Well, well, well… the Verger's hosing down the Vestry and choir stalls, and Easter is over for another year. Christ is risen indeed, and Biblical Christians everywhere are nibbling chocolate eggs and enjoying the warm smug feeling which accompanies the certainty that there’s nothing whatsoever syncretistic about their faith.
So now that all the Holy Week sacerdotalism is concluded, I know that like me you’ll all be glad to get back to the real business of the Church: bickering about homos and – if you’re of either a lunar-evangelical or über-catholic persuasion, or just happen to be very insecure about the size of your genitals – women. Not to mention the Very Important Question facing all Anglicans at this time: who’s going be the next person to enjoy a bounce in the big bed at Lambeth?
I know that some of you have very thoughtfully suggested myself as ++Rowan’s obvious successor, and I quite agree with you that doing justice to the role of Archbishop of Canterbury requires a degree of wisdom, Biblical Learning, and modesty which I alone possess. Not to mention the ability to schmooze at the very highest levels while still pretending to care about the faith of those who can’t even spell Beaujolais nouveau, let alone enjoy a refreshing tipple in a private box at Royal Ascot – something I’ve no doubt Our Lord would Himself enjoyed had He not been so foolish to incarnate in 1st century Palestine.
Yet – and I am aware of the grief this will cause Sinners throughout the Communion – I have already felt called to decline the offer which will inevitable come. Not only does ++Rowan’s resignation coincide with a particularly strategic development in ministry here at St. Onuphrius. (we have just installed a sauna in the Rectory as part of our mission to Australian ex-gay hucksters, but as a Christian I’m really not prepared to compromise my faith by growing one of the sort of beards which appear to have become de rigueur for English Bishops of my age and ethnicity.
Which, of course, now leaves the field wide open, and as you’d expect speculation is already running rife. First favorite has been the Bishop of York, although in my opinion that’s really only because he’s the only one the bookmakers know – probably on account of him being the easiest to recognize (he doesn’t have a beard).
As anybody who knows Merrie Olde England as well as I do will tell you, however, in this particular race +John Sentamu is never going to mount the winner’s podium and spray champagne over the pretty Anglo-Catholics responsible for stage-managing the enthronement ceremony. He’s got a great deal of popular backing, I’ll admit, and Anglicans throughout Africa would be whacking each other with machetes for joy at the news of his appointment, but the plain reality is +Sentamu isn’t going to be the one.
Nor is the certainty with which I break this sad news to you just based on my own inerrant intuition. Rather it stems from my exhaustive observations of the nation and people of Great Britain. (Alright: I can’t claim to have studied the Scots in any depth, but I have rented Braveheart, and once got arrested with football hooligans on Glasgow. And before I met Consuella I would quite often on warm windy days wear a kilt.) For decades I’ve been an avid subscriber to delightful glossy magazine much cherished by the class of Englishmen responsible for appointing the Archbishop of Canterbury – no, I’m referring to Country Life, not one of those other British publications featuring either naked proletarian northern girls frolicking naked in baked beans, or middle-aged Tory politicians dressed as chorus girls.
If, as I do, you regularly perused Country Life (one can never read too many “Situations Vacant” advertisements for butlers) it would eventually dawn upon you that whether one is studying the weekly images of girls in pearls, or committing to memory a guide to the best bluebell walks in Britain, persons of Bishop Sentamu’s – I’m trying to say this as tactfully as only I can - hue don’t figure prominently. In fact, I believe I don’t ever recall seeing anyone of African, Indian, or Asian ancestry featured among the glowing portraits of British landed gentlemen and their womenfolk. Which is not to say such things don’t occur in Britain, just that, for reasons I can’t quite explain, the black youths of, for example, Bradford, or the charming young unemployed ladies with whom I once conversed outside a tattoo parlor in Hull, prefer not to actively participate in the sports of polo and fox-hunting.
