As you’ve probably guessed, Father Troll has been very much pushed to the sidelines of my life during the past year. In fact there have been times when I’ve seriously considered killing him off altogether; perhaps by being accidentally shot by while addressing an enthusiastic NRA rally, or as a result of some terrible explosion occurring while he and Bishop Quinine launch themselves into space aboard a home-made rocket in an attempt to become the first missionaries to Pandora. (How could those two not find themselves obsessing about physically gorgeous nine-foot tall blue people who’ve apparently never heard of the importance of misogyny and homophobia to spirituality? And since Avatar was produced by a company owned by Rupert Murdoch they’d have no problem convincing themselves it's not fiction: “I ask you, My Beloved Sinners, would the fine Christian who owns the Fox Network and The Sun ever present something which isn’t true?”).
Partly these feelings have been exacerbated by the passing of the golden age of blogging: there really isn’t the same amount of material to riff on that there was a few years ago. More so, however, they result from a number of changes in my personal life: with a number of projects of which I’m immensely proud growing apace finding 45 minutes to transcribe the rantings of a demented old parody has become harder and harder. It’s one thing to make those around me laugh by slipping into Father Christian’s voice and denouncing whatever has just caught my attention, but very much another to translate that into a few hundred pithy words which will both offend and amuse the appropriate people - who are themselves spread across a number of very different continents, cultures, generations, sexualities, and genders.
More importantly, the circumstances which gave birth to Father Christian have greatly changed. Akinola has retired to enjoy his sumptious retirement gifts, and his replacement has mercifully failed to sustain the buffoonery on a global scale. Jensen has stepped down to do whatever it is fundamentalist archbishops do once they’ve bankrupted their diocese, and even Venables is more in the category of “whatever happened to…” than he is a figure of influence in the church we love. Despite ludicrous predictions to the contrary, Duncan’s new “province” remains as much a part of the Anglican Communion as Scientology, and in terms of current growth only marginally more successful. All of which has often found me wondering if there’s still any need for Father Christian and his retinue? Perhaps having served their purpose it’s better for them to join those upon whom they were based into a well-deserved (albeit long-overdue) slide into obscurity.
Yet the reality is that fundamentalism is far from dead. To forget this is to risk forgetting lessons etched in both the blood of those killed 12 years ago, and the tears shed afterwards by all those who loved them. Bin Laden might be dead, and closer to home sites like Stand Firm might now be a pastiche of what it was five years ago (that there really does exist people who can keep a straight face while reading Fischler’s Facebook: Purveyor of Hate or Ould’s Sex and Jihad – the Failure of Modern Hermeneutics is beyond doubt, but I defy anyone to produce more than a handful who have finished elementary school and are not males with an emotional age of less than 25), but the evil old refrain continues regardless. People continue to reject and persecute others, and deny them basic human rights, because of a conviction that god says they’re wrong. Old men continue to grow in wealth and power by manipulating these convictions, and young men – for fundamentalism is above all else primarily a disease of young and immature men – continue throwing away their lives in attempt to find acceptance in the eyes of those whom they seek to follow.
In response to my last 9/11 post a young fellow from Sydney (why was I not surprised to learn of his location?) left a comment here expressing outrage at what he considered to be my unwitting concatenation of Wahhabist Islam with contemporary Evangelicalism and medieval Catholicism. He never responded to my explanation that there was nothing unwitting in the slightest about my having drawn a link between what are actually just different manifestations of the same obnoxious cocktail of insecurity, poor-education, ambition, fear, and pride. The theological minutiae of what the consumer then sticks down the front of his underpants is a most an after-thought: a gnat with which to garnish one’s camel.
As I said, the young man to whom my response was directed discontinued the dialogue, but I didn’t expect otherwise. Yet he has remained very much in my thoughts, as well as my prayers, and not least because I’m old enough to appreciate his earnest enthusiasm and to grieve at what becomes of his kind when the well of his energy has been drained by those who purport to lead him. And so it’s for his sake, as much as for those whom shared a chuckle from the other side of the aisle, that the terrible Father Christian Troll will live on. Probably not with the same frequency he once did, but hopefully once the chaos of the next few months’ deadlines have passed with more vigour than he’s displayed in the past year.
That’s because young men like him thrive on arguments, and in any case reason and logic have never played any part in the construct of their beliefs (regardless of how much they claim to the contrary). One can at best hope to rattle the cage of delusions a little, and then be there on the ground to support them when the bright shining future once promised by their golden calf of certainty has left them used up and alone. And Father Christian is one of the most effective means by which I’ve ever been able to rattle cage bars.
So until we next meet here, please take care to love those around you. Give thanks when those dearest to you come home from wherever they have been for the day, and make a place in your heart for those whom were on this day – or any other day – not so blessed. And remember that the God who makes the sun shine upon us all has no need for a faith which would leave others in the dark.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Monday, April 8, 2013
In a time of sorrow I bring you comfort...
