation has been denied as a result of his inventive “theology” not grieve for his suffering? Or how can those of us whose churches and communities have been torn apart by the fruit of his family’s border-jumping not weep in sympathy for the scorn and mockery he must endure as result of his faithful commitment to the restless work of exchanging the love of Christ for an exclusive and hateful lie?

Indeed, one would think that given the support the Sydney regime has shown for little Henry Orombi and his army of Ugandan Death Eaters there would be people from around the world ready to defend young Michael Jensen from these cruel taunts. After all, surely homosexualists everywhere must be grateful for all the times they were ridiculed and bashed at school, and would be only too eager to shield those now spreading the Pharisaic poison from which their attackers spawned? And why, for goodness sake, aren’t people who’ve been fortunate enough to see their parish assets stolen by a pseudo-anglican cult rushing to protect the next generation of those who’ve encouraged and sustained the thieves?

No, words fail to express how appalled I am by the notion that anyone would dare to mock this young fundamentalist. In saying that I know I speak not just on my own behalf, but also on that of the esteemed British Priest Fr. Orsen Carte, in addition to my Beloved Sinners everywhere, whom I know would be never even contemplate reading any blog daring to make fun of someone as righteous as a well-connected Gafconeer.

At least there is one bright side to the boy’s torment: he’s managed to retain enough Conservative self-centeredness to fail to realize that his wicked critics aren’t so much seeking to attack him, as they are working to encourage those laboring under the dangerous notion that Jesus’ ate, drank and laughed with the sort of people that Pharisees have quite properly always sought to exclude from the kingdom of God. If my Conservative Brethren ever realized the danger they face when then the Great Unwashed start laughing at them they’d really get worried. Because we all know what will happen next: the people Jesus loved will refuse to any longer remain shut out of the Church established by God to bring them Life, Love, Hope and Acceptance – and when that happens there won’t be a Covenant in the world which can put things back into anyone’s closet.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Move over, Tyndale.

2010-11-28T17:13:00.000-08:00

Reporters attending the launch of my epic new novel The Satanic Bicycles explained that even though Mormons and Muslims both start with ‘M’, only the latter issue fatwas, although in exceptionally terrible circumstances the Salt Lake City leadership can organize Osmond Brothers reunion concerts.

This, of course, has proven a great setback to my proposed publicity campaign, and things were getting quite bitter before Bishop Quinine eased the tension by convincing the rather bewildered representatives from Desert Saints Magazine that their church’s prohibition against alcohol only applies to drinking the stuff (“And, again, strong drinks are not for the belly, but for the washing of your bodies” Doctrine and Covenants 89:7). While it may have also taken a few of his Brownies to win them over, the sight of Bishop Quinine cavorting in a hot-tub full of Baileys Irish Cream with his new friends (by then clad only in their secret underwear) will have to go down in history as one of the great moments in ecumencialism.

Inspired by their accounts of late adolescent missionary service (I can’t believe that many people really open the door in the nude, but it’s charming to see that even wholesome lads like to dream), along with the admirable accounts of their founders’ fertile imagination and pragmatism (lots of fellows dream of being able to get it on with several people at once, but not many think of writing their own scriptures in order to make it happen) I have decided to make my own historic contribution to the sacred missionary calling to make the Bible available to condemned sinners everywhere.

Of course, unlike Joseph Smith I don’t think I could get away with making something up from scratch: whilst my fellow Conservatives don’t actually read the Bible very often, they would nevertheless be rather unimpressed to discover I’d slipped a few of my own epistles somewhere between first and second Timothy. Nor, since I’m not a member of the Jensen family living in Australia, could I get away with selling my own “fresh and accurate translation” which just happens to have any misleading suggestions that women are actually people carefully excised. Besides, the Jehovah’s witnesses probably only let +Sydney steal their shtick because they knew he's too broke to be worth suing, but it's not likely they pass up the chance to chase a Priest of my caliber and renown.

Consequently I’ve instead decided to undertake a more humble task of incomparable scholarship, and am proud to here present the first translation of the New Testament (along with the books of Leviticus and Judges) into Rongorongo. Sure there aren’t any speakers of Rongorongo left alive, but if and when any are found you can be absolutely certain the munificent fruits of my labor will bring them incomparable blessings and enlightenment.

Mind you, even though translating into an undeciphered hieroglyphic script means nobody can presume to question one’s grammatical accuracy, the work has not been without its own challenges. For example: Rongorongo appears to lack any logogram for homosexuality, and in this instance I was forced to substitute one of Brother Richthofen’s own devising which, I must admit, is indeed quite arousing. Nor does the script have a pictogram for “virtue” – a difficulty I resolved by creating a hieroglyphic representation of a nasty little slug attacking someone hundreds of times the man (and Christian) he’ll ever be.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Happy Thanksgiving 2010.

2010-11-25T16:28:00.000-08:00

We weren’t going to celebrate Thanksgiving this year: for some time now I’ve been growing increasingly concerned at the appropriateness of participating in something so fundamentally unchristian . After, the Puritans didn’t have so much as one iota of respect for Pectoral Crosses, and I very much doubt if any of them ever swung a thurifer like they’re meant to be swung. Nor do I recall any of them staying at a five-star hotel while attending an important conference.

Besides, I’ve always felt there’s something intrinsically contradictory about the notion of a Puritan celebration: it’s sort of like a Baptist dance party, or a Walsingham Bible study (“This month we’ll be conducting an in-depth exploration of the references to Our Lady in St. Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians…”).