No: I’ve no doubt that Lord Stickley-Polkinghorne and his delightful debutante daughter, Lucia, would have absolutely no qualms about enjoying the personal company of those of a different racial persuasion to their own, and so the absence of any pictures of them or anyone else of their class in the company of black friends should be attributed to nothing more than journalistic oversight. After all, one only has to look at any picture of William and Kate’s friends at their wedding to see how England’s upper classes have embraced British multiculturalism.
Consequently I really don’t foresee Her Majesty having any problem with someone of Ugandan ancestry presiding at future Royal events. In fact there’s just one, small, tiny, insignificant, miniscule difficulty which I fear will forever keep +Sentamu from moving south: Prince Phillip. Although given the current precarious nature of his health, and the likelihood of him having at least considered the possibility of his funeral being the next monarchical extravangza, I can’t believe he’d really have any objections to matters being presided over by +Sentamu. Would he?
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
"So long, farewell, aufwiedersehen, goodbye...." (До свидания!)
Across the universe, in every nook, cranny, and crevice, people are weeping. Women are tearing their hair with grief; men are beating their chests while asking how things could have ever come to this. On Wall Street important young financiers look up from sheets of numbers with tear-brimmed eyes, and at the Hon Hai Precision Industry Co. (better known to you as Foxconn) factories in Shenzhen young girls regret signing contracts forbidding them from celebrating the miracle of global capitalism by leaping from their dormitory window.
And the reason for such sorrow, My Beloved Sinners? That you need to ask not only illustrates the depths of your depravity, but also how little attention you pay to little David Virtue’s “exclusive” announcement of Archbishop Deluxe Rowan William’s resignation of the throne of Canturbury. (Yes – little Mr. Virtue really did claim his tub-thumping is an “exclusive” – which more than justifies my forthcoming exclusive announcement concerning a discovery that rain falls in a primarily downward direction.)
Indeed, on Saturday, when I popped into the mall for a few pints of Crème de menthe (nothing keeps a Sunday 7.30 am congregation on their toes like swapping the Communion wine for something green) small children were still shrieking in sorrow (either that or they were frightened Bishop Quinine could be nearby) and their parents were clearly still in shock a day after ++Cantaur broke the Communion’s heart. Or at least they would have been in shock if they knew anything about Our Sacred Communion and the One True and Narrow Road along which its Orthodox members are marching unto salvation. As it was they appeared simply too busy with the task of enjoying the lives they’ve been given – but I’ve no doubt they would be as burdened with stress as any Biblical Christian if they would only repent and accept the truth that sets all Sinners free to wallow in guilt while obsessing about their church’s leadership.
Curiously enough, ++Rowan’s heart-wrenching decision to turn his back on a life of academic and theoretical leadership and devote more time to academia and theory came just after someone with the newly registered moniker of “Turnip Ghost” (six views when I first looked) left a comment on my previous Important Homily, revealing the fascinating news that “You need the Anglican covenant or Rowan Williams will lose a great deal of credibility.” - who’d have possibly thought our Beloved Bearded Primate still had any credibility left to lose? Especially when just three little words (“Bishop”, “Jeffrey”, and “John”) had settled that particular question once and for all.
Still, there’s no accounting for what you can learn on the internet, and I’ve found myself agreeing with something I read around the blogosphere to the effect of poor Rowan being left with no alternative other than to fall on his sword in the wake of the Covenant To Ban Homosexualist Bishops and Other Bad American Stuff failing to rally the world in a collective spirit of “Yay – let’s have more rules to exclude folk”. Since motions of no confidence aren’t really the kind of indaba encouraged in the rarified heights of Lambeth, the “No Covenant” votes have come about as close as we’ll ever see, and it looks like the message has been clear enough for the Archbishop of Canterbury to understand. Possibly because a Guiding Hand ensured it was in 19th century Russian, perhaps? Although I can’t personally recall Dostoevsky ever actually using the term “lame-duck”.