My deepest and sincerest condolences go to My Beloved Grief-stricken British Sinners, whom I know are all devastated at the untimely demise of young Baroness Margaret Thatcher. No doubt the overwhelming burden of sorrow is particularly great for those of you living north of Leicester, or in Wales, although I believe the people of Brixton, who have nothing but fond memories for all she did for them, have also made no secret their heartfelt mourning.
As you all might expect, I was throughout her years of power a close and personal confidant of the woman who single-handedly destroyed communism with the help of Ronald Reagan. It is with great affection I recall the wonderful winter-evenings we shared by her fireplace in No. 10 Downing Street, laughing as we mused upon those dying from cold on account of an inability to pay heating bills vastly inflated through privatization. Or the way she’d softly smile as I suggested it would only be a matter of time before every man, woman, and child in Yorkshire, Liverpool, and Greater Manchester could be rounded up, processed, and sold in Surrey, Kent, and Hertfordshire as pet food...
But it wasn’t all fun and games, not at all. There was also hard work, not least the interminable pastoral visits to families of those killed in the Falklands war. Try as I might, none were ever able to appreciate the honor of having the life of their beloved son, husband, or brother thrown away in a pointless squabble over some rocks in the far south Atlantic, the sole purpose of which was to provide a grandstand upon which a politician could promenade to ensure her successful re-election. Not even later, when in a brave blow against godless big government dear sweet Margaret introduced the poll tax, did I hear any of these still-grieving families (who really should have by then pulled their socks up and got on with life instead of moping about the consequences of their dead loved one’s lifestyle decision to get killed on an island of which nobody had ever previously heard) express their gratitude. Even though she had so thoughtfully saved them from the evils of big-taxing socialism by imposing a new tax significantly greater than that which it replaced. All of which just goes to show how wickedly hard Sinners’ hearts can be.
Yet in this, our time of loss and tears, let’s not forget that dear little Margaret would be the last one wanting to anyone to display anything as pointless as compassion or emotion. No indeed; we can all be certain she’d all want us to continue without wavering towards the utopian beacon of economic rationalism (aka “slavery”) which burns before us just as brightly as it did when she lit its golden flames. Even if these days there is now a statutory charge for gazing upon it, and the plinth on which it stands bears advertising for products proven to cause cancer, and which are now illegal in countries where the media is not controlled by Rupert Murdoch.
Consequently I’d like to ask that you to all wipe away your tears in honor of one who did so much to the people of Britain. Rather than crying, I urge you to join Me in sharing a piece of wholesome family epitomising everything Baroness Thatcher stood for. Sing along as little people are joyfully dominated by big ones, and once again lose yourself in the illusion of a wonderful yellow brick road. Although it’s probably better to not allow yourself to be reminded that the golden pathway along which the young woman singing here journeyed led ultimately to divorce, drug and alcohol dependence, and premature death. Much like yellow brick road along which the woman for whom no more than 40% British citizens voted forced her nation to march...
I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
As you all might expect, I was throughout her years of power a close and personal confidant of the woman who single-handedly destroyed communism with the help of Ronald Reagan. It is with great affection I recall the wonderful winter-evenings we shared by her fireplace in No. 10 Downing Street, laughing as we mused upon those dying from cold on account of an inability to pay heating bills vastly inflated through privatization. Or the way she’d softly smile as I suggested it would only be a matter of time before every man, woman, and child in Yorkshire, Liverpool, and Greater Manchester could be rounded up, processed, and sold in Surrey, Kent, and Hertfordshire as pet food...
But it wasn’t all fun and games, not at all. There was also hard work, not least the interminable pastoral visits to families of those killed in the Falklands war. Try as I might, none were ever able to appreciate the honor of having the life of their beloved son, husband, or brother thrown away in a pointless squabble over some rocks in the far south Atlantic, the sole purpose of which was to provide a grandstand upon which a politician could promenade to ensure her successful re-election. Not even later, when in a brave blow against godless big government dear sweet Margaret introduced the poll tax, did I hear any of these still-grieving families (who really should have by then pulled their socks up and got on with life instead of moping about the consequences of their dead loved one’s lifestyle decision to get killed on an island of which nobody had ever previously heard) express their gratitude. Even though she had so thoughtfully saved them from the evils of big-taxing socialism by imposing a new tax significantly greater than that which it replaced. All of which just goes to show how wickedly hard Sinners’ hearts can be.
Yet in this, our time of loss and tears, let’s not forget that dear little Margaret would be the last one wanting to anyone to display anything as pointless as compassion or emotion. No indeed; we can all be certain she’d all want us to continue without wavering towards the utopian beacon of economic rationalism (aka “slavery”) which burns before us just as brightly as it did when she lit its golden flames. Even if these days there is now a statutory charge for gazing upon it, and the plinth on which it stands bears advertising for products proven to cause cancer, and which are now illegal in countries where the media is not controlled by Rupert Murdoch.