What’s more, as a Successful Conservative Biblical Christian I believe trivialities like family, friends, health and home should be seen as entitlements, not blessings. If God had wanted us to go around feeling pathetically grateful for things that don’t really matter He wouldn’t have placed deep within every person’s heart a righteous yearning for real treasure, like a house with a swimming pool, an enormous SUV, and clothes, hair and make-up as expensive as Sarah Palin’s.

Not, I must add, that Consuella approved of my decision to cancel Thanksgiving. Lately I’ve been trying to get her to share my interest in Complementarian Theology, and while initially quite supportive on account of her feeling I never say anything nice to anyone, she actually became quite critical when she realized that those wild and crazy guys at The Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood spell the word with an “e”, not an “i”, and all look like last time they cheerfully gave a compliment was when an admirer in the Department of Correctional Services slipped them tickets to witness an execution. In fact she was so dismissive of my clearly Scriptural boycott that she refused to listen to a word I said, and even ignored the fascinating message I tried sharing with her while I peeled potatoes and shelled peas.

Which was a pity, since it came from a young man who calls himself “The Blogging Parson” (despite not serving as a Parson at all, but rather in a choice position obviously obtained with absolutely no nepotistic assistance whatsoever), and I’m sure Consuella would agree with him if she could only bring herself to stop thinking like someone inspired by the Risen Christ. Although I must admit that his division of Complementarianism into two categories, “thick” and “thin”, is dreadfully simplistic: without even trying I can from the top of my head come up with at least three more: “misogynist”, “stupid”, and “phallically-challenged”.

In fact I was so inspired by his example that I was about to put my foot down and call an immediate halt to all the pagan preparations, when suddenly a strange voice appeared dues ex machina and ordered me to shut up and give thanks for all the wonderful things in my life – much as is about to happen now…

… and so as the mysterious voice behind the dreadful Reverend Troll I’m going to take this opportunity to say thank-you: for everyone who’s been angered by something they saw here I give thanks that one day the God of Love and Justice will release you from your prison of pomposity, fear, bigotry and hatred; and for everyone else whom has ever felt this blog bringing a smile to their face, I give thanks for your laughter and hope, for your strength and your survival.

I’m Father Christian, and God Bless you all!

The Old Man and the See.

2010-11-25T02:55:00.000-08:00

To my great astonishment, whilst I’ve been concentrating on my calling to be a more successful Christian author than Jackie Collins, Harold Robins and N.T. Wright combined, the Worldwide Anglican Communion hasn’t been standing still. Not that it's actually been going anywhere either, unless one considers the exercise of collective futility quaintly referred to by ++Rowan as “considering the Covenant” as of any significance – in which case you’ll probably also regard Bishop Quinine’s fetching new Alice B. Toklas outfit as the most important event in church history since a few fellows in pointy hats invited their friends with beards to a party in Chalcedon.

Mind you, some of the reports I’ve heard are positively ludicrous: take, for example, the rumor that the future head of the Church of England has just got engaged. How anyone could be fooled by such a tale simply staggers me! After all, everyone knows Archbishop Akinola is already married, and like St. Paul and Cardinal Newman (alright, maybe not exactly like John-Henry, but you know what I mean, and let’s not go upsetting any of our sensitive Forward-in-Faith friends) I am called to remain unmarried for the sake of the Gospel while maintaining a rigorously Biblical relationship with Consuella. So obviously the prospect of any future wedding is utterly ridiculous.

On the other hand, I regret to say that it is indeed true that the Diocese of Uruguay has voted to leave little Bishop Greg Venalballs and his Southern Cone. Nor are they doing so the proper Conservative way, and illegally taking all of someone else’s property and assets with them as they do so, since their Provincial Constitution permits them to leave if they wish to do so for some stupid reason such like the majority of the Church mistakenly believing those without penises are as capable of proclaiming the Grace of God as those who routinely urinate standing up.

Mind you, I did warn little Greg that no good would come from associating with foreigners. Certainly the way he’s managed to spend as little time as possible in his Province shows the boy’s attempted to pay at least some heed to my advice, but clearly the few locals he’s been unable to talk into joining churches more suitable for their type have begun to get foolish notions about the Spirit calling people with vaginas to minister the Sacraments within the Body of Christ. I mean really – next these false prophets will start claiming the first people to bear witness to our Resurrected Lord were women, and that Yahweh didn’t speak to Deborah the Prophet and Judge of Israel in English!

At which point I’ll have to leave you all for now. Given how Salman Rushdie’s sales went through the roof after he’d seriously offended Muslims I’m about to try a similar strategy, and a reporter from Desert Saints Magazine has just arrived for what he will very soon discover is the launch of my new book, “The Satanic Bicycles”. And if that doesn’t get a profiable fatwa declared then Bishop Quinine’s brownies definitely will.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

The Pulitzer Prize & Me

2010-11-23T03:41:00.000-08:00

To tell the truth, My Beloved Sinners, I have these past few weeks been seriously considering bringing this important ministry here to an end. After all, my informative and inspiring advertisers aren’t paying nearly as much as they use to, and you can bet your last starving Nigerian subsistence farmer big Pete Akinola and his boys didn’t get where they are today without keeping a tight leash on the bottom line. Just ask little Howard Ahmanson: if Jesus had wanted us to take His little jest about rich men and needle’s eyes literally He wouldn’t have devoted so much time to warning the disciples about the evils of Homosexualism.