At which point I’ll have to leave you all for now: I’ve got to finish my personal letter of support to ++Rowan, thanking him for all he has done for the Church, and begging him to reconsider. Gifted wordsmith I may be, but finding the right words to convey our respect, gratitude, admiration, and appreciation isn’t easy: the opening is fine, but what do I say next after “Gee Rowan – it must suck to be you”?
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
And the reason for such sorrow, My Beloved Sinners? That you need to ask not only illustrates the depths of your depravity, but also how little attention you pay to little David Virtue’s “exclusive” announcement of Archbishop Deluxe Rowan William’s resignation of the throne of Canturbury. (Yes – little Mr. Virtue really did claim his tub-thumping is an “exclusive” – which more than justifies my forthcoming exclusive announcement concerning a discovery that rain falls in a primarily downward direction.)
Indeed, on Saturday, when I popped into the mall for a few pints of Crème de menthe (nothing keeps a Sunday 7.30 am congregation on their toes like swapping the Communion wine for something green) small children were still shrieking in sorrow (either that or they were frightened Bishop Quinine could be nearby) and their parents were clearly still in shock a day after ++Cantaur broke the Communion’s heart. Or at least they would have been in shock if they knew anything about Our Sacred Communion and the One True and Narrow Road along which its Orthodox members are marching unto salvation. As it was they appeared simply too busy with the task of enjoying the lives they’ve been given – but I’ve no doubt they would be as burdened with stress as any Biblical Christian if they would only repent and accept the truth that sets all Sinners free to wallow in guilt while obsessing about their church’s leadership.
Curiously enough, ++Rowan’s heart-wrenching decision to turn his back on a life of academic and theoretical leadership and devote more time to academia and theory came just after someone with the newly registered moniker of “Turnip Ghost” (six views when I first looked) left a comment on my previous Important Homily, revealing the fascinating news that “You need the Anglican covenant or Rowan Williams will lose a great deal of credibility.” - who’d have possibly thought our Beloved Bearded Primate still had any credibility left to lose? Especially when just three little words (“Bishop”, “Jeffrey”, and “John”) had settled that particular question once and for all.
Still, there’s no accounting for what you can learn on the internet, and I’ve found myself agreeing with something I read around the blogosphere to the effect of poor Rowan being left with no alternative other than to fall on his sword in the wake of the Covenant To Ban Homosexualist Bishops and Other Bad American Stuff failing to rally the world in a collective spirit of “Yay – let’s have more rules to exclude folk”. Since motions of no confidence aren’t really the kind of indaba encouraged in the rarified heights of Lambeth, the “No Covenant” votes have come about as close as we’ll ever see, and it looks like the message has been clear enough for the Archbishop of Canterbury to understand. Possibly because a Guiding Hand ensured it was in 19th century Russian, perhaps? Although I can’t personally recall Dostoevsky ever actually using the term “lame-duck”.
At which point I’ll have to leave you all for now: I’ve got to finish my personal letter of support to ++Rowan, thanking him for all he has done for the Church, and begging him to reconsider. Gifted wordsmith I may be, but finding the right words to convey our respect, gratitude, admiration, and appreciation isn’t easy: the opening is fine, but what do I say next after “Gee Rowan – it must suck to be you”?
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Thank you (& an explanation).
Today’s important homily must begin with a specially gracious thank-you to all my Faithful Facebook Friends around the world, who so thoughtfully sent the best wishes for My Birthday this week. Doubtless you have all been heartbroken by my failure to reply earlier, but I know you will be comforted by the knowledge that I have been simply too busy with crucial matters of Ministry.
This is because, as even the most Sinful of you will already be aware, as a virile man of 23 birthdays I am utterly irrestistable to Christian women seeking a husband through whom they can live a subordinate life of vicarious Ministry. Combined with the ancient Biblical practice (at least I think it’s in the Bible: like any Conservative I must be careful to not actually read the thing too often or too closely lest the it interferes with My Theology) of February 29 being an occasion when those not divinely gifted with a penis are permitted to propose marriage, and you will of course thus all understand my need to keep a low profile on the otherwise blessed occasion of My Natal Feast.
