Sunday, May 31, 2009

Guest Blogger: Bishop N.T. "Tom" Wright

While not having the privilege of knowing Father Christian personally, there was a fortunate vacancy in my diary between a engagement to address to telemarketers in Mumbai, and an invitation to preside at the opening of an envelope in Helsinki, so rather than return to Durham I was delighted to be able to help out here by standing in for a Biblical Scholar with a even larger balance in their frequent-flyer point account than my own. Although I’m better at ending every paragraph with a short rhetorical statement.

But perhaps instead you think my real forte is opening new paragraphs with a similarly succinct rhetorical question? That too is a possibility, but the real issue before us should be ‘What did Paul think?’ On one level that’s irrelevant, because what matters far more within the framework of a contemporary biblical paradigm is that people read my latest best-selling exegetical reconstruction of what I think, yet verse 12 clearly indicates we are to understand this in terms of the Deuteronomic milleau permeating first century neo-hellenism.

Paul didn’t write nearly as many books as I have. Not that it makes him any less important, you should understand, but the heraldic imperative implicit to his work draws extempore transliterators to the conundrum of post-exile Israel. Hence I begin where Romans begins – with the Gospel. Would you like me to sign that for you?

This, then, is the extant dynamic framework. Ministry begins in the comfortable end of an aeroplane, wherein the propositional sense of the initiative may be considered substantive. The Reverend Doctor Troll, and indeed, the fabric of the post-GAFCON schematic itself, understands this. I, for one am in support, albeit with palpable qualifications. Not that these can be felt in any ontological-determinative way. There’s simply no need for that.

The Ordo Salvatus has always incorporated the selling of books. Promotional tours comprise an a priori element of the existential application of this process, one we see reflected in Paul’s own journeys. Venditio iter itineris is an expression not normally encountered in Classical Latin scholarship, and which can be loosely translated as meaning “sales trip”. To do so, however, is to detract from the gravitas paramount to this vocation, the purpose of which is in turn to detract from baser obligations of the Episcopacy per se to support the clergy of my diocese in their ipso facto obligation to drag unwilling parishioners through the church door each Sunday.

Like me, Father Christian teaches the Bible. Although I believe he does so in a language people actually speak.

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Parish Announcement.

My dear wicked sinners; I must warn you all that things are likely to be a bit disrupted around here over the next week or so, as the St. Onuphrius’ Ministry Team and I are heading off on an important missionary journey to the Peri-Antarctic Islands.

Those of you who physically attend St. Onuphrius’ each Sunday are reminded that services will be continuing normaly in my absence: as usual the guards will lock everyone into their pews five minutes before starting time, and the chains will be removed again at the regular times. While the intervening period will feature neither Eucharist nor sermon, Martin (the Thurifer with Tourettes) has kindly agreed to supervise an offertory procession, and I will checking the cameras upon my return to ensure nobody slackened off in their giving. Meanwhile the girls of the Pole-Dancer’s Fellowship have prepared a very special presentation for the 10:00 am Family Service, so everyone should start thinking now about inviting any wealthy male friends or relatives along to this exciting outreach. A guest team from Brother Richthofen’s seminary, who will hopefully be accompanied by several exceedingly firm young fellows from Nashotah House, will be manning the steam room and massage tables, so anyone in need of relief afterwards is still welcome to come forward for individual “hands-on” ministry.

As for you who are part of my virtual congregation here, I can promise you're in for a very special treat. A team of guest bloggers, who while obviously no substitute for me, will be doing their very best to keep you all firmly upon the path of righteousness. Without giving anything away, I can safely guarantee you’ll all be amazed at the names who’ll be pathetically attempting to stand-in during my absence…

Please also remember me and my team in your prayers: I know the Peri-Antactic Islands sound delightful this time of year, but we certainly have a great deal of work ahead of us. Evangelical Eric, in particular, will need all his strength to pedal the generator at night so that the rest of us keep warm, and while the book I’ve just finished reading on piloting helicopters makes it all seem quite straightforward, it will still be comforting to know my hands are upheld by your intercessions in the Spirit as I fly us all from rocky outcrop to outcrop in the freezing gale-force winds.

Our initial base will be the Aurora Islands, a group of three islets upon which Bishop Quinine intends to establish the world’s southernmost Anglican outpost. All being well this will initially be declared as extra-provincial to Canterbury, but once we’ve determined a way of photo-shopping the penguins to look like people I’m confident we’ll be able to claim Provincial status in next to no time. After all, simply by throwing around a few baskets of fish before taking any pictures it will appear to be one of the fastest-growing and most populous churches in the Communion.

Even more exciting are my own plans to establish a privately owned and operated prison in this region. Run along the lines of Guantanamo, it will cater to countries unable to afford such a facility of their own, or who for reasons of political expediency would rather outsource the beating and water-boarding of those with whom they happen to disagree. After all, what better place to keep all this sort of unpleasantness hidden than at the other end of the world? And who better to operate it than a group of conservative, Bible-believing Christians?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Friday, May 29, 2009

A Priest for Our Times.

In good King Charles's golden time
When loyalty no harm meant
A zealous high churchman was I
And so I gained preferment
To teach my flock I never missed
Kings are by God appointed
And damned are those who dare resist
Or touch the Lord's annointed.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, Sir.
That whatsoever king may reign
Still I'll be the Vicar of Bray, Sir!

When Royal James possessed the crown
And popery came in fashion
The Penal Laws I hooted down
And read the Declaration
The Church of Rome I found did fit
Full well my constitution
And I had been a Jesuit
But for the Revolution.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, Sir.
That whatsoever king may reign
Still I'll be the Vicar of Bray, Sir!

When William was our King declared
To ease the nation's grievance
With this new wind about I steered
And swore to him allegiance
Old principles I did revoke
Set conscience at a distance
Passive obedience was a joke
A jest was non-resistance.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, Sir.
That whatsoever king may reign
Still I'll be the Vicar of Bray, Sir!

When Royal Anne became our Queen
Then Church of England's Glory
Another face of things was seen
And I became a Tory
Occasional conformists base
I blamed their moderation
And thought the Church in danger was
By such prevarication.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, Sir.
That whatsoever king may reign
Still I'll be the Vicar of Bray, Sir!

When George in pudding time came o'er
And moderate men looked big, Sir.
My principles I changed once more
And so became a Whig, Sir.
And thus preferment I procured
From our new faith's defender.
And almost every day abjured
The Pope and the Pretender.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, Sir.
That whatsoever king may reign
Still I'll be the Vicar of Bray, Sir!

The illustrious house of Hanover
And Protestant succession
To these I do allegiance swear
While they can keep possession
For in my faith and loyalty
I never more will falter
And George my lawful king shall be
Until the times do alter.

As I always say, before modernism and liberalism and all the other corrupting isms of this wicked present age clergymen weren't ashamed to show what ministry is really all about. To learn more about the marvelous 18th century Vicar of Bray click here.

Thursday, May 28, 2009


Joan from My Two Cents Worth has just sent in the following important public service announcement:
Here's the latest news... KKTV, Channel 11 reported on its 10 O'Clock news this evening that Don Armstrong FAILED to appear in court today for his first hearing on the criminal charges. There is a warrant out for his arrest. KKTV's website, unfortunately, does not carry the story. Stay tuned... more to come...

My advice is that anyone currently on board a flight to Lagos should think twice before handing over their credit card to the passenger next to them as part of an invitation to "find Jesus as their personal Anglican Lord & Saviour". And immigration officials around the world should look very closely at any clergyman bearing passports claiming their nationality is "Faux-Nigerian". Meanwhile, if anyone driving in Colorado Springs encounters a slow-moving motorcade they should keep clear: it's not just the local O.J. Simpson society staging a re-enactment.