Consequently I’ve been busy exploring the possibility of making some real money by writing a successful fantasy series targeting children and grown-ups who like stories without any positive female role-models. My first novel is now completed, and you’ll all agree it’s a truly unforgettable tale: it’s about a young wizard named Harry who, inspired by an older and extraordinarily good-looking Doctrinal Warrior, forswears sorcery and devotes his life to saving the world by bickering about the minutiae of Pauline exegesis and endlessly obsessing over other people’s gender and sexuality.

Strangely enough I initially found literary agents unwilling to respond to my invitations to consider the manuscript. Everything changed when, under the obvious guidance of the Spirit, I resubmitted it under a nom de plume: obviously my reputation as the Leading Conservative Biblical Scholar was too intimidating, and the name of “J.K. Rowling” - which I chose purely at random in a manner not dissimilar to that by which the Apostles appointed whatever-his-name-was to keep the chair warm for St. Paul – allowed my readers to relax and consider the work upon its deeply significant merits.

Sadly, however, the resultant flood of interest was halted by a wave of extremely uncharitable correspondence from a firm of singularly vicious attorneys representing some English woman of whom I’ve never heard, and in relation to whom I can’t stress strongly enough that any resemblance between her own moniker and my penname is purely accidental.

Even so, since their threat to take the shirt from my back wasn’t made in a warm-and-fuzzy Luke 6:29 kind of metaphoric sense, I have since felt called to return to my clerical vocation and scrap this particular project. Which will undoubtedly cause Sinners everywhere to rejoice; in fact it wouldn’t surprise me if someone even started a thread at Viagraville purely for the purpose of allowing the liberals frequenting that place to express their gratitude.

Mind you, I still haven’t entirely abandoned my calling to the Nobel prize for literature, and it wouldn’t be at all surprising if you all soon find me signing an impressive contract with Harlequin/Mills and Boon…

… pressing her trembling breasts into the strong and sensitive Man of God’s chest, Bellatrix Lestrange gasped as his strong and fearless arms drew her closer. “You’ve set me free, my darling. Tell me the conjurer with a face like a rattle snake won’t ever take me away from you. Promise me, I pray of you, that we’ll be together forever…”

“Hush my beloved”, comforted the steel-jawed Doctrinal Warrior as his firm and caring hands stroked her head, each caress drawing her further into the timeless wisdom of his embrace. “Nothing shall ever come between us; not now nor forevermore. I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.”

Christian Government

2010-11-02T13:09:00.000-07:00

As anyone who’s ever studied the Bible as thoroughly as I have will know, Democracy is the only form of government approved by Jesus. Although it mustn’t be overlooked that the Bible also shows that a society dominated by anarchic warlords offers certain unique opportunities for anyone who happens to be a psychopathic misogynist easily upset by people who don’t listen (Judges 19:25-29); and you’ve only got to look at look at the fun King Herod had at his birthday party (Mark 6:21-28) to see how much fun a monarchy can be. And please don’t anybody mention King Solomon lest Consuella grows suspicious about my forthcoming “Campaign to Restore Biblical Marriage”.

So with the Bible presenting these powerful arguments for alternatives to the only Christian system of government, sinners such as yourselves could almost be forgiven (please note I said almost - don’t start getting any ideas now) for wondering how it is that scholars such as myself can be so certain of Jesus’ support for the sacred democratic principal of rule by elected Republicans committed to ensuring unwanted pregnancies run full term and grow up into men and women who die young through the blessings of accessible prisons and unaffordable health care. The answer is clear if one takes the time to study the Scriptures:

Jesus is never once recorded as voting. Proof he obviously lived in a western democracy.

Jesus never encouraged those around him to get out and vote. He knew that power belongs to rich white men and whiney women with big hair.

Jesus never advocated Congress be controlled by anyone other than the Republicans.

Jesus acknowledged there’d always be poor people (Matthew 26:11), which shows he recognized the people who got the world into this current mess will back in charge asap.

Jesus not only loved children, but He was also such a strong supporter of the death penalty that He experienced it Himself. So naturally He only advocates pro-life candidates who are firmly pro-death – a combination particularly prevalent in Christian democracies.

Jesus never once said that the right of the big end of town to make as much money as possible is not more important than the right for little ones and their parents to medical care not based on blood-letting, cobwebs, and an occasional aspirin.

… and now you’ll have to excuse me. I’ve heard shares in health insurance providers and arms manufacturers are about to skyrocket, and must call my broker to get in before it’s too late. After all: what would Jesus do?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

The Lord giveth... and Lord Jensen loseth.

2010-10-13T03:37:00.000-07:00

Beloved Sinners everywhere have undoubtedly been wondering when my new curate is finally due to arrive. The truth is that his Lord and Master, Archbishop Volder-Jensen, has needed the foolish boy’s services for longer than anticipated. First Dobby was needed to serve as spinmeister for his country’s national synod - a challenging role given that most other attendees wisely decided that attempting dialogue with the Jensenites is as productive as attempting to discuss the mathematics of unified field theory with the crazy panhandler down on the corner near the drugstore.

In addition to telling lies about his cult’s popularity with Australian Anglicans not terrified of girl/homo cooties, Dobby - whom has now been a Deacon for almost three years’ and consequently knows everything about ministry, theology, and Anglicanism - also had the important task of teaching Clergy with more than tenfold his experience about their ignorance and failure to grasp the essence of Anglicanism. Which, of course, involves lay presidency and believing everything a member of the Jensen family says.

This completed just one final task remains before my Dobby is bound for Ichabod Springs, but I fear it’s one of positively Herculean proportions: with Mordor now enjoying its own diocesan synod the truth-challenged lad has to convince the rest of the world that his master’s master-plan is succeeding.