Biblical Christians everywhere will be relieved to learn, however, I survived the day with my status as a Bachelor for the Bible intact as Layman Schofield. (Now there’s a name you don’t hear around the blogs anymore. Isn’t schismatic fame is a fleeting and fickle thing?). Of course you and I know that’s a result of my faithful prayers being obediently answered on account of My Righteousness, but Consuella – who in the days leading up to the 29th was overheard muttering something foreign which sounded like ”Si alguien se casa con el viejo loco que va a ser yo” - foolishly insists it has something to do to with the security cordon she arranged to be provided by her relations and business associates. As also does Bishop Quinine, who I’m told was shouting something not dissimilar as he patrolled the Rectory grounds with his blunderbuss.
Then to make matters worse there’s been a small difficulty with my godless liberal apostate Bishop – not our schismatic “Anglican” Bishop of course, but the one representing the Whore of Babylon to which I swore obedience and loyalty at the time of My Ordination. It’s the kind of petty dilemma my complementarian admirers will relate to perfectly, and is typical of the kind of challenges all-knowing young men like myself face when dealing with prelates who foolishly think a lifetime of ministry and theological study has somehow equipped them with the experience to see things more wisely than us.
It all started when I was overheard referring to His Grace as “as an idiot from Satan” in what I must stress was a strictly private conversation. After all, how was I to know he also reads the local newspaper? As my official explanation makes clear, the alleged insult only referred to his functional status. Ontologically he’s undoubtedly perfectly intelligent (at least as far as Bishops go), and I truly cannot for the life of me see why he’s become so angry. Indeed, that he cannot conceive of a functional idiocy that does not also imply an ontological idiocy is a sad testament to the paucity of His Grace’s theological education.
Mind you, this kind of ignorance is exactly what I predicted would happen. The writing was on the wall for all to see the day seminaries became seduced by revisionist fads like the Nicene Creed, and abandoned the timeless wisdom of St. Arius.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
This is because, as even the most Sinful of you will already be aware, as a virile man of 23 birthdays I am utterly irrestistable to Christian women seeking a husband through whom they can live a subordinate life of vicarious Ministry. Combined with the ancient Biblical practice (at least I think it’s in the Bible: like any Conservative I must be careful to not actually read the thing too often or too closely lest the it interferes with My Theology) of February 29 being an occasion when those not divinely gifted with a penis are permitted to propose marriage, and you will of course thus all understand my need to keep a low profile on the otherwise blessed occasion of My Natal Feast.
Biblical Christians everywhere will be relieved to learn, however, I survived the day with my status as a Bachelor for the Bible intact as Layman Schofield. (Now there’s a name you don’t hear around the blogs anymore. Isn’t schismatic fame is a fleeting and fickle thing?). Of course you and I know that’s a result of my faithful prayers being obediently answered on account of My Righteousness, but Consuella – who in the days leading up to the 29th was overheard muttering something foreign which sounded like ”Si alguien se casa con el viejo loco que va a ser yo” - foolishly insists it has something to do to with the security cordon she arranged to be provided by her relations and business associates. As also does Bishop Quinine, who I’m told was shouting something not dissimilar as he patrolled the Rectory grounds with his blunderbuss.
Then to make matters worse there’s been a small difficulty with my godless liberal apostate Bishop – not our schismatic “Anglican” Bishop of course, but the one representing the Whore of Babylon to which I swore obedience and loyalty at the time of My Ordination. It’s the kind of petty dilemma my complementarian admirers will relate to perfectly, and is typical of the kind of challenges all-knowing young men like myself face when dealing with prelates who foolishly think a lifetime of ministry and theological study has somehow equipped them with the experience to see things more wisely than us.
It all started when I was overheard referring to His Grace as “as an idiot from Satan” in what I must stress was a strictly private conversation. After all, how was I to know he also reads the local newspaper? As my official explanation makes clear, the alleged insult only referred to his functional status. Ontologically he’s undoubtedly perfectly intelligent (at least as far as Bishops go), and I truly cannot for the life of me see why he’s become so angry. Indeed, that he cannot conceive of a functional idiocy that does not also imply an ontological idiocy is a sad testament to the paucity of His Grace’s theological education.