Here's more:
Story now on

Here's the story...

"... and my, what long sharp teeth you have!"

“Beware of the Anglo-Catholics—they’re all sodomites with unpleasant accents.” So says one of Waugh's more facile characters in Brideshead Revisited, but all this talk of the “smells & bells” Forward in Faith crowd getting nervous about handing their future over to a schism run by Anabaptist evangelicals is really getting too much, and as the GAFCON's greatest Doctrinal Warrior I’d personally like to assure all of my dear weaker brethren that they have absolutely nothing to fear from their Biblically mature superiors.

Despite having laughed at Tractarians since Newman first thought he might look dashing in a biretta, Bible Believing Anglicans like myself actually have a lot of time for “spikies” whenever it’s politically or economically prudent to do so, and now that we need all the support we can possibly get it’s wonderfully convenient to consider them on our side. Even if they’re not authentically Christian, it’s still hard to not be impressed by any man who voluntarily risks death by incineration as a result of prancing around candles whilst clad in yards of highly inflammable man-lace.

Certainly, a movement capable of producing Priests as dedicated as Fr. Enraght SSC, or as inspiring as Fr. Lowder SSC, is not to be trusted when it comes to the bare-faced chicanery necessary to create “parallel” provinces. Yet as long as they can remain obsessed with the importance of viewing all women other than Our Lady (whom they’ll never have to encounter other than, perhaps if they’re lucky, as a vague image on a piece of toast or discarded pretzel-wrapper) as inferior beings, and can continue denying their own proud tradition of standing up for the marginalized, poor, and downright effeminate (never remind any of them of Father Stewart Headlam, whom at great personal cost befriended Oscar Wilde immediately prior to his trial and imprisonment, at a time when everyone else was dropping him like the proverbial hot potato) the candlestick-climbers can be relied upon to support GAFCON for as long as they’re needed. After which they’ll make a wonderful squeaky-toy for the Protestant Truth Society .

Not that little Bobby Duncan would ever think of doing such a thing, of course. Like our new communion members in the Reformed Episcopal Church, he’s always been famous for his Catholic tendencies – after all, he is on the board of Trinity.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

New Clothes for Dobby Ould.

House-elves are small humanoid creatures who inhabit large houses belonging to wealthy Wizarding families. They are "bound" to the family of the house, which means they do all manner of menial tasks for them until they die. House-elves are apparently very happy with this arrangement and consider it a matter of pride that they serve faithfully and do not betray their families.

Don't worry: he'll only be released from his enslavement if Lord Volder-Jensen gives him new clothes. Since I'm not his master he's happy to wear anything I send him.

Monday, May 25, 2009

"Mere wine with the fanatics..."

Sometimes my prophetic gifts amaze even myself. Just yesterday, as I mentioned, I was preparing to address the issue of the forces behind our current Glorious Global Schism being unquestionably Reformed Evangelical in nature, and then not twenty-four hours later Lapinbizarre alerts me to an arousing little cat-fight breaking out in the comments at Viagraville.

The thread in question began with a post by Jensen family-serf David Ould, in which he offered a mercifully condensed version of his fellow Sydney Diocesan house-elf Duck Thompson ‘s lengthy diatribe explaining why the Church of Scotland isn’t “authentically Christian” if it dares to determine its own affairs without first consulting him.

Now my dear sinners, I’ve mentioned Duck Thompson before: he heads an organisation called the Anglican Church League, who promote a version of evangelicalism not dissimilar to Wahhabist Islam, and which has been instrumental in giving +Sydney access to the money he's spent stirring up schism around the Communion. Yet now it seems the crowd at Viagraville have finally started realizing that people like Thompson, along with a lot of the others outside the US pushing for a new province, are about as Anglican as Pat Robertson.

Sure, little Dobby Ould weighs in to try and quench the fire with the standard Jensen line that there’s “nothing essentially non-Anglican” about redefining roles within the three-fold order of Deacons, Priests and Bishops, and introducing lay-presidency, but from the responses it doesn’t look like even the Viagravillains are silly enough to buy that one any more.

Let’s face it: if something looks like a Baptist, waddles like a Baptist, and quacks like a Baptist, it’s highly likely it indeed is a Baptist. And for a great many people in the Communion becoming a Baptist is not something they’re prepared to do – even if it reduces the risk of catching gay cooties.

It was a post at a certain Cajun Princess’s place that really got me thinking about all this: she linked to an essay by an unapologetic Catholic which really sums up the Contemporary Tractarian (is that an oxymoron or what?) dilemma: men like little Jack Iker and +Who-ever-it-is in Quincy can’t escape the fact that despite running away from the Presiding Bishop’s girl germs and the homos she refuses to persecute, they’re still about to hook up with a province that will recognize (and ordain) women Priests,

Even worse, with one created and funded by people directly opposed to Marian devotions, and who in many cases are opposed to Eucharistic veneration, incense, and just about everything else by which Anglo-Catholicism is defined. Remember, Duck Thompson is not just a Jensen-family chattel ranting on the other side of the world, he’s also a GAFCON theologian who claims liberalism was invented by Newman in Tract XC.

…and we haven’t even begun to speculate on how much fun it’s going to be when the Biblicists of the REC sit down to discuss liturgy with layman John-David Schofield.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Shut up and just keep giving.

Over at Real Anglicans the perceptive Mr. Schwarz has pointed out something which those of us at the helm of the GAFCON movement have hitherto managed to keep secret: that the glorious conservative church of the future will be an Ecclesiocracy.

Sure, Howard Ahmanson and any other Christian Reconstructionists with more money than sense like to fool themselves that they’re lubing the path to Theocracy, but as Mr. Schwarz notes, the reality won’t be God at the helm, but men in funny hats who’ll make the rules without wasting their time finding out what John & Jane in the pew think. And if one of the men in hats wants to appoint their otherwise unemployable brother, son, or wife to a choice position, then the great unwashed had better just accept it. Take a look at little Peter Jensen’s family firm if you’d like to see how ACNA will be run. Or an example nearer to home it might be worth considering: Don Armstrong and his children’s college fees…

Yet even though a few confused and pesky creatures like the one mentioned in Fred’s post might complain a bit, at the end of the day they’ll accept whatever their leaders tell them, because they’re more afraid of being caught thinking for themselves than they are of drinking whatever kool-aid their “new Reformers” serve up.

No, even though ACNA is at heart a Evangelical construct, leaning heavily towards the “Reformed” end of the spectrum (about which there’ll be more tomorrow), its brilliance lays in embracing the very best of Rome – the Vatican’s top-heavy corporate structure. Sure the biggest fish in the pond is limited to a maximum of two five-year turns in the extra-comfy chair (see Article IX (2)), after which another member of the College of Bishops is allowed a turn, but that’s about it as far as Luther’s “priesthood of all believers” is applied to administrative processes. There’s a “Provincial Council” comprised “of an equal number of bishops, clergy and lay persons, chosen by the Provincial Assembly from among its members” (Article VII (2)), but I can’t for the life of me find any mention of the size of this “Council” in either the Provisional Constitution nor the Canons. In any case, since the Council is only required to meet once a year (Article VII (7)), it's not hard to work out who’ll be holding the cookie jar.

The funniest part I've saved till last, however, and this is the bit for which I'd like to claim personal credit: the final word on any matter rests with a Provincial Tribunal "consisting of seven members, both lay and clergy, who shall be appointed by the Provincial Council on such terms and conditions as determined by canon" (Article IX) - and yet there's no draft canon presented by which these will be determined! Now if that doesn't get you laughing you're obviously not a GAFCON man. Nor, I dare say, are you ordained; but don't worry. Just keep sending in your money and we'll have no problem spending it on your behalf.

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

The Secret Colorado Conspiracy.