At the time of my writing this he’s managed to get a whole three people to comment on his strategically edited version of the GAFCON faux-primate’s address - one of whom is himself – so he hasn't yet quite managed to convince the world that the future of Anglicanism involves men with dubious investment skills in polyester business suits showing power-point presentations explaining why the Trinity is proof women must be seen and not heard. Still, give Dobby time: people laughed when they first heard that Kim Jong-il is the best golfer in the world...

Sure wicked Australian journalists are publishing articles in which little Pete admits things are in an even bigger mess than we'd already suspected, but thankfully those of us in the rest of world who have the honor of being told we’re “sub-christian” by the Jensenistas can keep hearing how wonderfully the Family at the heart of the Global Schism’s Reformed Puritan Division are managing their own affairs. Although given the Achbishop of Mordor’s economic restraints readers will have supply their own Kool-Aid.

For me, I’ve been particularly inspired by Archbishop Jensen’s vision to re-energize “lazy and unproductive assets” (those of you with insomnia can listen to his talk here). Has the history of English literature ever witnessed a more musical way of describing the act of taking whatever you can grab to a pawn-broker and then sticking the lot on legs-eleven at the nearest roulette wheel? Pure poetry.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Arise, Saint Newman!

2010-10-06T00:12:00.000-07:00

These past few days have seen me inundated with requests for the definitive Conservative response with regard to the forthcoming Primates Meeting. Sure little Layman Anderson has been sharing his $0.02 with anyone really desperate for something to click on, but let's face it, opinionated schismatic bishops aren't exactly an endangered species. Maybe if ACNA could find an outspoken layperson to deliver the predictable rant - or even just a common-or-garden clergyman not currently preoccupied with claiming that pleading guilty doesn't really mean you did it - someone might be interested. Although, as we all know, Bobby Duncan's vision for the Prelacy of All Believers has been so successful that ACNA doesn't really have anyone left capable of stringing together a (reasonably) coherent sentence who isn't already wearing lovely purple vestments which could almost be mistaken for the real thing.

Consequently it once again falls on my righteous shoulders to say something about a forthcoming opportunity for the Communion’s leadership to fly somewhere interesting and politely bicker. Yet the truth is I’m currently far too busy, because by the miraculous Grace of God St. Onuphrius’ has become Ground Zero for the final step in the Blessed John Henry Newman's canonization.

That’s right, after prayerfully meditating upon an icon of the late Cardinal, Bishop Quinine has experienced a miracle so marvellous that the deliverance of some Boston Deacon from a life of spinal agony is simply nothing in comparison. Yet do you think any of the illegitimate rent-boys of Babylon in the Vatican have bothered to respond to any of our emails advising of this astonishing work of wonder? Not at all – I dare say the American Society of Hematology treats Jehovah’s Witnesses with more respect than we’ve received from these apostolic apostates. And it's not as if we've ever disturbed anyone's afternoon nap to leave pamphlets and insist Isaiah refused to let his kids have blood transfusions.

However it’ll take more a few 16th century schismatics in Rome to stop Me and My Ministry team testifying to a miracle. What’s more, given enough time and persistence on our part, I’ve no doubt the Vatican will repent of their lack of faith. Even though you can be certain that if the Pope had to pay what Viagra costs in our neck of the woods he’d be just as excited as Bishop Quinine was to discover the old Tractarian now has a dispensation to intervene in cases of Brewer’s Droop...

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Pass the Parcel, Lambeth Style.

2010-09-25T16:58:00.000-07:00

I’ve always said the wicked apostate liberal Archbishop of Canterbury is really a Conservative Biblical Christian. Sadly this is something many of my weaker brethren at places like Viagraville have failed to comprehend, despite my having frequently explained it in words of no more than one syllable, but little Rowan Williams has finally made the truth clear enough for even George Conger to understand. (Alright – maybe not that clear, since His Grace’s revelation wasn’t accompanied by smutty pictures, but my point stands.)

However finally, no doubt in response to my repeated urgings and advice, the Pointiest Hat in the Communion has run his flag up the pole, and not in the sense that happens in Peter Ould’s troublesome dreams either. That’s right: he’s displayed all the true attributes of a Conservative Leader, and when faced with an opportunity to give clear decisive guidance responded with cowardice and dishonesty.

Naturally I’m over the moon (and not in that sense either, Peter) with joy at His Cantaurness finally proving himself every bit as morally consistent as little Martyn Minns, whose faithful application of CANA canons concerning the ministry of confessed criminals serves as a role model for schismatics everywhere. Having said that gay bishops are "no problem" for him per se, our Lord in Lambeth then declined to explain why this absence of problems resulted in Dean John twice being blackballed (Peter! Stop It!!!).

But then, My Dearly Beloved Sinners, Rockin’ Rowan really showed us how to swing Conservative-style - anyone would've thought the man was a Republican facing questions about Iraqi weapons of mass destruction. When asked if he personally wished objections against those called by God to the office of Bishop actually becoming Bishops could be in some way overcome he delivered a timeless response, one showing exactly how bright the future really is for Clergymen of my own calibre and inclinations: “Pass.”

There's only problem, however. As an answer “Pass” generally results in one eventually being declared The Weakest Link.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Say it ain't so, Don.