Mind you, this kind of ignorance is exactly what I predicted would happen. The writing was on the wall for all to see the day seminaries became seduced by revisionist fads like the Nicene Creed, and abandoned the timeless wisdom of St. Arius.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Stupidest David Ould Quote. Ever.
Just when you thought you’d heard it all…
Or as the brave friend who drew this to my attention said: “I DEMAND to see new videos from the nose-picking Neutral Bay deacon in the nude.” Which would be a truly frightening challenge if there wasn't absolutely no chance of the nasty little Pharisee ever actually doing himself what he demands of others. Which also reminds me: I wonder if the education of which he is inordinately proud included enough history to gain an understanding of how the Anglican Evangelicals of a century ago viewed clergy who married Chinese women? Because the expression I seem to recall hearing when I was a young man was "the sin of miscegenation", and I don't believe those using it did so in the context of praising the beauty of mixed-race children. Nor do I remember them ever stopping to think that instead of being directly countenanced by the Scriptures as they claimed, their loathsome racism was in fact merely the product of a culturally blended cocktail comprising equal parts ignorance, arrogance, fear, and stupidity.
I’m Father Christian and anyone who wants to see what goes on in my bedroom must be over eighteen and have a valid credit card.
“What goes on in our bedrooms while private is also a public matter.”Contrary to what they might say on the type of web sites Deacon Dobby seems to have been spending waaaayyy too much time researching when he thinks nobody’s watching, providing what occurs in a person’s bedroom is between consenting adults and doesn’t result in death or injury then the law of pretty much every country with a name not ending in “stan” says it is private. And while he’ll no doubt be shocked to hear this, when Queen Elizabeth declared she had “no desire to make windows into men's souls” she didn’t follow it up by ordering clergy to make peepholes into each other’s bedrooms. Even if that is a thought Dobby clearly finds exciting.
David OuldSt. Augustine’s Anglican ChurchNeutral Bay, Sydney Australia.
Or as the brave friend who drew this to my attention said: “I DEMAND to see new videos from the nose-picking Neutral Bay deacon in the nude.” Which would be a truly frightening challenge if there wasn't absolutely no chance of the nasty little Pharisee ever actually doing himself what he demands of others. Which also reminds me: I wonder if the education of which he is inordinately proud included enough history to gain an understanding of how the Anglican Evangelicals of a century ago viewed clergy who married Chinese women? Because the expression I seem to recall hearing when I was a young man was "the sin of miscegenation", and I don't believe those using it did so in the context of praising the beauty of mixed-race children. Nor do I remember them ever stopping to think that instead of being directly countenanced by the Scriptures as they claimed, their loathsome racism was in fact merely the product of a culturally blended cocktail comprising equal parts ignorance, arrogance, fear, and stupidity.
I’m Father Christian and anyone who wants to see what goes on in my bedroom must be over eighteen and have a valid credit card.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Jesus Loves a Little Blackmail*
What would Jesus do? Everything published by Zondervan not withstanding, sometimes that’s not always the best question to ask when confronted by a situation for which the Bible's answers aren't satsifying. Such as, for example, when one is mocked and ridiculed on account of one’s self-proclaimed Pharisaic righteousness.
That’s because Our Substitutionary Atonement’s general instructions regarding such circumstances – turn the other cheek and bless the perpetrators – are, to be perfectly honest, downright effeminate. Not to mention that “turn the other cheek” can be easily misconstrued so as to cause weaker brethren like Peter Ould to stumble in ways he’d normally restrict to the comments field of his own blog. Consequently my response has always been to get legal. As I taught little L. Ron Hubbard and his
suckers Sea-Org: throw enough money around and there’s few people a lawyer with a cocaine problem won’t harass on your behalf. However I am now delighted to announce that one of my favorite “anonymous” admirers has developed a whole new strategy. One which I dare say he calls “clever”, although most jurisdictions deem it “blackmail”.
