Sunday, September 11, 2011

9/11/2011. No show today.

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

And today they are gone. But not forgotten.

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The Second Epistle to The Beloved Sinners

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

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

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

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

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

*If you really must cut and paste:
The comments following are funny: he is accused of telling untruths concerning his hosts' firearms.