2010-09-19T04:07:00.000-07:00

Beloved Sinners around the world are wailing and gnashing their teeth in shock at the news that little Don Armstrong has finally entered a no-contest plea in response to the paltry 20 counts of felony theft he’s been facing. Even though everyone knows (because David Virtue told us, so it must be true) “a separate, independent audit of the parish books, commissioned by the breakaway parish itself, found Armstrong innocent of any wrongdoing”

As “John316” said at Viagraville back in August 2007: “This case cries out for justice from a civil authority.” Which we can now safely assume wasn’t quite the outcome our Donny was hoping for. Nor should we forget the sage advice offered by “Mari” in November 2008: “I believe when this is through, he should file suit based on defamation, false charges and harassment.” Now the attorney who runs that one will really be a cut above your average ambulance chaser. Perhaps here’s finally a challenge worthy of the great Allan “Perry Mason” Haley – better known to you and I as “the Anglican Curmudgeon”.

Still, you’ve got to admire the good folks of St. George’s of the Schism for doing their best to keep us all laughing at this sad, sad time. In a wonderful piece entitled “Parish Response to Father Armstrong’s Plea Agreement” (NB: little Donny's removed the original - undoubtedly for reasons of personal humility - so the link's been updated to Google's cached version. And when that goes I'll shift it again to my own saved version - you can't hide the truth that easily my schismatic friends) a faux-Nigerian called “Admin” (please tell me the author’s last name isn’t really “Armstrong” – not that I’ll believe you for a moment) delivers such gems as:

“In preparation for the now canceled (sic) trial we have become convinced even more strongly that controversies within the larger denominational church were the catalyst for the Diocese’s investigation and complaint, for the purpose of silencing our bold and successful defense of orthodoxy through our parish’s life, discipline, and teaching ministry.”

Although if a “bold and successful defense” involves losing all your property and assets, and pleading guilty in a last ditch attempt to avoid serving twenty-to-life, I’d hate to see what little Donny’s cultists call breaking even. And you’d better believe that right now you-know-who is feeling absolutely delighted to see his name dragged into their closing sentence: “We are thankful we can now move forward under our Bishop, the Rt. Rev. Martyn Minns, into a future productive for the Kingdom of God.” Just what little Martyn needs to further his already good name, I’m sure: a confessed criminal productively moving about underneath him…

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

+Arizona scares me.

2010-09-18T20:56:00.000-07:00

Bishop Kirk Smith of Arizona is someone of whom I’ve always been wary, and not just because little David Virtue doesn’t like him. After all, little David Virtue doesn’t really like anybody, and how seriously can you take a blogger whose birth was accompanied by an EPA warning?

No, I am proud to say that my mistrust of the Prelate of Phoenix is based on far firmer ground than simply the whimsical opinions of a man whose greatest ministerial accomplishments have been a dubious doctorate and tax-exempt status. Rather it rests upon incontrovertible fact - namely that it’s impossibly for any Conservative Teacher of my caliber to not feel nervous around Bishops who don’t regularly threaten to abandon the organization to which they swore loyalty. Besides, in my estimation just because Bishop Smith's studied theology and has a pointy hat doesn’t mean anything when compared with the true prestige associated with knowing all about property theft.

Consequently I’ve got to admit to being surprised when learning earlier this week of Bishop Smith having organized a trip south of the border for not only himself, but for thirty-nine of his closest purple-clad colleagues. Having engaged in numerous such short-term missionary trips myself, and being personally experienced in the rich financial blessings accompanying these journeys if one is prepared to faithfully bring back a few suitcases for some fine men who just happen to conduct their business in parking-lots, the audacity of using not just one, but forty men of god to undertake such a transaction was breathtaking. Indeed, I even found myself feeling a twinge of jealousy at having been omitted from being part of such an awesomely profitable venture, and hurt that having clearly embraced my pioneering missionary strategies the Apostate Liberal Episcopal church was now denying me due credit – or at least a cut on the profits.

Clearly my hurt at this rejection was apparent, and at our morning Ministry Team Meeting. I was asked what was the matter. Bishop Quinine immediately brought some comfort by explaining the ministry trip included women, and since I’m fortunately not as desperate for numbers as little Jack Iker there would have been no way I could have compromised Biblical injunctions against sharing ministry with anyone not equipped with a penis and a prostate. Meanwhile Brother Richthofen and his friends from Seminary began laughing, and explained the startling news that Bishop Smith’s trip had nothing to do with smuggling anything.

Stunned as I was at this revelation, I was still not so devoid of my senses as to give voice to my next suspicion: as befits her important Biblical ministry of keeping me warm at night Consuella was seated at my right hand, and I didn’t feel like having my jaw broken in return for suggesting the Bishops were simply looking for cheap domestic staff. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for the truth – the Bishops had travelled to Mexico in order to understand something of the world of those who risk their lives to cross the border, and to remember those who had died in pursuit of better life for themselves and their loved ones.

Dearly Beloved Sinners! Of all that I’ve ever heard (and made-up) about Episcopalian Leaders this must surely take the cake! A Bishop showing compassion with the poor and insignificant of this world???!! Anyone would think they were trying to follow Jesus – and you’ve only got to look at the Gospels to see where that ended up: He may have been the Son of God but it’s certainly not as if His kind of carry on ever managed to get Him first-class seats and a lucrative speaking tour with Rick Warren, did it now?

No, the next thing we’ll see is +Arizona’s intelligent compassion translating into the crazy notion that foreigners have the same rights as Christians to share in the great American dream of freedom, opportunity, and prosperity. After which it’s only a matter of time before something really dangerous happens – like the Holy Spirit inspiring the Church to realize their are more important things than helping rich and powerful male heterosexuals worship a god made in their own image.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

September 11, 2010 - No Show Today.