But first a little background. Beloved Sinners might recall that about a fortnight ago an immature young man laboring under the foolish delusion that his identity is unknown to me left a comment on this important homily, in which he made a number of false allegations about a regular reader before then publishing their home address. In response I made the commenter a profoundly generous offer: give me permission to publish his personal details, and I’d in return permit him to indulge his habitual dishonesty. Sadly the ungrateful wretch failed to respond, leading us all to conclude that permitting others to do unto to him as he does unto them doesn’t figure highly in the boy’s soteriology. Bishop Quinine urged me to publish the pathetic imp’s details anyway, insisting “all your Beloved Sinners are longing to call him up in the middle of the night and shoot the breeze - or maybe to breeze his shoot”, but I refused: as a Christian I’m unable to sink to the same depths as our "anonymous" correspondent.
Then the person with whom he-who-will-not-yet-be-named is obsessed received the following:
… which just goes to show how much a very arrogant young man is prepared to risk in order to unsuccessfully stop us guffawing at a former curate and his twin.
And now, and utterly apropos of nothing (perhaps) I’d like to lift everyone’s mood by dedicating a special song to David Ould (I’ve used your real name, Dobby, to help those searching on Google find you more readily.) When you’ve finished listening you might like to share the sentiment with a couple of your Jensenist uplines. Like you Dobby, they won’t realize on account of their obvious unfamiliarity with the Gospels, but I believe the lyrics are based on something Jesus said
We’re all Father Christian, and the Light of God laughs with us in their faces.
*To be sung to the tune of "Jesus loves the little children".
That’s because Our Substitutionary Atonement’s general instructions regarding such circumstances – turn the other cheek and bless the perpetrators – are, to be perfectly honest, downright effeminate. Not to mention that “turn the other cheek” can be easily misconstrued so as to cause weaker brethren like Peter Ould to stumble in ways he’d normally restrict to the comments field of his own blog. Consequently my response has always been to get legal. As I taught little L. Ron Hubbard and his
But first a little background. Beloved Sinners might recall that about a fortnight ago an immature young man laboring under the foolish delusion that his identity is unknown to me left a comment on this important homily, in which he made a number of false allegations about a regular reader before then publishing their home address. In response I made the commenter a profoundly generous offer: give me permission to publish his personal details, and I’d in return permit him to indulge his habitual dishonesty. Sadly the ungrateful wretch failed to respond, leading us all to conclude that permitting others to do unto to him as he does unto them doesn’t figure highly in the boy’s soteriology. Bishop Quinine urged me to publish the pathetic imp’s details anyway, insisting “all your Beloved Sinners are longing to call him up in the middle of the night and shoot the breeze - or maybe to breeze his shoot”, but I refused: as a Christian I’m unable to sink to the same depths as our "anonymous" correspondent.
Then the person with whom he-who-will-not-yet-be-named is obsessed received the following:
Good Morning [NAME REDACTED],
Over the past few weeks, in comments across several blogs that you comment on, you were warned that your continuing behaviour of abusive and insulting comments would have consequences. Since then you have continued your behaviour, as though this was an idle threat. It is not. You have left us with no recourse but to now act to correct your behaviour.
You now have until Noon Sunday, February 12 2012, to publish a full and unequivocal public apology for your behaviour over the past few years. You will email us to this account the location where this apology may be found.
• If after posting this apology you make any further blog posting or comment of a derogatory or insulting nature, we will judge that your apology was not made in good faith and will act as though it had not been made. There is NO TIME LIMIT on the exercising of this judgement.
• If after posting this apology the apology then disappears off the internet, we will judge that the apology was not made. There is NO TIME LIMIT on the exercising of this judgement.
If you fail to make this apology we will provide to every single member of the Deanery that you currently reside in the full documentary evidence of your placing on the Archbishops' List for admitting Conduct Unbecoming a Clerk in Holy Orders. If you then persist in such behaviour we will widen the scope of those parties deliberately informed of your behaviour.