Consequently I’d like to ask that you to all wipe away your tears in honor of one who did so much to the people of Britain. Rather than crying, I urge you to join Me in sharing a piece of wholesome family epitomising everything Baroness Thatcher stood for. Sing along as little people are joyfully dominated by big ones, and once again lose yourself in the illusion of a wonderful yellow brick road. Although it’s probably better to not allow yourself to be reminded that the golden pathway along which the young woman singing here journeyed led ultimately to divorce, drug and alcohol dependence, and premature death. Much like yellow brick road along which the woman for whom no more than 40% British citizens voted forced her nation to march...
I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Friday, March 29, 2013
As if I wasn't already busy enough...
Since it’s Holy Week I suppose I read had better take a moment to generously deliver you all an appropriately edificational biblical homily. Although, to be perfectly honest, this is a time of year in which I can never help feeling annoyed with Our almighty lord on account of all the extra work his undeniably poor scheduling creates for christian Leaders like Myself.
After all; as if things weren’t busy enough with all that’s been associated with My Courageous stance for the Sacred Right of Bible-believers to purchase Firearms unimpeded by any form of check or qualification whatsoever other than, of course, an assurance that the purchaser does indeed know Jesus as their Personal lord and savior, and is prepared to categorically deny having ever felt anything unwholesome stirring in his loins while watching a John Wayne movie. Especially when thinking about the fact that the Duke’s real name was “Marion”.
And then on top of that little Benny Ratsfinger had to go and quit, forcing me to drop everything and fly to the Vatican post-haste in order to profit from the biggest market for man-lace since Bobby Duncan invented ACNA and the Prelacy of All Believers. The last time everyone attended a papal resignation was in 1415, and while I know the cardinals you all saw on TV looked pretty old, you can trust me when I say that not even they had appropriate vestments left over from then hanging around in the back of their closets. Although something tells me that for most of them that’s about all not in there…
All of which just goes to show that if our omniscient and gracious father had shown just the merest skerrick of foresight he’d have had had the courtesy to give us all a bit of a breather between Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. Granted, I can well understand that after lovingly making his son to die in agony for something he didn’t do god was eager to patch things up as quickly as possible before some atheist feminist at the Child Protection Services got wind of the whole affair, but unless government agencies in 1st century Palestine were a whole lot better funded than they are nowadays waiting a couple of weeks before moving on to the resurrection stage of things would have hardly been enough time for matters to progress to the stage where a caseworker has time to start investigating.
That way none of us would have to get up early on Good Friday morning after conducting late night services on Maundy Thursday, and our good-for-nothing Curates wouldn’t be so useless on account of having been made to stay up all night for the Vigil. Then by scheduling the resurrection on a Tuesday two weeks later (but definitely not on a Monday, on account of that being the Vicar’s day off) we’d all be refreshed and ready for another day of serious liturgical festivities. Plus, since things would be business as usual on what is now taken up by Easter Sunday, we would gain an extra offertory on Easter-fortnight Tuesday.
Then again, this kind of disorganization is exactly what we can expect to find when the Bible isn’t taken seriously. I’ve no doubt god is continuously grateful for Teachers like Me who are dedicated to correcting the liberal heresies of the past: you’d better believe that if as disciples had been as suitably prepared as men like Myself and the fine, well balanced, individuals commenting on this matter at Viagraville always are, and carrying concealed firearms under their apostolic robey-things, none of this whole crucifixion thing would have happened. As if any servant of the Sanhedrin could have dragged away my saviour after we’d pumped them full of three dozen rounds purchased in Walmart’s Easter Spring sales.
And now lastly: today marks 400 years since the date John Donne commemorated in Good-Friday, 1613, Riding Westward - a piece which a number of notorious characters to whom I faithfully minister find quite influential. Personally it’s a work I consider vastly overrated (I always say that if Donne and T. S. Elliot were that good they’d have been working for Hallmark instead of churning out all that meaningless egg-headed stuff), and I’m always pleased to find most young evangelicals I meet have never heard of it, while the next generation of Anglo-Catholics are more interested in gazing at their navels while pondering a possible call to the Ordinariate than they are embracing that to which their heritage points towards. Still, as way of seeing just how far we’ve come I’d urge those of you unfamiliar with the poem to read it today. At very least it’ll give you an appreciation of why I’m so confident that in another 400 years the Liberal Immorality of the past will be well and truly forgotten, while the words of Conservative Leaders like Myself and My Imitators shall stand firm for a thousand years.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
After all; as if things weren’t busy enough with all that’s been associated with My Courageous stance for the Sacred Right of Bible-believers to purchase Firearms unimpeded by any form of check or qualification whatsoever other than, of course, an assurance that the purchaser does indeed know Jesus as their Personal lord and savior, and is prepared to categorically deny having ever felt anything unwholesome stirring in his loins while watching a John Wayne movie. Especially when thinking about the fact that the Duke’s real name was “Marion”.