2010-09-11T23:47:00.000-07:00

Nine years ago today almost 3,000 people died because 19 gullible young men were convinced God wished them to commit an act of unspeakable evil. Today we call these murderers “fundamentalists”, but that's probably according them a degree of systematic coherence they clearly lacked. In reality they were just another teardrop in the vast ocean of post-adolescent males who’ve been seduced by a dangerously stupid cocktail of testosterone and religious idealism. A cocktail which continues to be served unimpeded, and not just in socio-theological basket cases like Iran and Afghanistan.

Sure the after-effects are rarely so obvious: the self-righteous drinkers in Pittsburgh might not execute homosexuals as their counterparts do in Tehran, and those imbibing in the ACNA Diocese of San Joaquin might not allow their revolting misogyny to express itself as blatantly as their Taliban equivalents in Quetta (although I fear it’s only a matter of time before someone emails with news of the evangelicals of Sydney stoning women caught reading the bible aloud while clad “immodestly”), but talk to any of them privately, when their guard is down, and you’ll invariably reach the frightening conclusion that their deepest hope is it’s only a matter of time…

What’s also always the same, irrespective of the place, context, or theological rhetoric, is that those serving this nasty brew are invariably older men with little or no chance of losing that which they urge their gullible young followers to abandon for the sake of the cause/gospel/jihad/faith/whatever. Whether we’re talking about anti-social young men killing at bin Laden's sociopathic behest, or sexually insecure young men throwing away their (and their family’s) security and future in pursuit of the lie that is the Anglican schism, there’s always a group of older men urging them on in the background. Men who’ve already got their pension plans and health-care schemes sorted. Men who profess to know that God wants others to waste their lives, while resolutely holding on to their own – along with all the status and luxury they’ve accumulated along the way.

This is hardly a new phenomena: for every young Saul of Tarsus risking his life by stirring up sectarianism in the face of Caesar’s determination to enforce the Pax Romana, there was at least one older Pharisee looking on approvingly, secure in the knowledge that he’d remain safe even if his protégé did push things a little too far. And despite Christ's indisputable condemnation of those who would cause the young and naïve to stumble, the tragic pattern remains entrenched: for every immature nitwit posting bile at Stand Firm you can be certain there’s at least one senior cleric grateful he doesn’t have to get his own hands dirty throwing around the mud.

So while we pause today in remembrance of those killed in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania, also spare a thought for those who have died in other places and times as result of this unholy exploitation. In abhorring the mindless absolutism of Islamic extremists, let’s not lose sight of the dangerous old men in our own midst. Ridicule them, laugh at them, and use whatever democratic processes you can find to prevent them silencing the voices of wisdom, faith, and inclusion. Ignore them, and flying planes into the side of buildings, or claiming that God hates individuals on the basis of their gender or sexuality (and the even more horrific death toll ensuing), is only the beginning.

Prayers for My Beloved New Zealand Sinners

2010-09-03T17:20:00.000-07:00

News has just reached me of the earth moving in a strictly non-reproductive sense for my Beloved Sinners in Christchurch New Zealand. In the face of this emergency you may all be assured of my prayers for you, your loved ones, and, most important of all, your parish property and assets.

Still, it would be remiss of me in my duties as the World’s Leading Biblical Expositor to not remind you all that the Archbishop of Mordor (as well as his brother, and probably his wife, son, daughter, son-in-law, and innumerable house-elves) did warn you that no good would come from appointing a woman as your Bishop. That some of the most severe damage appears to have occurred in areas where Mordor has established “white-ant” congregations should be considered absolutely irrelevant.

And now, since for reasons I can only ascribe to some oversight on our infallible Lord’s part, you have been spared widespread death and injury, I now expect you to all get busy. Undoubtedly there are unsecured liquor stores and electronic retailers throughout your trembling town, and you’ll have to move quickly if you’re going to be able to send me that container of blessings which the Spirit has clearly told me you are to prepare.

Just remember, anyone caught looting is to insist they’re Baptist (or at very least Australian, which I’m told at your end of the world is viewed even more disparagingly), although I’ll be happy to provide a fictitious character reference at your trial in return for 1st class air tickets and 5-star accommodation. Let’s face it: you’ll get be getting more for your outlay than Bobby Duncan’s backers did for his recent African soirée.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Voices from the Anglican Future.

2010-08-29T02:52:00.000-07:00

Every Christian knows Nigeria is a land of peace, prosperity, and probity – even if the subject “Corruption in Nigera” does rate its own Wikipedia entry. That’s why Big Pete Akinola was so generously given real estate and a Mercedes Benz when he retired, and why God has cursed the faithless west with stable government and the rule of law, while blessing Biblical Spirituality’s heartland with blackouts and genital mutilation.

Even though little Archbishop Orombi and his fellow Ugandan ~~thugs~~ Ministers with Machetes have been doing their best to prove there’s no shortage of powerful and dangerous psychotics left in the nation who brought us the Last King of Scotland, an article in The Sun (Nigeria’s “Voice of the Nation”) shows there’s no need for Martyn Minns to re-realign just yet.

Read it for yourselves, My Beloved Sinners, but be warned: the “article’ is entitled “If your child is gay?”, and if you’re inclined to suffer from a weak stomach it’d probably be better if you just Googled “dismembered corpse porn” and clicked “View images”. Because you’d better believe me when I say it ain’t pretty.