Furthermore, at the same time we will make publicly available for anyone to see the full details of your confession of the writing of highly offensive racist and sexist material and we will seek to propagate it as widely as possible on the internet.
There will be no further warning from us in this matter.
We will not enter into correspondence on this matter.
This charming epistle was sent via Gmail, so obtaining header information and originating IP address isn’t as straightforward as it might be (clearly the sender isn’t quite as stupid as his beady-eyed picture suggests), but rest assured the matter has been placed in the hands of all relevant authorities. Meanwhile those less familiar with criminal proceedings than myself, and whom as a consequence fail to appreciate the seriousness of our lurker’s strategy, should consider this advice from a helpful legal site:The time and date of the sending of this email is 05:55 Eastern Standard Time, 11 February 2012 and the deadline referred to above is at 12:00 Eastern Standard Time 12 February 2012.
”Blackmail, in contrast to extortion, is when the offender threatens to reveal information about a victim or his family members that is potentially embarrassing, socially damaging, or incriminating unless a demand for money, property, or services is met. Even if the information is true or actually incriminating you can still be charged with blackmail if you threaten to reveal it unless the victim meets your demand.”While this source speaks from within a primarily Californian context, the law at this point is very much the same regardless of where in the world one may be committing the crime, and providing you’re not in a judiciary which considers expressing love for a person of one’s own gender more heinous than hacking children with machetes (which the threat's author isn’t), the penalty is also similar: “Under California law, extortion or blackmail are graded as felonies and are punishable by up to four years in prison and a maximum fine of $10,000.”
… which just goes to show how much a very arrogant young man is prepared to risk in order to unsuccessfully stop us guffawing at a former curate and his twin.
***
And now, and utterly apropos of nothing (perhaps) I’d like to lift everyone’s mood by dedicating a special song to David Ould (I’ve used your real name, Dobby, to help those searching on Google find you more readily.) When you’ve finished listening you might like to share the sentiment with a couple of your Jensenist uplines. Like you Dobby, they won’t realize on account of their obvious unfamiliarity with the Gospels, but I believe the lyrics are based on something Jesus said
We’re all Father Christian, and the Light of God laughs with us in their faces.
*To be sung to the tune of "Jesus loves the little children".
Thursday, February 9, 2012
An Ex-Gay Man's Man (Haydn Sennitt takes the Liberty).
For a young Biblical Christian intent upon gaining the approbation of his fellow Conservatives without the nuisance of obtaining recognized qualifications in theology, medicine, or psychology, there really isn’t anything that matches the lucrative field of homosexualist straightening. Especially now that godless socialists at the FDA have stopped the sale of homeopathic influenza cures, and transplanting hair without a license can earn serious time in a place where the only fashion statement involves orange overalls and DIY tattoos.
Mind you, when it comes to being internationally recognized as a man’s man in the imaginative world of homosexualist reparation therapy (that’s the technical term experts like myself use for the process in which young men who enjoy musicals and value their privacy are forced to feign an interest in poontang) not everyone waiting at the checkout has what it takes in their basket. One only has to look at the recent Anglican Mainstream debacle (less than 30 paying participants: that wouldn’t have even raised enough to cover Lisa Nolland’s internet “research” subscriptions – never mind buying the ex-gay speakers flowers and some nice cologne) to realize it takes more than just a stained copy of Leviticus to make a mark at the big end of the queer-curing scene.
Which is why I have in the past weeks become such an admirer of a young man to whom I was introduced through a blog from the heart of Mordor - the incomparable Haydn Sennitt. Nor, might I add, am I the only one here at St. Onuphrius’ to be so enamored, both Bishop Quinine and a number of Brother Richthofen’s Friends from Seminary share my fascination – although I still can’t quite understand why they keep printing out copies of the boy’s rugged manly visage “for the purposes of personal private study”.