And then on top of that little Benny Ratsfinger had to go and quit, forcing me to drop everything and fly to the Vatican post-haste in order to profit from the biggest market for man-lace since Bobby Duncan invented ACNA and the Prelacy of All Believers. The last time everyone attended a papal resignation was in 1415, and while I know the cardinals you all saw on TV looked pretty old, you can trust me when I say that not even they had appropriate vestments left over from then hanging around in the back of their closets. Although something tells me that for most of them that’s about all not in there…
All of which just goes to show that if our omniscient and gracious father had shown just the merest skerrick of foresight he’d have had had the courtesy to give us all a bit of a breather between Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. Granted, I can well understand that after lovingly making his son to die in agony for something he didn’t do god was eager to patch things up as quickly as possible before some atheist feminist at the Child Protection Services got wind of the whole affair, but unless government agencies in 1st century Palestine were a whole lot better funded than they are nowadays waiting a couple of weeks before moving on to the resurrection stage of things would have hardly been enough time for matters to progress to the stage where a caseworker has time to start investigating.
That way none of us would have to get up early on Good Friday morning after conducting late night services on Maundy Thursday, and our good-for-nothing Curates wouldn’t be so useless on account of having been made to stay up all night for the Vigil. Then by scheduling the resurrection on a Tuesday two weeks later (but definitely not on a Monday, on account of that being the Vicar’s day off) we’d all be refreshed and ready for another day of serious liturgical festivities. Plus, since things would be business as usual on what is now taken up by Easter Sunday, we would gain an extra offertory on Easter-fortnight Tuesday.
Then again, this kind of disorganization is exactly what we can expect to find when the Bible isn’t taken seriously. I’ve no doubt god is continuously grateful for Teachers like Me who are dedicated to correcting the liberal heresies of the past: you’d better believe that if as disciples had been as suitably prepared as men like Myself and the fine, well balanced, individuals commenting on this matter at Viagraville always are, and carrying concealed firearms under their apostolic robey-things, none of this whole crucifixion thing would have happened. As if any servant of the Sanhedrin could have dragged away my saviour after we’d pumped them full of three dozen rounds purchased in Walmart’s Easter Spring sales.
And now lastly: today marks 400 years since the date John Donne commemorated in Good-Friday, 1613, Riding Westward - a piece which a number of notorious characters to whom I faithfully minister find quite influential. Personally it’s a work I consider vastly overrated (I always say that if Donne and T. S. Elliot were that good they’d have been working for Hallmark instead of churning out all that meaningless egg-headed stuff), and I’m always pleased to find most young evangelicals I meet have never heard of it, while the next generation of Anglo-Catholics are more interested in gazing at their navels while pondering a possible call to the Ordinariate than they are embracing that to which their heritage points towards. Still, as way of seeing just how far we’ve come I’d urge those of you unfamiliar with the poem to read it today. At very least it’ll give you an appreciation of why I’m so confident that in another 400 years the Liberal Immorality of the past will be well and truly forgotten, while the words of Conservative Leaders like Myself and My Imitators shall stand firm for a thousand years.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Friday, February 8, 2013
From my cold, dead hands...
Contrary to what we can all be certain my Liberal nemeses have been claiming, the reason for My absence from the inter-tubes over the past six weeks has not involved court orders. Nor were any of the terms of My current parole from prison ministry revoked. No, My Beloved Sinners, so great is the Wickedness prevailing in these Apostate days that I’ve been utterly, utterly absorbed in something which I know will strike cold hard fear into the hearts of young clergy everywhere – that’s right: I’ve been so involved in the flesh and blood lives of my community that there hasn’t been so much as a single second to devote to the expenditure of electrons and bandwidth.
That’s because the Christian World is currently facing its darkest hour since the heresy of congregationalism birthed the hideous notion of Priests being in some way answerable to those to whom they’ve been called to instruct. A threat so dark that it’s no exaggeration to say that if I don’t devote every molecule of my Doctrinally-pure breath to fighting it, our omnipotent god and saviour face eternal oblivion as America succumbs to Obama’s abominable vision of Socialist godlessness. A future which, as I was only telling god in prayer this morning, could well become reality but for the Strength, Breadth, and Insight of My Courageous opposition.
Were you all sufficiently valuable to god to have been blessed with the privilege of living here in Ichabod Springs, and able to spend Sundays physically gathered beneath the St. Onuphrias’ pulpit, where little flecks of My Spittle shower the faithful fallen with golden droplets of edification, there would of course be no need for Me to name this threat. But so great is Scourge of Ignorance which has befallen creation that for most of you the identity of this Diabolical Juggernaut poised to destroy faith forever is unknown. While at any moment all the cherished values of our ancient creeds – things as crucial to our faith as denigrating women and homosexualists, or bickering about Pauline minutia while children die from preventable diseases – will be cast asunder by the most terrible Satanic Strategy to have ever confronted the Kingdom of God. One even worse than Romanism, Presbyterianism, and the idea that those not contributing to the offertory with sufficient generosity can’t be publically shamed and/or beaten. Something so evil that our lord Jesus specifically failed to mention it when writing the gospels on account of its obscenity:
Gun Control.