In the face of little Don Armstrong’s outrageous persecution it is heartening to see him and his undiscerning faithful holding fast to the GAFCON tradition of always blaming one’s own woes on others .

Having had my attention drawn to their statement by no less a source than David Virtue’s bountiful bosom, I couldn’t help but feel warm stirrings in my heart as one man’s trifling difficulties over a paltry half-million or so are reasserted as “these attempts to silence our parish’s stand for biblical truth”, thereby exposing the Presiding Bishop and her apostate liberal minions’ direct control of the Colorado criminal justice system.

It’s not well known, but there is good evidence (well actually it’s not really so good – Bishop Quinine was told by voices he heard after eating a open jar of 3 week-old salsa he found in the back of the pantry – but let’s run with it anyway) that every single traffic infringement notice in Denver is issued as a result of direct instructions received from a secret control room in the New York city Episcopal Church Center. Not only that, but another department in that same building has taken control of water temperatures in Hot Sulphur Springs, gradually lowering them as part of an ungodly plan to rename the place “Lukewarm Sulphur Springs”. And what these depraved perverts have in mind for the town of Hygiene, Boulder County is more than I’m prepared to publish in a family blog like this one.

In addition I especially like the way little Don’s temple isn’t offering an apology and consolation to the community they’ve divided through this delightfully sordid tale: it’s all about defending “our priest and ourselves from these untruths”. When combined with a nice passive-aggressive reference to “individuals with financial oversight, responsibilities, and check writing authority through the years from both churches” that makes no mention of the fact that it's not all the checks that are a problem, just the ones for large amounts made out to a certain former clergyman, the result is the most consummate act of buck-passing since Watergate. Except that in comparison to this bunch of brain-washed believers Nixon and CREEP were trustworthy.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

A New GAFCON Record!

For sheer mean-spirited smearing innuendo beyond the call of reason, logic and natural justice, for encapsulating everything that makes unbelievers want to become Conservative Christians, and for proving that Southern Baptists and Sydney Anglicans (is there a difference?) don't have a monopoly on religious stupidity, it gives me great pleasure to present...

Truly, they don't come much better. Now - has anyone ever noticed that both Osama bin Laden and Greg Griffiths have two legs? Perhaps this could be indicative of something...

Friday, May 22, 2009

Jumpin' Don Armstrong takes 20 counts.

Just to hand thanks to one of my dearly beloved sinners is the news that little layman Don Armstrong has been indicted to face trial by a Grand Jury for a meagre 20 counts of felony theft charges.

This is the kind of nit-picking by apostate liberals that really gets me angry. After all, it’s not as if the matter involved swiping hundreds of thousands of dollars or anything (alright, so it actually does, but let’s not bother with details when they’re potentially inconvenient). If you ask me this whole thing is just a trumped-up attempt to destroy the reputation of a perfectly respectable defrocked Priest. And what’s more, for a reasonable percentage of the funds in question I’d be more than happy to give evidence on layman Donald’s behalf, which would include a glowing testimonial as to the quality of his character, in addition to the fabrication of any exonerating material the defence counsel may deem necessary.

Speaking of which, I do hope the man those of us in GAFCON’s upper echelons call “the Colorado Cash-Converter” gets himself better lawyers than the ones who failed to help him steal his former parish buildings. I know that since Johnnie Cochran left us to try his schtick on a higher Court things haven’t looked the same for the legally-misunderstood, but since little Don has “allegedly” swiped more than half a million there shouldn’t be much problem affording some other fancy mouthpiece: my recommendation is that he gets someone with plenty of mafia experience - that way they won't feel uncomfortable when any of little Don's CANA friends drop around for a play-date. And just to be on the safe side he should make certain they run with the Chewbacca Defense.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Who patted her backside?

And do you think anyone's face got slapped afterwards?

(From last November's inaugural synod of ANiC - who must never be confused with ANIC (the Australian Nut Industry Council), despite their obvious common interest.

“Denial ain't just a river in Egypt.”*

Say “Egypt”, and lesser Christians than myself think of the Sphinx, the Pyramids, and pursued Israelites, but I think of Anglicanism. Think of “Jerusalem”, and the minds of some “believers” conjure images of Solomon’s Temple, while my visions are of the whole thing being torn down and replaced with a really nice carpark and Biblical Ministry Center complete with a tasteful Eldorado Stone veneer. Say “the Horn of Africa” and Brother Richthofen thinks of an oiled and muscular Numidian who dances at a nightclub quite close to his seminary, but my thoughts are only of the Primate with the most easily misspelled name in the Communion’s history – the Most Rev. Dr. Anis.

That’s because ++ Anis, who for reasons I’ve never understood prefers to be addressed as Mouneer, represents one of the Church’s most dynamic regions. Peaceful and just crawling with Episcopally-minded Protestants, the importance of The Province of Jerusalem and the Middle East, like the Diocese of the Falkland Islands, or Lusitania (which I’d always thought sunk in 1915 , but I dare say things move slowly in Lambeth), simply cannot be underestimated when it comes to framing church policy. After all, if the dozens of people comprising their membership can’t push around 2.2 million Episcopalians who can?

Which is why I’ve been so delighted to read ++Mouneer’s Reflections on the recent AAC meeting. It’s a fascinating document, the opening bubbling over with enthusiasm as he recalls that “With hope and anticipation we went to Jamaica”.

As well he might: there aren’t many who wouldn’t be filled with hope and anticipation at the thought of an all-expenses-paid holiday away from a place where evangelism is illegal and you never know whether the nut next to you on the bus is just muttering because he doesn't like your aftershave, or because he's about to explode.

Yet the tone quickly changes: “The Anglican Covenant was the most important item in our agenda… the only hope left to keep the unity of the Anglican Communion.” While I’ve said a billion times that there’s nothing wrong with hyperbole, there’s a point where things really can be taken too far. Especially when there’s always the possibility that things could also be saved by a few ambitious clergy simply choosing to give their ordination vows priority over their homophobia. Admittedly that’s not as much fun as all the attention one gets when carrying on like a few cooties will kill you, and as little Martyn Minns will testify, keeping one’s promises makes it a lot harder to get a purple shirt; but there’s no denying it’s another option.

What’s more singing the praises of something your fellow conservatives are desperate to avoid is probably not the brightest way of ingratiating oneself with the fellows who have the really big frequent-flyers accounts. Yes, I know all the wicked apostate liberals are praying the Covenant is never ratified, but there's no doubt the GAFCON Primates Council are praying the same thing. Little Pete Jensen knows that if it ever comes into force he can say good-bye to lay presidency, and even worse his parishes might well find themselves forced to acknowledge Anglican fringe-practices like Eucharistic Celebration or Infant Baptism. Meanwhile ++Akinola, Venalballs & Whatshisname-from-Kenya all know that their border-hopping will be a thing of the past – and then who’ll pay for them to spend as much time as possible away from their homes?

Still, there’s no denying ++ Anis has talent: “I was amazed by the strong and clear stand of Archbishop Rowan…”. That line might have cost him any hope of ever getting a few first-class tickets from the Gafconeers, but there’s certainly no denying it had me rolling around the floor, laughing till my sides ached.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

*Mark Twain

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Canada - "A Mari Usque Ad Mare" (From See to See)

News has just come to hand that the wild & crazy conservatives in Canada have proved themselves so biblically orthodox they’re unable to turn the other cheek in mediation, and so are now rushing head first into court in accordance with 1 Corinthians 6:1-8, which St. Paul obviously only intended to understood figuratively, unlike his teaching on women, homosexuality, and making vows which involve shaving one’s head.

