Monday, November 29, 2010

Oh the Pain!


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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Move over, Tyndale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Happy Thanksgiving 2010.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Old Man and the See.

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

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

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

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

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

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

The Pulitzer Prize & Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Christian Government

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

So with the Bible presenting these powerful arguments for alternatives to the only Christian system of government, sinners such as yourselves could almost be forgiven (please note I said almost - don’t start getting any ideas now) for wondering how it is that scholars such as myself can be so certain of Jesus’ support for the sacred democratic principal of rule by elected Republicans committed to ensuring unwanted pregnancies run full term and grow up into men and women who die young through the blessings of accessible prisons and unaffordable health care. The answer is clear if one takes the time to study the Scriptures:
  • Jesus is never once recorded as voting. Proof he obviously lived in a western democracy.

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

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

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

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

  • Jesus never once said that the right of the big end of town to make as much money as possible is not more important than the right for little ones and their parents to medical care not based on blood-letting, cobwebs, and an occasional aspirin.
… and now you’ll have to excuse me. I’ve heard shares in health insurance providers and arms manufacturers are about to skyrocket, and must call my broker to get in before it’s too late. After all: what would Jesus do?

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.