Nobody knows Ethics like a Jensen!

It’s true: this site probably does feature Archbishop Jensen, Lord of Mordor and Ganglion of Gafcon, more frequently than is really appropriate for a family orientated ministry. Still, desperate times call for desperate measures, and since the fact that you are able to read this is a strong indication you probably weren’t home schooled my belief is you need all the fundamentalist role-models I can offer you.

Consequently I must waste no time bringing to your attention this fascinating article, which was sent to me by not just one, but two Dearly Beloved Sinners dwelling in the Land where the Evangelical Shadows lie. Evidently state schools there have decided little Peter and his house-elves should no longer enjoy a monopoly when it comes to teaching ethics, a move which has understandably outraged Orthodoxy’s most unsuccessful gambler, and when confronted with a choice between the ethics of Sydney “Anglicanism” and those of the godless socialist-atheist state parents have been wickedly electing to entrust their children to the care of those who are not self-anointed Chosen Ones.

Which surely, more than any other example I can recall, stands as evidence of just how morally corrupt – how utterly spiritually bankrupt – the apostate liberal west has become. Here are parents handed the opportunity on a platter to have their children instructed in ethics by the same religious leaders who treat women, GLBTs, and divorcees as second-class citizens, who last year frittered away a paltry $160 million on dubious investments (and who still haven’t disclosed what exactly it was they did with their parishioners' money), and whom profess to represent historical Anglicanism whilst simultaneously advocating lay presidency, border crossing, and laissez faire liturgy.

I ask you: what responsible mother and father wouldn’t want their little one taught the moral values of the same people whom last November announced they’re closing down the state’s only residential school for profoundly disabled children on account of it being too expensive, but whom can continue sending their leaders around the world (“If it’s April we must be in Bermuda, or is it Singapore? Or both?”) to participate in conferences dedicated to ECUSA’s destruction? And doesn’t every loving parent want their child's development in the caring hands of those not ashamed to be hustling for funds to support the compassionate child-witch and queer killing churches of Uganda? Or how can any young one develop an ethical approach to life without a solid example of what an entire family can accomplish through nepotism?

Fortunately the article shows Dobby’s Master isn’t taking this threat lying down. In response to the terrible risk of tomorrow’s potential converts having been equipped with the ethical skills to tell the difference between right and wrong, and able to recognize a nasty hate-filled Pharisee when they see one, Sydney Anglican diocese is doing the first thing that Bible-Believing Christians should always do when confronted with the possibility of people seeing through their smoke and mirrors; “it has created a fund-raising website”.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Positions Vacant: The Durham Diocesan Website

A screenshot (click to enlarge):

And in detail (ditto):


I'm Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

PS: Your cloaking page isn't hiding your identity at all Dobby. Brother Richthofen's friend from Seminary can still see every one of your visits, and we still find the frequency of those visits hilarious. Things must be a bit quite in Mordor on a Friday night, hey my boy? Or have you just been dreaming about carrying Fr. Jass' luggagage again?

Toshiba Customer Service – The New Standard in Evil

Beloved Sinners who have only ever partaken of the Communion wine in moderation will recall that last October I purchased a magnificent new multi-media laptop. Splendid in every detail (except for the fact that it came with an operating system so inherently evil it could make Bishop Spong believe in child witches), I rejoiced in the fact that my Important Ministry Research would in future be blessed by widescreen graphics rendered with such haste that I would scarcely have time to adjust myself, irrespective of how loose fitting my cassock may be.

After a small hiccup in January, when installing the operating system that was allegedly my computer’s idea (in which case, machine, let’s leave the ideas to me in the future, mmkay?) things were running more or less smoothly until one morning about a month ago, when that beautifully panoramic and hygenically-cleaned screen refused to work, plunging the machine into that state which the Scriptures term the “outer darkness”.

Yea verily, there was indeed much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but thankfully Consuella was able to find my receipt and warranty card, and a call to that nest of Satan calling itself Toshiba Customer Service deceived me into believing the device would be repaired free of charge within - at most – one week. While the forked-tongued serpent from Toshiba even promised to arrange for the recalcitrant device to collected by courier at no charge, this would have further delayed proceedings by several days, and as the repair facility is within easy driving distance I instead delivered it myself that morning, arranging to again collect it in person when repaired.

With hindsight I should have foreseen trouble when the impressively robust gentleman at reception said things should take “about 14 days” – naively I queried this 100% increase, but my concerns were dismissed with a muttered cliché about “turnover time varying”, and finding myself without a ready supply of bananas I thought it better to not push the point and risk antagonizing him.