Naturally I think this is wonderful news, since there can be no doubt millions of Canadians will be screaming to learn more about Jesus as a result of the enormous legal bills which will undoubtedly ensue. Even so, to be perfectly honest all this does make me just a little nervous about my brethren's future:

Maybe it’s because the press release claims ANiC (whom despite the obvious similarities are not to be confused with ANIC - the Australian National Insect Collection) numbers 29 parishes, three bishops, 73 priests and deacons and 3500 Canadians. Do the sums: that’s 76 clergy for every 46-and-a-bit parishioners. Which means if clergy aren’t forced to provide for their families by putting to sea in search of whatever it is people catch now that the cod are all gone, every man, woman, child and intellectually-disabled pensioner must put an absolute minimum of $25 each in the plate every Sunday. Without fail, and that still won’t cover the cost of premises, ancillary staff, or tickets to vital ministry conferences in warm and sunny places during winter. Nor does it pay for regular visits from Bishop Venalballs, nor the web site they only sporadically update, nor the internet connections from which they post whiney press releases.

Not that a detail like this will concern David Short and Jimmy Packer, two of the chief antagonists. As author of the ground-breaking treatise on sleep disorders, Only Evangelicals Know God, the latter has probably over the years extracted more money from conservatives than Lourdes has from little old Italian ladies in black stockings, so it’s not as if he’s got anything to worry about. Meanwhile my prediction (and remember: you heard it from me first!) is that the former is already preparing to high-tail it out of the mess he’s helped create, and seriously expects to slide into little Peter Jensen’s safari suit - but that particular story can wait until another bed time…

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Monday, May 18, 2009

A Parenthesis (It Ain't So Pt.4)

Lest anyone have jumped to the wrong conclusion after reading my recent homilies concerning what those in the know are calling “the ACNA Delusion”, let me state once and for all that I am 100% committed to the idea of parallel Provinces everywhere. Indeed, my personal belief is that Provinces are like cocktail parasols – one simply can’t have too many of them.

Indeed, often on a Sunday afternoon when Bishop Quinine has consumed his 37th Strawberry Daiquiri and raucously demanding yet another, we give him a glass containing nothing but a little ice and cocktail parasols, and he invariably settles down for hours, twirling the little umbrellas in his mouth and singing Faith of our Fathers. Which, I’ve always suspected, is something that would work equally well for little layman Jack Iker - although I dare say his retinue might prefer him to sing an Andrews Sisters medley.

Yet, as anyone who’s ever tried to bank one of my checks understands; I am at heart a pragmatist. Heaven knows I love little layman Robert Duncan like a skin disorder, but when clergy aren’t realistic about their chances of getting away with something you can be sure they’ll end up in the kind of mess little Matt Kennedy is currently trying to scrape off his shoes. For my own part I’ve tacitly aligned St. Onuphrius’ with just about everything that doesn’t involve branding or genital mutilation (such as Sydney, for example), but until it’s certain that ++Canterbury will turn his back on the one group who’ve been supporting him where it matters most the only thing we’re contemplating running up the flagpole is our Curate.

After all, even some of my weaker brethren are beginning to let reality intrude: a certain Baptist with years (well two, to be precise) of parish ministry and dubious doctorate has deigned to post a piece from CANA “bishop” David Anderson which, in a few brief coherent and intelligent moments, shows he too has been paying close attention to my words. I dare say if the lad applies himself he might even one day amount to something.

Although then again, I not sure even we’ll have enough little parasols if that happens.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Bananas don’t grow on trees (It Ain’t So Pt. 3).

Contrary to what many believe, life in the big bed at Lambeth is more than just one long game of pup-tent. No matter how luxuriantly one’s beard and eyebrows might grow, the cold hard facts of mammon remain. And the truth is that the feeding and maintenance of Primates doesn’t come cheaply.

The expenses don’t just come flooding in when all the gang brings their underlings around for the big sleep-over every ten years, there’s also the tab for all the other play-dates. Nor are we just talking about accommodation and cornflakes for everyone and their retinues; from communications to coloring-books (the evangelicals need something to keep them entertained when the conversation turns adult), there’s a thousand-and-one costs that all add up. I’ll bet that during the past Lambeth alone several cheeky lads-in-purple managed to run up charges large enough to make Donald Trump stammer (and we’re talking about someone who can afford to keep Miss California in breasts nature never intended here) while indulging in a little phone-indaba with sweet and lovely young things who charge by the minute.

Then there’s just the everyday cost of keeping track of all 38 big monkeys: each has their own special set of issues, questions and general quirks that all need to be monitored: and just if you think keeping up with your daily blogroll is hard work, just imagine what it would be like if you needed advice from a canon lawyer before leaving a comment on that post your friend has made about a really funny piece of toast with the Virgin Mary (or is it a walrus and a sexually aroused pelican?) mysteriously burned into one side.

No, provinces don’t only create work, they create expense. Some of the money for this cost comes from the Provinces that comprise the Communion – and three guesses which one is the biggest donor?

Ok, anyone who suggested Archbishop Kolini’s Province of Rwanda – we have people who are ready to pray for you. Archbishop Venalballs and the southern Cone? Ask the evangelicals nicely and I’m sure they’ll share the colored pencils with you. Little Stephen Than Myint Oo from Burma? I don’t think so – he’s currently much too busy cowardly not saying anything in defence of Aung San Suu Kyi to worry about how ++Rowan puts marmalade on the table.

Those of you who answered the wicked godless apostate liberal equality-loving ECUSA - you’re right! So now can anyone please give one logical reason why any Archbishop of Canterbury would give their assent to a split which could effectively rip the carpet out from under Canterbury’s biggest underwriter? Doing so would surely stand as incontrovertible proof that the Grand Tufti has lost not only his marbles, but also his ancient Celtic dominos and the charming cut-glass peep stones I sold him while pretending to channel the spirit of Joseph Smith. Which in itself proves he might be silly – but not that silly.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Friday, May 15, 2009

ACNA's professional: Root.

Out of special consideration for the appallingly vulgar sense of humour possessed by Australians, New Zealanders, and young men in various working-class parts of Belfast, Monkey-Designate Duncan has announced the appointment of his sect’s first Chief Operating Officer: Brad B. Root.

It appears his primary task will be raising money which I fear may prove harder (you lot down there – Stop laughing!) than he anticipated, given even the delightfully supine Sydney synod will find it difficult to accept little Pete giving money for a Root (I wont warn you all again!)

Even so, all reports of this Root are that he is indeed very good (You’ve heard me!), and I for one can’t begin to say how promising it is to learn ACNA is financially Rooted (ENOUGH!).

I’m Father Christian and I’m ashamed of some of the people who visit here.

It Ain’t So (Pt.2)

Provinces are like potato chips: open the pack and everyone wants one. ++Rowan may be more interested in translating the unwritten works of Dostoevsky than he is in knowing what day it is, but he’s still sufficiently compos mentis to know that recognizing a new North American province won’t get him the good night’s sleep he obviously needs.

Sure saying little Bobby Duncan's show is something more than just another sect will give the world a very happy pair of eyebrows in Pittsburgh, but – and this probably isn’t something that the Viagravillains understand too well (global geography not being a high priority on the home-schooling agenda) - there’s more to the Communion than just layman Duncan’s ambitions for a really big hat. If there's one thing not written in ancient Welsh that ++Cantaur really does understand it's this: giving ACNA what they want will only put every other wingnut in the Communion on a plane to Lambeth in the hope that they’ll also get their own “parallel” piece of turf.

Take the Canadians, for example: how long are their schismatics going to be happy groaning under the cultural oppression of a U.S. province? And while the wild and crazy guys at St. Timothy’s Anglican Bible Church in Montreal seem even less Francophone than I am (and the only French I know involves kissing and letters), how long will it be before the few Quebecois silly enough to get mixed up in this start chafing at their U.S. Bishop's mono-lingual yoke?