There; it's said. I trust those of you in the habit of reading my homilies to children (as I know many of you do) had the good sense to not voice that dreadful phrase aloud. Nor, I pray, were they uttered within earshot of animals: the beasts of the fields may not have souls (as any faithful evangelical with a dog is duty-bound to testify), but that doesn’t mean they can’t feel pain. Just the other day My foolish Curate inadvertently gave sound to this blasphemous expression , and not minutes later the entire contents of our office fish-tank was twitching belly-northwards at the surface. Although to be fair, a small vial of something medicinal Bishop Quinine purchased on the internet had also just gone missing, and tropical fish can be so dreadfully sensitive.
Over the course of My next few Important homilies I shall be telling you all of the fearless stand we’ve made in the fight to preserve Christians’ right to freely possess - unhindered by any socialist prying into one’s criminal history, mental health, and sexual fascination with Soldier of Fortune magazine - a collection of semi-automatic assault weapons for the godly purposes of self-defence, hunting gophers, or vaporizing the heads of any neighbors who might look funny. Or who disrespect one’s pick-up on a day when things are just a bit more tense than usual. I’m confident that the light of My example, accompanied by unparalleled Biblical exposition illustrating the important role mass killings have played in salvation history, will inspire you all to join Me in Christendom’s greatest crusade since medieval foreigners decided to once and for all bring the peace to the Holy Land.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
That’s because the Christian World is currently facing its darkest hour since the heresy of congregationalism birthed the hideous notion of Priests being in some way answerable to those to whom they’ve been called to instruct. A threat so dark that it’s no exaggeration to say that if I don’t devote every molecule of my Doctrinally-pure breath to fighting it, our omnipotent god and saviour face eternal oblivion as America succumbs to Obama’s abominable vision of Socialist godlessness. A future which, as I was only telling god in prayer this morning, could well become reality but for the Strength, Breadth, and Insight of My Courageous opposition.
Were you all sufficiently valuable to god to have been blessed with the privilege of living here in Ichabod Springs, and able to spend Sundays physically gathered beneath the St. Onuphrias’ pulpit, where little flecks of My Spittle shower the faithful fallen with golden droplets of edification, there would of course be no need for Me to name this threat. But so great is Scourge of Ignorance which has befallen creation that for most of you the identity of this Diabolical Juggernaut poised to destroy faith forever is unknown. While at any moment all the cherished values of our ancient creeds – things as crucial to our faith as denigrating women and homosexualists, or bickering about Pauline minutia while children die from preventable diseases – will be cast asunder by the most terrible Satanic Strategy to have ever confronted the Kingdom of God. One even worse than Romanism, Presbyterianism, and the idea that those not contributing to the offertory with sufficient generosity can’t be publically shamed and/or beaten. Something so evil that our lord Jesus specifically failed to mention it when writing the gospels on account of its obscenity:
Gun Control.
There; it's said. I trust those of you in the habit of reading my homilies to children (as I know many of you do) had the good sense to not voice that dreadful phrase aloud. Nor, I pray, were they uttered within earshot of animals: the beasts of the fields may not have souls (as any faithful evangelical with a dog is duty-bound to testify), but that doesn’t mean they can’t feel pain. Just the other day My foolish Curate inadvertently gave sound to this blasphemous expression , and not minutes later the entire contents of our office fish-tank was twitching belly-northwards at the surface. Although to be fair, a small vial of something medicinal Bishop Quinine purchased on the internet had also just gone missing, and tropical fish can be so dreadfully sensitive.
Over the course of My next few Important homilies I shall be telling you all of the fearless stand we’ve made in the fight to preserve Christians’ right to freely possess - unhindered by any socialist prying into one’s criminal history, mental health, and sexual fascination with Soldier of Fortune magazine - a collection of semi-automatic assault weapons for the godly purposes of self-defence, hunting gophers, or vaporizing the heads of any neighbors who might look funny. Or who disrespect one’s pick-up on a day when things are just a bit more tense than usual. I’m confident that the light of My example, accompanied by unparalleled Biblical exposition illustrating the important role mass killings have played in salvation history, will inspire you all to join Me in Christendom’s greatest crusade since medieval foreigners decided to once and for all bring the peace to the Holy Land.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Ho, ho, ho.
It’s Christmas, and the season of good will to all. Which is why I’ve been dreadfully busy neglecting my customary Advent duties - ensuring My Parishioners purchase me lavish presents as an indication of their Biblical Maturity – for something even more important: preserving the American right to purchase and possess semi-automatic firearms with magazines large enough to kill entire crowds of our fellow citizens.
If the truth be told, however, these past few weeks have been witness to an epic struggle between myself and the wicked, godless, irresponsible, child-of-perdition whom is honoured with the privilege of channelling My Words on this blog. I realize Faithful Sinners will all find this hard to believe, but upon learning of the massacre in Newtown, Connecticut, the foolish liberal actually had the nerve to threaten me to my metaphoric virtual face, saying that there was no longer anything funny about sharing headspace with a Conservative parody of my magnitude.