The first week passed, and the office desktop computer struggled valiantly to fill the gap; relieved no doubt to be promoted from its usual role of file-sharing torrent server (the number of Ministry Tools to be found out there is indeed quite impressive – as I dare say Peter Ould well knows). Then another week passed, and I begun receiving cryptic messages advising Toshiba were “awaiting parts”. Then another week passed. Flowers began to bloom, and young boys became men as their voices tremulously began breaking. Maybe I never really had a laptop at all.

Finally I received a message that the accursed implement had been repaired, dispatched and delivered to me. Yesterday.

Rejecting such preterist notions of the parousia, I made a bold stand for Orthodoxy, which was in turn denied by the false prophets of Toshiba, dwelling as they do in a reality a which can only (at best) be described as “alternate”. My prior agreement to collect it in person was discounted as “impossible” on account of the repair facility “being renovated” (if so then the construction work is being undertaken on a purely spiritual level, because a subsequent visit revealed no sign of any such work whatsoever), and further attempts to ascertain something remotely resembling the truth were met with a repeated directive to “contact the delivery company” since the matter “no longer had anything to do with Toshiba”.

By the Grace of God the delivery people proved helpful – the wretched gadget wasn’t sent yesterday at all, but collected the morning after Toshiba had sent their message. And sure enough, late this evening a noble messenger did indeed disturb the Rectory hounds by ringing the bell and delivering a parcel containing my computer. Which does indeed appear to be working, although it was also accompanied by an angry note explaining the full testing procedure could not be undertaken because the password wasn’t supplied. Do I need to mention that Toshiba also returned the large piece of paper I’d given them, upon is written in letters at least 3 inches high “Password: XXX” – the same piece of paper to which I had drawn the attention of the man with whom I’d originally left the accursed contraption?

Next time I’m getting an Apple. Or even just making do with an abacus, a box of crayons and a large writing pad. Anything but buy another Toshiba.

My Next Calling?

Evangelical Eric, my miserable excuse for a Curate, has been heartbroken since news broke of Bishop Wright’s startling resignation from the See of Durham. Nor is he alone in his grief: I have been literally inundated with tear-stained emails from devastated Sinners pleading for me to in some way intervene and persuade young + Dunelm (it’s not “Durham” when used as a name, my illiterate Sinners) to reconsider his hasty decision.

By some remarkable co-incidence, however, almost every one of these requests has come from people employed within the travel industry; the only exception being a funds manager that the previous week taken a strong position in British Airways – the poor lad is now terrified the inevitable loss will leave him so irrevocably branded as incompetent that the only future position he’ll ever be able to obtain will be that of porfolio management in the Diocese of Mordor.

While of, course, nobody can help that poor fellow, I’ve been reassuring my other grieving correspondents that +Nicholas Thomas' interesting move into academia, whereby rather than actually teach anyone he intends “to head up various broadcasting projects to bring the results of good biblical (i.e. “his”) scholarship to a wider audience”, should actually lead to an increase in His Grace’s frequent flyer miles. The Royal Burgh of St. Andrews may indeed have given the world golf shoes, but anywhere that cavalier about their possessive apostrophe is hardly going to be capable of sustaining enough bookshops to keep our man in purple permanently occupied giving out autographs. Besides, given that this next stage of his career is undoubtedly going to include writing his own book on Dostoevsky in preparation for his next occupational ambition, and it’s going to take a real lot of marketing to convince anyone to buy another work involving foreigners who probably didn’t even hate homosexualists, you’d better believe the boy’s got some serious promotional globe-trotting ahead of him.

Naturally I’ve already been approached about accepting an invitation to become his replacement. It appears the Wardens of Durham have been inundated by applications from a certain Deacon Dobby Ould, who as the world’s most experienced clergyman (a title he recently took from little Matt Kennedy on account of the Boy Wonder from Binghamton having been officially rescheduled as “sub-Christian” on account of repeatedly refusing to forbid his wife preaching – those unfortunate enough to be caught up in the Cult of the Self-Righteous Shepherd need to have something to brighten their Sundays), is convinced the position should be his, and so those responsible for ensuring Her Majesty is not in some future meeting with her most senior clergy subjected to a tirade concerning substitionary atonement and his brother's prostate are desperate to fill the big bed in Bishop Auckland as quickly as possible.