Or what about the Diocese of Sydney? Given that the rest of their country views them in much the same way as you view that dirty old uncle who always gets drunk and exposes himself at Christmas, why shouldn’t little Peter Jensen have his own Province? After all, he’s on the GAFCON Primate’s Council, and ++Cantaur would only be giving assent to something little Pete’s family and serfs have believed for years...

Then there’s the Church of England in South Africa. Having left the Communion in 1938, they promptly spent the next 71 years trying to get back in – a endeavor somewhat hindered in recent years by the congruent burden of trying to convince themselves that they never supported apartheid, it just “... was the practice as a result of language, cultural and geographic differences.” Why can’t they come in as a parallel province to the troublemakers responsible for Bishop Tutu? Even someone silly enough to become the Archbishop of Canterbury knows that if North America gets the nod it’s a certainty Frank Retief will be peskier than a Jehovah’s Witness at the blood bank.

For that matter, what about me? “The Province of Ichabod Springs” has a lovely ring, and what better gift to posterity than to go down in history as their Founding Primate/ I can already picture the fountain constructed in my honour: a understated rococo piece with urinating cherubim and the Archangel Gabriel kneeling down in homage before me. Or is that too much like one Bobby Duncan’s dreaming of?

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Father C. Says It Ain’t So. (Part 1)

In the comments to yesterday’s post someone thoughtfully posted a link to a very silly newsletter published by someone in Wisconsin who’s clearly spent waaayyyy too long trapped in their cabin this past winter.

Now I realize we do indeed find ourselves in alarming times, but let's not forget that in any other spiritual climate people would be as dismissive of the claims in this amusing tract as folks were when little Jimmy Dees ran off to found his Anglican Orthodox church in 1967. Sure, this earth-shaking event may have led to the foundation of world-famous one-parish ministry in Fiji - but let’s face it: you’ve probably never lost sleep worrying that this astonishingly renowned movement of the Spirit is going destroy the church into which you were called. Nor, I dare say, you haven’t given the Church of England (Continuing) any thought since the fuss at their inception in 1994. Still, don’t feel bad about it; despite their catchy name nobody else has either. Meanwhile let’s not forget the tremendous ramifications of the Free of Church of England’s departure in 1844. Although that’s probably been a little harder to appreciate given their own internal division – the The Evangelical Connexion
of the Free Church of England otherwise called The Reformed Episcopal Church
(try squeezing that into the little space after “Religion” next time there’s a census). Nor have we considered 1783, when The Countess of Huntingdon's Connexion left. And no, that's not somewhere frequented by upper-class English politicians craving to be spanked by matrons in pantaloons; it's a church, and its founders once thought it would soon supersede the apostate abomination of Anglicanism from which loyalty to the truths of Scripture forced them to depart.

My dear sinners, these cataclysmic departures in the Anglicanism’s past not withstanding, if nothing else I ever teach you penetrates the miasma of your spirit, then at least may this gem of truth bring a sparkle to the darkness of your ignorance: there may well one day be a 39th Province, but it’s not going to be North America, and it’s never going to be presided over by little layman Bobby Duncan.

Not now, not soon, not ever.

Certainly countless enthusiastic types who really shouldn’t be allowed near desktop-publishing software will produce mountains of .pdf files to the contrary, in which they will make ever-increasingly fabulous claims about their “Primate-elect” being on the brink of Lambeth recognition, but let me once again assure you: they're wasting their time.

How do I know this, I hear you ask? The short answer, which I give to my parishioners, is that God told me. Yet for you, my beloved virtual-Catechists, I intend to spend the next few days explaining my reasons in more detail – after all, do you think if God really did tell me the future I’d waste my time pestering Him about the Communion when He could save me the hours I have to spend each week studying the form guide and doping horses?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Finding You in Scripture.

One of my newest Facebook friends recently gently noted that I frequently – but not always - spell words such as “honour” with a “u”. Others have also made mention of this, and the usual assumption is that it provides some indication of my origins.

Which could not be further from the truth: because I am a man of righteousness I spell “honour” the way God spells it in His Word. Let’s face it, if Jesus had wanted to say “all men should h-o-n-o-r the Son” He would have, but it’s quite obvious that men are called to h-o-n-o-u-r Him. Women, on the other hand, appear free to exercise either option - but for men the matter's clear cut.

I like to think of it this way: “The Bible puts You in Honour!” Without the Bible we have no honour, and were the Holy Scriptures not crucified on our behalf we could have no right to condemn everyone with whom we disagree as being without honour. Through the Word we are raised to be part of God’s honour, and He spells the word in such a way as to remind us of how we (well those like me, at any rate) are better than everyone else.

As a word of warning, however, the Bible also spells “Color” with “u” – which is probably not something to make a fuss about if you’d like to keep the offerings coming in from conservatives in places like Virginia. Having a little you in color is all very well if they think nobody’s looking, but never try mentioning that sort of thing in the sermon if you’d like to live to preach another Sunday. Remember, even Thomas Jefferson was careful to keep some Biblical insights to himself, and don’t for a moment ever think that today’s biggest donors in the parish are any different.

And now if you were paying careful attention you’ll remember that my opening paragraph mentioned I don’t always spell “honor” with a “u”. That’s because, like me, the Bible also likes to play both sides of the field.Leviticus 19:15 spells it without: a fascinating exception since the second part of verse provides the foundation upon which the GAFCON movement is built: “…in righteousness shalt thou judge thy neighbour”.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Bad Bishop, Nwosu.

My Great-aunt Jezebel Troll died while I was still an infant, but she was in her day renowned as a trainer of canines. More dog-shrieker than a dog-whisperer, Great-aunt Jezebel’s technique revolved around treating her charges with extreme and gratuitous cruelty, and had she survived after her own animals managed to catch her unawares there’s no doubt the name of Jezebel Troll would today be on everyone’s lips, instead of just upon those of the noble beasts whom devoured her vital organs.

As my mother had recently been convicted of practicing medicine without a licence (how much training does a person really need to transplant monkey glands?) and was facing a substantial prison sentence (it was the third time she'd been caught, and the judge couldn't understand that nobody can expect every patient to survive), along with the fact that most people who’d seen Great-aunt Jezebel in action felt the dogs probably deserved a chance to get their own back, it was decided by my family to keep the circumstances of her demise a secret (people were told she’d been sold to a band of white-slave traders) so as to prevent the authorities from acting against the innocent creatures responsible. This also solved the problem of who would care for me, the family's nascent Doctrinal Warrior, since I was then tossed to the pack to be raised in the wilds of our missionary compound.

It was indeed a marvellous childhood, even if it was not until my mid-teens that I felt truly comfortable not walking on all fours. Suckled by the Malamute-Dachshund cross alleged to have consumed Great-aunt Jezebel’s liver, I soon learned the ways of a mistreated and psychotic pack – knowledge that continues to stand me in good stead as Spiritual Leader of the global movement that is GAFCON.

That's is why I think everyone’s just being a little too hasty in condemning Bishop Ikechi Nwosu for his outrageous menacing of Father Colin Coward from Changing Attitude. Firstly, unlike any canines, felines, or most other members of the animal kingdom lacking six legs and an exoskeleton, the Nigerian Prelate was obviously not blessed at birth with qualities such as intelligence, perception, or integrity (technically speaking it’s probably not even accurate to describe him as “sentient”), and it’s hardly fair to expect much from anyone who considers “rat-cunning” a primary Christian virtue.