Indeed, when Bryan Fischer aired what might be flatteringly described as his "thoughts" my wicked scribe even went so far as to say there was no longer any need for a Rev. Dr. Father Troll – reality had rendered my schtick redundant. With Mike Huckabee picking up the refrain, and even James Dobson taking a break from beating his dachshund (Sit down Dr. Freud!! Nobody here finds the symbolism as amusing as you do.) to jump on board the bandwagon, the world no longer needed My Ministry.
Not even reasoning helped: trying to calmly put the murder of twenty-six children and six teachers into perspective against the far bigger risk of finding oneself unarmed in the face of an attack by 18th century British soldiers did nothing to shift My Mutinous Secretary’s stubborn conviction. Explanations that this was only the sixth mass shooting this year meant there was hardly justification for approaching the issue of gun control with undue haste simply fell on deaf ears. And inspired a tirade in which the word “idiot” was used more than even my opposition to universal health care could justify.
Appealing to facts was no more successful. Government statistics show that in 2007 firearms were responsible for a mere 31,224 deaths (see page 11 of the previous link) – which when compared with the truly shocking figure of 23 ,199 alcohol related deaths completely justifies the priorities of my Baptist imitators. Yet the only response of My Disrespectful Typist was to repeat an irrelevant refrain – “The slaughter has to stop.”
Explanations that the Newtown incident would never have occurred if each of those children had been equipped with a .223-caliber Bushmaster assault rifle of their own met with similar disrespect: how can one even begin to engage in meaningful dialogue with someone who refuses to believe that Sylvester Stallone/Clint Eastwood movies accurately depict the reality of a firefight?
Which brings us to where we are today: the anniversary of Christ Jesus’ birth. The terrible troublemaker responsible for bringing you My Words has at last relented, and in honor of today’s significance agreed to let me once again bless the intertubes with My Presence. Yet – although it pains me to admit this – perhaps I am closer to My Scribe than I care to believe. For in closing the only words I can find are these:
If the truth be told, however, these past few weeks have been witness to an epic struggle between myself and the wicked, godless, irresponsible, child-of-perdition whom is honoured with the privilege of channelling My Words on this blog. I realize Faithful Sinners will all find this hard to believe, but upon learning of the massacre in Newtown, Connecticut, the foolish liberal actually had the nerve to threaten me to my metaphoric virtual face, saying that there was no longer anything funny about sharing headspace with a Conservative parody of my magnitude.
Indeed, when Bryan Fischer aired what might be flatteringly described as his "thoughts" my wicked scribe even went so far as to say there was no longer any need for a Rev. Dr. Father Troll – reality had rendered my schtick redundant. With Mike Huckabee picking up the refrain, and even James Dobson taking a break from beating his dachshund (Sit down Dr. Freud!! Nobody here finds the symbolism as amusing as you do.) to jump on board the bandwagon, the world no longer needed My Ministry.
Not even reasoning helped: trying to calmly put the murder of twenty-six children and six teachers into perspective against the far bigger risk of finding oneself unarmed in the face of an attack by 18th century British soldiers did nothing to shift My Mutinous Secretary’s stubborn conviction. Explanations that this was only the sixth mass shooting this year meant there was hardly justification for approaching the issue of gun control with undue haste simply fell on deaf ears. And inspired a tirade in which the word “idiot” was used more than even my opposition to universal health care could justify.
Appealing to facts was no more successful. Government statistics show that in 2007 firearms were responsible for a mere 31,224 deaths (see page 11 of the previous link) – which when compared with the truly shocking figure of 23 ,199 alcohol related deaths completely justifies the priorities of my Baptist imitators. Yet the only response of My Disrespectful Typist was to repeat an irrelevant refrain – “The slaughter has to stop.”
Explanations that the Newtown incident would never have occurred if each of those children had been equipped with a .223-caliber Bushmaster assault rifle of their own met with similar disrespect: how can one even begin to engage in meaningful dialogue with someone who refuses to believe that Sylvester Stallone/Clint Eastwood movies accurately depict the reality of a firefight?
Which brings us to where we are today: the anniversary of Christ Jesus’ birth. The terrible troublemaker responsible for bringing you My Words has at last relented, and in honor of today’s significance agreed to let me once again bless the intertubes with My Presence. Yet – although it pains me to admit this – perhaps I am closer to My Scribe than I care to believe. For in closing the only words I can find are these:
Have a wonderful Christmas, and thank you for dropping by here during the year. Amidst the laughter and joy of today spare a thought for those families whose child is no longer present to enjoy the excitement anticipated a lifetime ago, before December 14 – or before any other of countless horrors which have torn us apart in these shadowlands. Never forget that God’s intervention into our confusion and bitterness has meant the darkness shall never win, and that Love is greater than all – including the so-called “right” to own instruments of death.
Take time today to value those around you. Tell them you love them, for you never know hard it might be to do so tomorrow. Turn off the television, shut down the computer for a few minutes, and remember the feeling of the breeze on your face. Sing for joy in the Saviour’s birth, and gasp with amazement at the One God who walks beside you, irrespective of who, where, or what you are. Light candles and eat and drink richly of the courage which comes from the truth that we shall not always see through a glass darkly.