Let's start with Funmi, whose advice to parents commences with “Beating alone cannot solve the problem. ” Or how about Lynda, who sees homosexuality as “a sign of the endtime”; so i guess we should assume Alexander the Great and Leonardo da Vinci were just a case of God getting some early rehearsals for the Parousia. Lynda's caring and reasoned approach – perhaps inspired by the same gift of spiritual discernment that has brought her country to the forefront of the relentless war against child witches - serves as a lesson to mothers everywhere: “The child should be committed to God Almighty for total deliverance, because he’s no doubt possessed with the evil spirit. ”

Meanwhile Joseph gives a fatherly perspective: “I have been hearing of gays, and I regard them as beasts and nothing more.” On a roll, he also continues with an eschatological motif: “It’s one of the signs of the end time. If my child is homosexual, which I know cannot be, I would not mind that he should be disciplined publicly. This would definitely change one or two things in him. After this, we can think of the way out.” If nothing else you’ve got to admire little Joe’s optimism: others of his intellectual capacity would have realized long ago that thinking per se isn’t their strong point. But then again, that kind of self-awareness never helped anyone get a purple shirt in the world of Conservative Global Anglicanism.

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

F-Stop Blues.

2010-08-27T05:24:00.000-07:00

They say a picture paints a thousand words, but in Archbishop Williams’ case the sweet little snap taken as a memento of his recent Ugandan junket is more like an entire novel. Albeit one by Harold Robbins lying in the bargain-basket of a very seedy second-hand book-store.

After all, he is the great grand pooh-bah of all things Anglican, and as such I can well understand him feeling an obligation to visit all his flock – including those members of the Communion who are the equivalent of that uncle in your own family who served time for indecently exposure, and who can never get it into his head that nobody is listening admiringly when he boasts about having been inducted into the Klan. Still, just as a little discretion goes a long way when purchasing the latest copy of Hustler, having one’s picture taken with someone who’s famous for insulting the good folk who pay a great many of one’s bills is just plain foolish.

Nor can it be argued that His Cantaurness was unaware little Bobby Duncan was sitting just five warm prelate posteriors away; another keepsake doing the rounds shows the pair making the kind of eye-contact usually accompanied by fireworks and Tijuana horns on Love American Style. Which is all well and good from little Bobby’s perspective; as a Conservative Schismatic it’s his job to fly around the world attending talk-fests. A man in his position can’t be expected to work at cleaning up his own back yard – not when it’s so much easier to fly business class and complain about others laboring in their own corner of God’s great garden, and being photographed that close to the Man With The Beard is the pseudo-Anglican kudos-seekers’ equivalent to passive-smoking: the smell isn’t the only thing that’s going to drift in your direction.

Yet a whirlwind blows smoke more ways than just one, and from where most Episcopalians sit it certainly looks like Bobby Duncan wasn’t the only one inhaling. Just as it took me some serious talking to calm everyone down after I was caught by the paparazzi with three jelly-wrestlers and the owner of Europe’s most prestigious flea circus, ++Rowan’s going to have to work awfully hard if he wants the people who bailed out his credit card after Lambeth to forget about this one. And so far the “sheepish silence” routine doesn’t look like getting an ovation from anyone not currently meeting in a rented Seventh Day Adventist hall and trying to pay off the costs incurred in a failed property dispute…

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Retraction and Apology Re: David Ould

2010-08-24T16:39:00.000-07:00

On Monday, August 16, 2010 the owner of this blog posted a supposedly satirical piece claiming that the Rev. David Ould, a deacon of the Anglican Diocese of Sydney Australia, was transferring to the fictitious parish of St. Onuphrius’ Ichabod Springs.

Accompanying was photograph purporting to be a likeness of Rev. Ould. This picture was in fact not of the Rev. Ould, but had been taken from a web site featuring images of dangerous criminals charged and convicted of serious felonies, including (but not limited to) causing grievous bodily harm and aggravated sexual offenses against minors.

This notwithstanding, the author and owner of http://gafcon.blogspot.com acknowledges that individual depicted in that photograph suffered deep humiliation as a result of being erroneously depicted as the Rev. Ould and/or as an apologist for one of the most hateful expressions of institutionalized fundamentalism to have ever emerged within the Anglican Communion.

The author responsible unreservedly apologizes to the young man whose image was used, and wishes it to be made absolutely clear that whatever else he may have done, he is not, and never has been, a clergyman in the diocese popularly known as “Mordor”. Nor has he ever acted with absolute disregard for almost two hundred million dollars of his church’s assets; attempted to prevent the transparent disclosure of the same; sought to meddle in the affairs of other churches while hiding the rampant corruption and nepotism in his own; persistently condoned the usage of what would, were it not hiding beneath a cloak of religion, be considered hate-speech (and thus illegal) against other persons on the basis of their gender and/or sexuality. Neither has he ever actively sought to exchange the truth of God for a pharisaic lie.

Besides which, he doesn’t even look as funny as Dobby.

Lessons Matt Kennedy Learned When Attempting Theft - #14

2010-08-19T13:29:00.000-07:00

“14. If you do not have an email list including all of your parishioners, establish one and use it at least weekly to send parish news and updates. The updates should include a small section or a paragraph about the lawsuit--letting people know of any new developments--but the overwhelming bulk of the update should be taken up with parish news. A weekly line of communication will be vital in maintaining a sense of community continuity and cohesion should you lose your property.”
Little Matt Kennedy, Viagraville, July 13 2010

This way your people will also get used to relying on your side of the story for news of the mess you’ve got them into, and are less likely to seek more objective reports.