More important than this, however, is that like the four-legged family by whom I was raised, Bishop Nwosu has undoubtedly endured years of mistreatment and punishment at the hands of his trainer, in this case the one and only Big Pete Akinola – in comparison to whom Great-aunt Jezebel Troll was a beacon of sweetness and light. Stop and contemplate for one moment, my dear sinners, the misery, bullying, and torment endured by Big Pete’s underlings on their shaky path to the top. The endless threats and intimidation, the years of fear and insecurity, the constant worry that the next day might be your kneecaps’ last. Alright, so it's nothing like being a homosexual in Lagos, but you'd better believe it's a far from pleasant.

None of which excuses anything, of course, but it does help one understand the apparent irrationality of little Nwosu’s outburst. After a lifetime of nothing but the whip and a steel-capped boot, along came Canon Sugden with a pocket full of treats, a clicker-trainer, and a firm-but-gentle voice: of course the battered Bishop was eating out of Sugger’s hands only minutes into their first session.

Father Colin’s photograph shows the relationship for what it is: a paternal and patient (but oh-so exacting) master towering over his slow-but-desperate-to-please charge, who is desperately struggling to learn his lines for a bit-part in the much larger performance being choreographed by another important foreigner with a cellphone. Nwosu has every right to feel embarrassed by what is revealed, and it’s hardly surprising he so desperately wanted the photograph destroyed. Unlike Great-aunt Jezebel’s dogs he’s not bright enough to find a real solution to his problem.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Yeah Baby!!!

Naturally I was invited to address little Chuck Murphy's AMiA Winter Conference, but unfortunately I'd already arranged to stay home and wash my hair.

Still, members of the St. Onuphrius' ministry team attended on my behalf, and it's obvious the faux-Rwandan boys really enjoyed the presentation from Consuella's Pole-dancers Fellowship.

I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

+Rochester clutches at Straws.

When little Bishop Wizzer-Wally of Rochester recently announced his intention to retire I knew it wouldn’t be the last we’d hear of him. Men as ambitious as he is don’t quietly drift off into a long good night of sweet sherry and gentle meandering walks, and neither do Bishops who describe themselves as “Catholic and Evangelical” (which everyone knows is clergy-speak for “I’ll run with whoever’s prepared to offer me the most”) ever lose their taste for the limelight.

Clearly it took him a while to realize that if the public-school boys at the top of the British church’s totem pole were prepared to give the nod to ++Rowan ahead of him then Bozo the Wonder chimp could just as easily have beaten him to the bed with the fluffiest pillows in Lambeth, and the local Jehovah’s Witnesses could have fielded a successful candidate before he’d be entrusted with the keys to Canterbury, but when the awful truth finally dawned +Wally-whizzer didn’t waste a minute more before calling a press conference to tell the world he was quitting “to turn his attention to working with the persecuted church”.

Since no clarification was made as to which members of the persecuted church stood to benefit from +Willy-Wazzer’s help, people naturally started speculate he was entertaining aspirations of becoming “Mr. Gafcon” or “Lord FOCA” (or whatever acronym is currently in fashion). Not that anyone could take that much more seriously than his earlier delusion that the stiffest-upper-lips in England would have risked the chance of someone holding a Pakistani passport conducting the funerals of their dearest, wealthiest, and most inbred. In the first place, as an outspoken supporter of women’s ordination, +Whizzy-Waller is considered an out-and-out liberal by little Peter Jensen and Big Pete Akinola (when in one of his more cognitive moods), and, more importantly, there’s a whole queue of ambitious men hoping for that position – not a few of whom can promise to bring much more of Howard Ahmanson’s sweaty money to the table than anyone from the beautiful English South-East could hope to ever wave around.

Consequently it appears +Where’s-a-Wally has started fishing around in the Tiber again. Rupert Murdoch’s religious Tinkerbell, Ruth Gledhill (c’mon Ruth – you’ve got to admit that’s a nicer epithet than the Viagravillains’ “instrument of Satan”) reports that at a recent talkfest organized by the Oxford Newman Society, the unabashed Evangelical declared that “Anglicans must look to the Pope”.

As a Christian I can’t deny my initial reaction was one of shock, but after reading the piece, and viewing an interview to which Ruth links (clearly it’s only courteous to give your source credit when he’s a dashing young Oxford organist who’s accent simply oozes money, unlike when you pinch stories from some other people), I’ve come to see +Willy-Wear has a point. For too long Anglicans around the world have had to endure a leader who looks like Catweazle, or a member of Jethro Tull. It’s high time we went for a different image, and gathered around someone who reminds us all of Uncle Fester.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Carrie Prejean - A Biblical Christian's Perspective.

With all the fuss that apostate ‘equal-rights’ types have been making about little Carrie Prejean and the wonderful way she demonstrated that if one starts conditioning children early enough to consider crass bigotry a perfectly acceptable part of “family values” they can be trusted to mindlessly spew forth bile throughout adulthood, irrespective of the appropriateness of the circumstances, one important fact has been overlooked: Beauty Pagents, from Miss America to the Penthouse Pet Playoff, to Ichabod Spring’s own Mr. Leatherverse, have always been purely about unadulterated heterosexuality.

That’s right; Gay Culture has never played any part whatsoever in these important showcases of talent, poise and personality. Take a look at this clip of Bert Parks performing in the 1976 Miss America telecast and you’ll know exactly what I mean:

See those dancers at the back? Anyone suggesting there’s anything not straight about them might as well try and tell me there’s something gay about Elton John. Or Liberace.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Things people say after first visiting a church.*

  • “The nasty lukewarm coffee they begrudgingly gave us after the service showed they really care.”

  • “I wish the sermon had continued for another 40 minutes.”

  • “The way the sidesman tried to peer down my blouse made me feel really comfortable.”

  • “If only more Ministers had racked up as many frequent-flyer points as him I’m sure everyone would go to church.”

  • “It would be so rewarding to become a part of all this in-fighting.”

  • “We liked the way the regulars kept staring at us.”

  • “Just because the Youth Ministry Leader kept wanting to touch our children is no reason to not trust him.”

  • “Asking ‘Didn’t you once pose for Hustler?’ seemed a perfectly normal way for the Vicar to start a conversation.”

  • “That the Minister’s wife kept bursting into tears for no apparent reason is hardly reason to think anything might be wrong.”

  • “Next time we’ll leave a bigger offering if they treat us more rudely.”

  • “It’s so inspiring to hear someone with no musical ability sing ‘Shine Jesus, Shine’ to the accompaniment of an untuned guitar.”

    *Collated in the course of my many years experience, research, and observation.

    I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
  • Thursday, May 7, 2009

    The Ichabod Springs Covenant (The Sun also Rises).

    Here in Ichabod Springs, like many places around the world, the Sun arises each morning at a different time to that of the day before. In winter it’s later, and in summer earlier, and the only constant is that it’s always changing.

    Some years ago this became a source of considerable agitation to our community, and a series of meetings held to determine a fixed hour at which dawn would break, irrespective of the season. A simple enough process, you might well think, but believe me, my dear sinners, this is when the fighting really started.

    Some wanted sunrise to occur early, so they could enjoy an early morning nude frolic in the town parks beneath the warming rays, while others demanded the appointed time be set quite late, so as to extend the time in which they could enjoy peeping through people’s bathroom windows under the cover of darkness. As might be expected, each side was utterly convinced the other was wrong, and acting in contravention of God’s revealed order and purpose.

    Naturally I expressed my own vociferous opinion, and was in the process of gently breaking the legs of several of my severely mistaken opponents when something knocked me flat on the ground.

    And no, my dear sinners, it wasn’t a mistress of the local councillor I’d just maimed: what had happened was that I remembered my Vocation as a Priest meant my job is to get people into Church, minister to them spiritually, and encourage them to fill the offertory plates. Irrespective of what they believed concerning the correct moment at which the Sun should rise - my job was to be their Vicar!