L'amour est plus fort que la mort.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Father Christian's modest proposal.
As I write these words Palestinians are blowing the beAllah out of Israelis, who are in return blowing the beAdonai out of Palestinians. My Curate, Evangelical Eric, holds Obama responsible, and insists the President could fix everything by blowing the beJesus out of Iran. Although since my Curate also blames Obama for the infected hair follicle preventing him from crossing his legs without wincing it’s understandable the White House hasn’t been responding to the boy’s unsolicited letters of advice. Meanwhile My Biblically Traditional Brethren everywhere remain paralysed with grief over last week’s electoral tragedy, leaving me to boldly carve a way forward alone through these terrible days.
Indeed, at times like these even the most god-forsaken Liberal is forced to admit that a Teacher of My Calibre is more than just a pretty face draped in man-lace every Sunday. That’s because the situation we now face is one of fact - the dreadful reality that the Sacred Principle of democracy has been forever perverted by the election of a candidate not approved of by White Conservative Men. In response only those who embrace facts like Jonah’s survival for three days in a fish's gastrointestinal tract, or that human linguistic variations result from the attempted construct of a tower in the ancient near east, can possibly have what it takes to invent the facts required to lead Sinners through the coming apocalypse of affordable healthcare and improved public education.
Hence my advice to Sinners trembling with fear of the scythe of socialism about to fall upon their unblemished necks is to not do anything foolish, such as trying to understand what socialism actually is before throwing the term around like confetti at a mafia wedding. Instead everyone should simply be quiet and listen to me. Because unlike My Imitators, not all my research involves visiting web sites asking for a valid card number, and I have discovered something Very Important of which you need to be aware. Look at this:
The table above is a list of the ten U.S. states with the highest incarceration rates in the country - imprisonment figures so impressive that these places actually lead the world when it comes to locking people up. And behold the election result - 90% of these states voted the way god told Me his people must vote!
But on the other hand, look at the result in those states failing to realize that Liberty depends upon keeping as many as possible under lock and key:
These are the states with the lowest incarceration rates per 100 000 citizens and the tragic result is undeniable - now we’re looking at 70% of votes being cast exactly as directed from the pit of hell! Godless Socialist Liberals can whine all they like about babies born in countries like Malaysia, Cuba, Lithuania, and Poland having a better chance of survival than those born in the United States, but there’s no argument about the facts - the number of people a community imprisons is directly proportional to number of votes for the freedom that lets fine American Businessmen like Bernie Madoff, or Exemplars of Family Values like Donald Trump, do what they do best!
Thanks to My Enlightened Exegetical Teaching you will now see that unless Americans immediately begin imprisoning as many of their fellow citizens as possible the Nation cannot hope to survive. My recommendation is that we begin with known Communists and trouble makers, such as those admitting to own recordings by R.E.M., or who know what Born in the U.S.A. is really about. And foreigners of course, along with everyone who doesn’t think Churches have a natural right to tax-exemption. Simply locking up these deviant members of our society will of itself ensure a electoral disaster of the kind with which Unfaithful Americans have just been chastised is never happens again. Then later on, to be certain about National Security, we can jail those elements exerting a more subtle influence for evil, such as everybody with the letter “e” in their name.
The Scriptures don’t call America “The Home of the Brave” without good reason, but we need to prove that bravery with the blood of as many young people as possible. And those whom we can’t render limbless and emotionally-cored by PTSD need to be jailed, along with anyone else daring to hope for a society not run by plutocrats. Only when chain-gangs line every roadway, and privately-owned prisons can manufacture consumer goods at a price and under conditions which make Foxconn jealous, will America truly be The Land of the Free.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Indeed, at times like these even the most god-forsaken Liberal is forced to admit that a Teacher of My Calibre is more than just a pretty face draped in man-lace every Sunday. That’s because the situation we now face is one of fact - the dreadful reality that the Sacred Principle of democracy has been forever perverted by the election of a candidate not approved of by White Conservative Men. In response only those who embrace facts like Jonah’s survival for three days in a fish's gastrointestinal tract, or that human linguistic variations result from the attempted construct of a tower in the ancient near east, can possibly have what it takes to invent the facts required to lead Sinners through the coming apocalypse of affordable healthcare and improved public education.