Lessons Matt Kennedy Learned When Attempting Theft - #13

2010-08-18T01:49:00.000-07:00

“13. Make friends with the religion reporter or whoever your local paper assigns to follow the story. Always answer the phone. Always call back. Always have something to say both on the record and off. Always speak well of your opponents. Never say “no comment”. Never refuse to answer your phone. Never let them hear you whine, complain or attack the diocese. Let the diocesan press stooge play the role of the offended, entitled, bitter, angry, and intolerant authority figure. And trust me, he/she will. .”
Little Matt Kennedy, Viagraville, July 13 2010

As Bishop Clumber already wisely advised back in the comments to Point 2, only let the world see the real you on “... a website where everyone is basically whining, complaining and attacking the church which gave you the authority to be a pastor! That way it will be lost among the noise.”

Everywhere else you should be as genuine and sincere as a lap-dancer working a room full of Shriners.

My New Curate Announced!

2010-08-16T19:45:00.001-07:00

Due to all the important work I’ve been doing in the course of minding everyone else’s business things here at St. Onuphrius’ have been a little neglected as of late, and so it’s taken a little longer than I’d anticipated to choose Evangelical Eric ‘s successor.

Needless to say competition for the position was fierce, although nowhere nearly as fierce as the most promising applicants. Indeed, my initial choice was the gentleman at left, whom by his appearance I naturally took to be a Nigerian Archdeacon. Unfortunately subsequent research revealed he's actually only a lifer in Illinois looking for penpals – unlike Conservative Clergy, whose ignorant bigotries are responsible for the deaths of thousands (if not millions), this elegantly coiffured gentleman has only killed one person, rendering him entirely unsuited for GAFCON ministry.

Consequently I’m delighted to announce little Peter Jensen has accepted my generous offer of shares in Enron and Lehman Brothers in return for his house-elf Deacon Dobby Ould (c’mon – it’s not the worst investment Archbishop Jensen has made during his tenure).

Pictured at right, Dobby has a documented history of lying about his fellow Christians (I’ve been sent hard-copy proof David, so don’t bother with any threats about contacting your attorney), as well as of pretending to be someone of a different theological persuasion and gender in order to make his ridiculous comments appear more credible (ditto, my boy) – in short the cheeky little house-elf has exactly the skills a Conservative parish needs.

I am expecting Dobby to arrive by post (the only mode of travel the Diocese of Sydney can now afford for anyone whose last name isn’t “Jensen”) any day now. In the meantime I’m now accepting offerings towards Evangelical Eric’s Going-Away Fund, the proceeds of which will be used to buy me a lovely new SUV in which I shall generously arrange to have my departing Curate’s pitiful sack of belongings conveyed to the airport.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Lessons Matt Kennedy Learned When Attempting Theft - #12

2010-08-08T19:39:00.000-07:00

“12. Blogging also inevitably opens the door for much needed spiritual and material support from sympathetic readers locally and around the world. Let your congregation know about any kind of support you receive. You will be surprised at the boost in morale such news produces.”
Little Matt Kennedy, Viagraville, July 13 2010

What’s more the internet is full of suckers who’d just love to throw a few hard-earneds into the bottomless pit of your self-induced sob story. However there’s no point of becoming a martyr if you’re not surrounded by weeping admirers, so make certain to delete and ban any commenter not displaying the requisite morale-boosting sycophancy.

Something every Christian Minister needs...

2010-08-07T19:16:00.000-07:00

It’s not only all of you, My Beloved sinners, who have been learning so much from little Matt Kennedy’s important lessons: even a World Famous Christian such as myself has been blessed with fresh insight into the crucial Conservative task of treating one’s parishioners with as little respect as possible.

His points to have most inspired me are those concerning the vital role of spycraft in Orthodox Ministry (see tips nine and ten), and with these in mind I’ve been spending even more time than usual in preparation for this month’s Vestry meeting. Consequently it was while on a trip to my local discount variety store in search of such latest accoutrements of Biblical Ministry as invisible ink, microdots, and an ultrasonic nausea device that’s less bulky than the Ould twins or David Virtue, that I couldn’t resist purchasing the following:
Unfortunately I still haven't quite worked out how to make it induce the promised convulsions: Bishop Quinine asserts he heard it speaking intelligibly when nobody else was in the room, but since he's been known to make the same claim of Kendall Harmon there's no point taking him seriously. Perhaps if I tie somebody into a chair and make them stare at the blades whirling around and around for hours on end...

... which you've got to admit would be not unlike listening to any of ++Rowan William's more recent pronouncements.

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Lessons Matt Kennedy Learned When Attempting Theft - #11

2010-08-02T12:48:00.000-07:00

I know our Boy in Binghamton probably jumped the shark at #10, but there's still an ocean of wisdom in the remaining lessons. Or if not an ocean, then a least a puddle of sufficient size to irritate a few fellow conservatives clearly jealous of the success this series has been enjoying...

“11. If you are a blogger or writer and your lawyer lets you, keep blogging and writing. This will expose the diocesan actions to the light of public scrutiny. Be sure to pass everything you publish through your attorney beforehand.”
Little Matt Kennedy, Viagraville, July 13 2010

Remember that it’s not as if you’re paying the attorney’s bills with your own money. Besides, any lawyer grubby enough to have encouraged you to proceed with an unwinnable case will love you for also giving them a chance to “work the file” by racking up even higher earnings in the course of following instructions to peruse your blog dribbles for potential libel, perjury, or contempt.