    Now I’d be lying if I told you this didn’t hit me like a bolt from the blue, since I was having such a wonderful time correcting those whose foolish notions contradicted with my own, but there could be no denying it: I had to leave the fray and get on with nurturing and growing the Church – and all those in it - with which I had been entrusted. That was my job, and to do anything else was nothing short of disobedience and sin.

    The rest, as they say, is history. Eventually our community decided to sign a Covenant agreeing on a particular hour and minute, and after a good deal more quarrelling (from which my faithfulness regrettably prevented me from participating) that time was determined, and everyone (with varying degrees of willingness) signed the thing.

    The following morning the sun rose in shameless disobedience of the appointed time, and the following day it rose at a different time again. And so on.

    People quarrelled some more, expressed their outrage, and gradually, over time, gave up and begun fighting about something else. Meanwhile I worked hard at the task before me, and today the Spires of St. Onuphrius’ stand tall in the sunrise – irrespective of when that might happen on any given morning.

    Were the Grand Tufti and his retinue to visit Ichabod Springs (perish the thought!) I can’t help thinking they might learn something with respect to their current idiocy concerning a Convenant and people who love and live the way God has obviously made them to be.

    You see, it doesn’t matter what people sign, or force others to sign: God will still call people in blatant contravention of any documentation. Love will still burst forth where it shouldn’t, and human sexuality will continue to appear in as many variations as there are sunrises. Sure we can produce Covenants declaring what should happen, but I’ll happily accept any wager you might care to make that God won’t be bound by them. God never has.

    So - and I write this as merely a humble parish Priest who happens to be the wisest and most authoritative teacher in Christendom – it’s time for everyone, from the Grand Tufti down, to accept the completely obvious and get on with the task of caring for those whom God has brought into our family, encouraging Vocations wherever the Sprit may choose to have given them, and enthroning as Bishops those whom Christ has called to pastor the Pastors. Regardless of how fascinating we find the subject, we’ve all spent far too long obsessing about genitals and what people may or may not do with them, and not enough time serving the hearts, minds and souls to which those genitals are more-or-less attached.

    Or to put it more simply: no matter what gets decided on ++Rowan’s dreadlock holiday – nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to change. Those whom God loves simply won’t go away.

    I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

    Nigerian Banking: One Client at a Time.

    Martyn Minns - Depositing in Nigeria
    With my vision, and Big Pete Akinola's knowledge of banking behind him, little Martyn has the perfect features to be the face of the future of Western banking.

    I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

    Wednesday, May 6, 2009

    Fearless in Fresno

    Having prayed that God’s will would be done, and having just as repeatedly assured everyone that God was on their side, the legal-eagle Schismatics of San Joaquin appear to have decided that in Fresno the Lord’s omnipotence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and have announced that they’re taking their “We is allowed to rob them liberals” routine to the United States Supreme Court.

    What they’re keeping quieter about is the fact that it’s far from certain the Supreme Court will decide to hear their plaintive cries, but as I’m always trying to teach you, my dear evil-doers, a true Gafconeer never lets the cold waters of reality dilute a good batch of home-brew. That’s why our little Layman Schofield and his friends have bounced back in the face of this obvious slap in the face from God with a headline that truly epitomizes the Spirit of Half-Truth that makes me so proud to be the Communion’s leading Reasserter: “St James Church Legal Battle Moving to United States Supreme Court”

    Now I fully understand that most of you lack my distinguished personal and family history of legal entanglement, so the na├»ve optimism of this proclamation might pass unnoticed. Thus let me once again guide you from darkness into light: at present the case is only “moving” to the Supreme court in the sense that Layman Schofield et al have announced their intention to complete the appropriate paperwork, and pay the requisite filing fee, so as to request the Court consider whether or not the Learned Bench is interested in joining our communal wallow in the Communion’s mire.

    This process will hardly be conducted at warp speed – the earliest anyone can expect to know if the case will be heard will be late October. If – and it’s a very big if – they decide to proceed it could be years till there’s any decision.

    By which time who knows what else will have happened: young Fr. Matt and Bubba could have seen the folly of their belligerent past and settled down into gentle and peaceful domestic harmony (speaking of which: don’t you just love the way certain Viagravillains are livid at my suggestion something untoward might happen to their poster-boy while he’s in the big house – but not one of them has expressed any doubt as to the likelihood of him heading there!), and little John-David Schofield might well be have come out of hiding in attempt to negotiate a truce. After all, if he can find somewhere to hide anything is possible.

    I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

    Tuesday, May 5, 2009

    Turn over a rock in the swamp when you're hungry...

    ... and you'll find a Diet of Worms.

    Which is surprising, since in my experience Viagravillains are rarely comfortable discussing the consumption of their worms in public. That might well be why so few of them dare comment here...

    And incidentally, my dear pseudo-Aleandro, since we all know you'll be reading this as soon as it's posted would you mind sharing with us all why you're so convinced anyone was joking? Courts rarely joke when people get caught attempting to fraudulently remove assets not their own - nor do the cell-mates of firm young fresh-faced former clergy. And neither do - as our curly-haired young friend may soon discover - conservatives who've spent years banging the "get-tough-on-crime" drum without ever stopping to consider what routinely happens in the under-resourced over-crowded prisons they've so enthusiastically helped create.

    I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

    Between Father Christian and Google...

    ...there's an answer to everyone's problem.

    Monday, May 4, 2009

    If you go down to the bank today…

    …you’re sure for a big surprise.

    The heading my esteemed commenter gave this is “From the ‘You Couldn't Make Up This Headline If You Tried’ department ” and there’s nothing even I can add to improve it:

    Akinola Decries Use of Female Bankers to Attract Deposits

    "Many commercial banks today have turned their single female employees to corporate and official prostitutes, while married ones have become adulterous."

    Read it for yourself (the link takes ages to open) and you’ll understand why Mrs. Minns gets upset when her husband says “I’ve just got to drop by the bank on my way home”.

    And to think the best thing I’ve ever been able to get from my bank is an letter complaining I’d exceeded my credit card limit and a few pens I stole when nobody was looking…

    I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

    Little Pete Jensen - Just What Ireland Needs.

    It there’s one country on earth that could benefit from a little religious vitriol, it’s Ireland. From the liberal Tractarian Ian Paisley, who has spent decades working closely with a group of shape-shifting Jesuits for global Roman domination, to the Battle of the Boyne in 1690; Ireland is unquestionably a country that’s shamefully failed to step up to the mark when the call has been made for Christians to participate in a little good old sectarian violence.

    Thankfully little Peter Jensen has decided to do something about this, and has been addressing crowds (well about 300 – so not as many as drop by here on a slow day, but these days numbers like that are pretty good for most Gafconeers – and that’s a whole lot more than he can drag out of bed on a Sunday morning in his own diocese) in the heartland of global Christian tolerance: Ulster.

    After all, in a place where Romans and Protestants have been so close for centuries, what better way of getting Christians to participate in a little intra-faith hatred than by stirring up Anglicans to start fighting each other. And who can think of a place that needs schism more than Northern Ireland? Certainly not little Pete, that’s for sure.

    Naturally he begun his talk by explaining the current division in the Anglican communion has nothing to do with homosexuality, but is instead actually all about respect for the Scriptures, after which he explained the enthronement of +Gene Robinson was the greatest evil to have ever occurred in the history of Christianity before speaking at length about different aspects of sex: in particular a film with which he currently seems a little obsessed, featuring something about a woman with 30 sexual partners.

    Now I’ve told little Pete before that Gang Bang Babe probably isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but he really isn't much good at understanding there’s a time and a place for everything: in his case the place is on the other side of the world, where there must surely be someone left unconverted in the little patch of ground with which Our Lord has entrusted him, although given it’s just about winter in Australia, while Ireland is so indescribably beautiful in the spring it’s hard to fault his timing. Now if only he’ll take my advice while he’s there, and spend some time explaining the evils of Roman Catholicism to a few gentlemen from this organization - I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hear his bile, and with any luck their response could be quite explosive.