Hence my advice to Sinners trembling with fear of the scythe of socialism about to fall upon their unblemished necks is to not do anything foolish, such as trying to understand what socialism actually is before throwing the term around like confetti at a mafia wedding. Instead everyone should simply be quiet and listen to me. Because unlike My Imitators, not all my research involves visiting web sites asking for a valid card number, and I have discovered something Very Important of which you need to be aware. Look at this:
But on the other hand, look at the result in those states failing to realize that Liberty depends upon keeping as many as possible under lock and key:
Thanks to My Enlightened Exegetical Teaching you will now see that unless Americans immediately begin imprisoning as many of their fellow citizens as possible the Nation cannot hope to survive. My recommendation is that we begin with known Communists and trouble makers, such as those admitting to own recordings by R.E.M., or who know what Born in the U.S.A. is really about. And foreigners of course, along with everyone who doesn’t think Churches have a natural right to tax-exemption. Simply locking up these deviant members of our society will of itself ensure a electoral disaster of the kind with which Unfaithful Americans have just been chastised is never happens again. Then later on, to be certain about National Security, we can jail those elements exerting a more subtle influence for evil, such as everybody with the letter “e” in their name.
The Scriptures don’t call America “The Home of the Brave” without good reason, but we need to prove that bravery with the blood of as many young people as possible. And those whom we can’t render limbless and emotionally-cored by PTSD need to be jailed, along with anyone else daring to hope for a society not run by plutocrats. Only when chain-gangs line every roadway, and privately-owned prisons can manufacture consumer goods at a price and under conditions which make Foxconn jealous, will America truly be The Land of the Free.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Known by the company you keep…
One of the most enjoyable things about being an Authentically Biblical Traditionalist is the knowledge that you stand in your conviction alongside so many truly wonderful people. Over the years I’ve introduced My Beloved Sinners to far too many to name here: certainly the lovely Davids Virtue and Ould deserve a mention, as does Colorado Springs’ (and CANA’s) epitome of integrity, Donny Armstrong, who is currently on probation and quite appropriately not feeling he owes any apology for having misappropriated close to one hundred thousand of his church’s hard-earned. Nor can I omit the nut-job on Facebook who accuses me of being anti-family, and then posts this Valentine’s Day message of marital devotion:
But it is with thanks to Republican Tears - essential reading for anyone with an inclination to sail the subtle seas of schadenfreude – that I’ve come across someone who rises above even these great names in the mighty world of Contemporary Christian Misogyny: the author of the timeless What the Right Doesn’t Get About Elections.
Be warned, however, before you rush to click that link and wallow in the trough of what you will find there: if you think folks can’t get any nastier than the fun-loving throng at Viagraville you’re in for a very big shock. In fact tis piece is so outstandingly Conservative that the response generated frightened the courageous author into removing it (hence my link is to Google’s cached version) and closing down his site, the ironically named “Christian Men’s Defense Network” (How can anyone not love the neo-nazi styling of his title font? Although why would someone wanting to style themselves as a “defender” want to align themselves with one of the most comprehensively defeated military regimes in history – one with a leader so brave that rather than face the consequences of defeat he preferred to shoot his dog and wife before turning the gun on himself? Or are the answers to such mysteries self-evident?)
And now before closing I’d like to assure everyone devastated by the success of the Liberal Plot to prevent my appointment as Archbishop of Canterbury to do their very best to keep their chins up. Many have found that sending me a large and expensive gift by way of consolation helps with their grief, and I’d encourage each one of to prayerfully consider this as a means of helping you find solace in these sad times. Meanwhile – and since this concerns a matter of a highly confidential nature I’m not at liberty to discuss it further – I have already been approached in regard to a different appointment even more suited to a Man of My Experience. And you’d better believe when I’m the one sending sexy emails from that office those responsible for overlooking My Obvious Vocation to lead the Anglican Communion will find themselves framed quicker than you can say “Rosenberg”.
I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
But it is with thanks to Republican Tears - essential reading for anyone with an inclination to sail the subtle seas of schadenfreude – that I’ve come across someone who rises above even these great names in the mighty world of Contemporary Christian Misogyny: the author of the timeless What the Right Doesn’t Get About Elections.
Be warned, however, before you rush to click that link and wallow in the trough of what you will find there: if you think folks can’t get any nastier than the fun-loving throng at Viagraville you’re in for a very big shock. In fact tis piece is so outstandingly Conservative that the response generated frightened the courageous author into removing it (hence my link is to Google’s cached version) and closing down his site, the ironically named “Christian Men’s Defense Network” (How can anyone not love the neo-nazi styling of his title font? Although why would someone wanting to style themselves as a “defender” want to align themselves with one of the most comprehensively defeated military regimes in history – one with a leader so brave that rather than face the consequences of defeat he preferred to shoot his dog and wife before turning the gun on himself? Or are the answers to such mysteries self-evident?)
And now before closing I’d like to assure everyone devastated by the success of the Liberal Plot to prevent my appointment as Archbishop of Canterbury to do their very best to keep their chins up. Many have found that sending me a large and expensive gift by way of consolation helps with their grief, and I’d encourage each one of to prayerfully consider this as a means of helping you find solace in these sad times. Meanwhile – and since this concerns a matter of a highly confidential nature I’m not at liberty to discuss it further – I have already been approached in regard to a different appointment even more suited to a Man of My Experience. And you’d better believe when I’m the one sending sexy emails from that office those responsible for overlooking My Obvious Vocation to lead the Anglican Communion will find themselves framed quicker than you can say “Rosenberg”.
I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
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