While yet to formally decline their very sensible offer (you’ve got admit the title “The Right Reverend Father in God, Christian Troll, by Divine Providence Lord Bishop of Durham” would undoubtedly go a long way in overcoming my current difficulties in obtaining membership at our local Blockbuster Video outlet), I did express concern regarding my unavailability on the grounds that I’m not prepared to live in the Diocese. Although the clergy of Durham have informed me this wouldn’t make me in any way different to the previous incumbent.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

+Arizona Makes Me Nervous

Whether you’re a professional cyber-stalker-for Jesus like the Ould twins, or just some nut trying to reverse the decline in Irish sectarian violence, it’s vital to understand that the reason God tortured His Son to death was so that Christians could today display a mean-spirited lack of compassion to everyone lacking their own sinless self-righteousness.

Certainly, in New Testament times the Church was supposed to devote it’s energy to trivialities like feeding the poor, caring for the sick, or ministering to widows and orphans in such a manner as to not risk five-to-ten years imprisonment, but obviously that was only because under the Roman Empire’s gentle hand believers didn’t face the prospect of civilization’s destruction by homosexualists and Obamacare. No, My Beloved Sinners, back in the days of the Circus Maximus people knew how to treat foreigners with the distain they deserve. Whereas today we’ve got our work cut out for us preserving such fundamental liberties as the right to let poor people die through inadequate medical care – never mind having time to waste on non-strategic ministry to worthless foreigners of no value to the kingdom of God. After all, if God hadn’t wanted the primary focus of our outreach to be wealthy conservative whites Jesus wouldn’t have chosen His Apostles exclusively from this demographic.

Which is why I’m so troubled by the Bishop of Arizona. Mouthing foolish platitudes about loving one’s neighbors is one thing, but when an Episcopalian Prelate starts acting like Our Lord’s commands in this regard are in someway to be taken seriously - even when one’s neighbors are Hispanic - True Believers know things have really got out of hand. Not to mention his Grace having written a letter of support to such people - in their own language! All because a few creative lawmakers have sought to make scapegoats of the sojourners in their midst: since when has the Bible ever said anything about caring for strangers?

Honestly: were it not for the proudly indignant commenters at little Kendal Harmon’s blog (the always appropriately titled Nahum 3:6) showing there’s still a place for meanness and tiny-minded racism in ECUSA it would be hard to not lose hope. With people of the Rt. Rev. Kirk Smith’s caliber wearing purple I fear the future could prove no bed of roses: next thing you know someone might start pointing out Leviticus isn't all about homosexuality.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Invasion!

Everyone knows homosexuality was unknown in Africa before its introduction by Apostate Episcopalians. Even so, few people realize just how successful American Evangelists have been when it comes to convincing young men and women to abandon the natural desires God may have forgotten to give them in favour of a predilection for musicals and ballroom-dancing or Subarus and softball. In the greatest piece of investigative journalism since Woodward and Bernstein enabled Christians to talk about Deep Throat without making any suspicious, the Nigerian Daily Sun has revealed the shocking truth in an article with the admirably understated headline of Homosexuals Invade Nigeria.

I’ve been saying this for years, of course, but the Sun’s research proves how quickly things can go to hell in a handbasket when Big Pete Akinola is turns his back for a moment to enjoy the trials of ministry in Bermuda and Singapore. Posing undercover on a notorious African homosexualist internet meat-market, the intrepid journalist manage to score a whopping 13,836 hopeful African respondents in just two weeks!

My Beloved Sinners – that’s almost 2,000 replies a day! Even Peter Ould couldn’t manage to get that many propositions, not even if he were to write his number on every cubicle wall in every public lavatory in Ware. What’s more, since none of the people replying, nor any of the other advertisers the article recounts in lascivious detail, were homosexual prior to Bishop Gene Robinson’s enthronement in late 2003, we can with absolute certainty state that it’s taken Episcopalian Evangelists just six and a half years to shift an entire continent’s sexuality. At this rate I fear it’s only a matter of time before the malaise spreads to even the highest levels of African Anglican leadership: whilst Uganda is for the present beyond question so long as Alison Barfoot is around, who knows what the future holds for those Provinces without such overtly heterosexual westerners to keep things straight?

Still, things aren’t all bad. As the article continues: “Sunday Sun learnt that a lot of rich, powerful but depraved people are the ones the new Nigerian members hanker after.” As long as rich and powerful but depraved foreigners remain desirable there’ll always be a place for Howard Ahmanson and his fellow Reconstructionists. Not to mention their money.

I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.

Seen in Singapore: Little Peter Jensen.

"I'll bet you double or nothing these flowers are actually quite tasty""