    I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

    Sunday, May 3, 2009

    Truth is stranger than fiction.

    When it comes to telling the truth GAFCON leaders are generally considered as on the same level as The Cash Box and other payday lenders, but what I am about to tell you, my dear sinners, is absolutely true. So please try and forget this is was written by a Bible-Believing Doctrinal Warrior and leader of the fight for Global Orthodoxy, and instead just try to read it as if it came from someone who can be trusted.

    That’s because a recent review of my readership statistics, undertaken in an effort to learn more about where you all live and how valuable your demographic data will be as part of a campaign to convince the Hellmann’s Corporation to provide me with free mayonnaise for life, has produced two extremely startling discoveries.

    The first is astonishing: this blog receives more hits from upstate New York than from any other individual part of the planet. Not that these many of these visitors leave comments, mind you: but come they do, and in such numbers that it’s more likely than not that while you’re reading this someone in upstate New York is reading it at the same time.

    What’s more, these visitors nearly all come from the same town - have you guessed which one yet? That’s right – Binghamton! Home of little Matt Kennedy and his innumerable offspring, and the place to which sweet Hostillium was sentenced to a life of hard labor in return for having deigned to be his consort.

    Now as I already told you, I am not making this up!!! I receive more hits from Binghamton than from any other regional city in the world! Certainly, a good jab at one of the Jensen’s of their serfs always get a lift in the number of folks in their dictatorship permitted to own a computer – but even these spikes in traffic don’t even begin to come close to the regular parade of callers from the faux-Kenyan epicenter of pseudo-orthodoxy we all know and love.

    The second and more astonishing discovery is even stranger – and again I swear I’m not making this up: the past month has seen a disconcerting number of pilgrims arrive here as a result of having conducted a Google search for the phrase “Lagos proctologist”.

    I’ve run the search myself, and can’t for the life of me find any reference to GAFCON on any of the resulting 10+ pages – but someone has. Nor do I recall ever having mentioned anything to do with that particular aspect of Big Pete Akinola’s domain: even I have standards. Yet for reasons entirely unexplained people keep coming here as part of their quest for rectal relief in Nigeria…

    Now the graphs don’t show where these people in search of alimentary enlightenment are arriving from, but given the number of hits from you-know-where, probability suggests that they’re not all in Madagascar or Helsinki. Which means it's likely that at least one of them is looking for something they just can’t learn at The Good Shepherd.

    After all: given how the future looks for little Matt Kennedy, especially in the light of his lawyers’ track record, who can blame him for trying to get in a little preparation prior to sharing a cell with a lifer named “Bubba” whose hobbies include weightlifting and making earnest young clergyman who’ve been convicted of fraud squeal like pigs. Hopefully when he finds the advice he’s looking for he’ll take it a little more seriously than he has that little verse in the Bible that says “Thou shalt not steal”.

    I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

    Friday, May 1, 2009

    Ban the Blog!

    Over at a certain place that most of us follow like crack whores, there’s been an interesting discussion in the comments of this post about a Guardian columnist and alleged vicar of Putney, Fr. Giles Fraser .

    The cause of the trouble seems to have something to do with the pernicious medium of blogging, a long cherished concern of mine that Ruth Gledhill of The Timesran with after a Viagravillain dared call her a ”an instrument of evil”.

    Of course a more cynical man than I can’t help thinking that the Rev. Guardian only picked this topic up because he was running a little pressed for time, and toadying to a fellow journalist seemed a quick way of finding a few hundreds word, but that is not correct. Nor is there any truth behind theories that ensuring one continues to receive good press in the The Times plays an important part achieving those aspirations involving the colour purple but not Whoopi Goldberg.

    No, the Rev. Guardian is quite correct; the world of blogging is indeed a terrible place, where anyone with access to a computer can ridicule and expose the pompous, hypocritical and power-hungry for what they are. Unlike the physical world, where people express themselves with fists, knives and the wonderfully expressive product range offered by British Aerospace, the blogosphere involves people fighting with words, ideas, and (in the case of the occasional Viagravillain), the barely-coherent products of a spittle-flecked keyboard.

    What’s more, blogging entirely by-passes the pockets of such noble pillars of society as Ruth Gledhill’s boss, enabling people to say anything they want regardless of who they happen to not be afraid to laugh at. Much as I love little David Virtue, I’ll be the first to say not even he reaches the delightful moral pinnacles of the man Ruth is actively helping to make richer, and if instead of foolishly reading and writing blogs more people spent their time viewing his newspapers, magazines and television programs, and absorbing the informative advertisements these are proud to carry for a not insubstantial fee, there can be no doubt the world would be a much better place. Or at least it would be for Ruth’s boss.

    The whole blog thing should be shut down immediately. All of it. This business of letting people speak for themselves, airing the “ideas” normally only expressed in the privacy of their ever-diminishing congregations, is disgraceful. Opinions should be restricted to those who can be trusted to never say anything too challenging. Everyone else should just shut up and listen. Perhaps if they behave themselves especially well they might also be given the privilege of writing important newspaper columns that never question the morality of those actually running our world.

    I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

    You’re a bad boy, Archbishop Mokiwa.

    I can’t imagine how I missed this gem – which I reproduce verbatim - from little Christopher Seitz the first time I read the emails:

    “PS--please can we pray about what it means for +Tanzania to take a big chunk of money and,effectively, use is to buy an airplane ticket to London to meet with Gafcon. This is despicable and cannot be left without response and of a serious sort.”

    What the dear lad expected the Titan of Tanzania to do with the money I’m not sure: doesn’t he realise that +Mokiwa is a GAFCON Primate, and jetting around the globe is the sole purpose of their existence? And surely "pray" as used here is a typo: clearly what little Christopher meant to say was "bitch".

    No, even though one can’t help finding this very, very funny (unless, perhaps, you’re +Tanzania) there is a sad side: compare the cutting edge insight and phrasing of Chris Seitz with this piece by the terrible fellow who had the hide to shine a light on the charming way the Anglican Communion Institute operate (and speak about their fellow-travellers when they think nobody’s listening).

    My dear sinners, the truth is that if the light of Christ continues to shine through Apostate Liberals and their forsaken Church in the way it does through Father Harris I fear they might all be around for a lot longer than the level-headed prognostications of the gang at Viagraville have led us to believe. The whole thing's so stressful that it's enough to make a man threaten to give his allies a good spanking...

    I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

    The Right Reverend Wobbles...

    Some comments are simply too good to remain hidden (and unindexed by Google) so I’m repeating a wonderful observation shared with us by Anonymous:

    Wobbly Wabukala is not called that for nothing. An exercise in compare and contrast:


    “When the Rt. Rev. Dr. Eliud Wabukala, from Bungoma in Western Kenya, was asked why he was going to GAFCON, but not to the Lambeth Conference in July, he told a congregation of Kenyans in his diocese that you don’t go to a place where men marry men...The bishop said it was a “hard agonizing decision to make choosing not to go to Lambeth...We cannot go there (Lambeth)"
    With this:
    “One of the six Kenyan bishops who attended the Lambeth Conference, as well as the Global Anglican Future Conference (GAFCON) in Jerusalem last year, has been elected Archbishop of Kenya...He is Dr Eliud Wabukala.”
    Did you see the wobble? Read again; it's so subtle you may have missed it...

    Thank you indeed, Anonymous. Few things epitomise the GAFCON spirit like this marvelous example – and isn’t it good to know that Conservative Christianity is still a place where men can sail whichever way the wind is blowing and still end up at the front of the fleet. Now please, nobody mention James 1:7-8.

    I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.