Consequently I have, as a generous blessing to both members of My Ministry Team and the global multitude of Sinners regularly following My Word, undertaken further research on the only Christian I’ve ever encountered who regularly uses the term “faux-brothers” when speaking of fellow believers. (Read his first paragraph here for a wonderful example - that's an insult which even I have never thought of flinging around.) And what I’ve found shows little Haydn to be an absolutely remarkable boy. Even by the comfortingly nasty standards of his vocation as an unqualified psycho-sexual “pastoral worker” with an organization audacious enough to call itself “Liberty” while specializing in burdening men (and presumably also women, although like most such “ministries” anyone without a penis who isn't a “proof I’m straight” trophy wife rarely rates a mention) with soul-crushing guilt and self-loathing.
Not that undertaking this research has been an easy. The boy’s got more internet personas and closed blogs than a middle-aged Cub Scout master - the kind who lives with his parents and claims communal showers are the most health-giving aspect of camping. Add to this a practice of routinely deleting/editing any ejaculations which subsequent to their emission cast a less than evangelically-glorious light, and nailing down the real Haydn Sennitt becomes more than simply a question of dialling a number on the parish toilet wall. Fortunately, however, it’s been beyond his power to remove the wealth of material quoted on other people’s blogs, and it’s largely through these gems that we’re blessed with a truly inspiring insight into type of person who feels called to make a career out of claiming that people whom God has created, redeemed, and loves, will suffer eternal hellfire should they dare to live as God made them.
The first such jewel comes from Haydn’s now firewalled blog http://giraffepen.blogspot.com - no: I’d also prefer not to speculate upon the significance of the moniker “Giraffe Pen”, but you can trust it’s really him alright. Sourced here, it’s a post on an expat Korean forum discussing another of our boy’s unique evangelistic efforts - be warned that he induces some strong language in those he’s thoughtfully rebuking back to righteousness.
Yet that’s by no means the only fascinating window Mordor’s fresh-faced ambassador for heterofascism. The next is from May 2009, just over two years after our proof of effective reorientation saved his spouse from fatal thermo-mammarial coronary disease. This time the quotes are taken from the blog of a tragic young man convinced that by publically recounting the minutia of his sexual urges (including a daily masturbation update - TMI is most definitely not a term he understands) God will respond by exchanging an interest in men’s bits for the kind of sexuality George Rekers is probably still purporting to enjoy. The exchange is here, but given Haydn’s determination to remove anything incompatible with his persona du jour I’ve taken the precaution of preserving the screenshots below:
Many of My Beloved Sinners might not be aware that during the Korean War I served in a missionary capacity, conducting top-secret negotiations on behalf of western armament manufacturers. As a Biblical Christian and Patriot I’m proud to say that it was purely due to my faithfulness that the godless communists weren’t the only ones to make a fortune by supplying weapons to the North. During the long sleepless, prayer-filled nights of ’50-’53 I was called to gain intimate knowledge of a little Korean, much of which occurred in one of the relaxing locations to which the indirect object of Haydn’s proposition - 찜질방 - refers. Transliterated as “Jjimjilbang”, those unable to deduce the meaning via onomatopoeic contemplation will be interested to learn it refers to the public bathhouses popular in the land of Mrs. Sennitt’s birth. Not, of course, that a newly-minted hetero could share the steam with his genitally-appropriate helpmate - even if he so desired. Jjimjilbang are strictly segregated, and as Haydn is well aware, during the course of a visit only those possessed of a penis are permitted to give other such endowed bathers a refreshing suds up and scrub down.
All of which, of course, implies absolutely nothing with respect to young Mr.Sennitt and his intentions. In fact it’s quite possible that expressing a longing to visit men's steambaths is common practice among the staff of Jensenist para-church “ministries”: for all we know sharing the urge to get “man-to-man” in such contexts is an actively-encouraged aspect of Mordor church culture, and plays no part in evaluating the efficacy of an individual’s reorientation. Perhaps Dobby Ould or one of the other “anonymous” propagandists from the diocese Christianity forgot regularly visiting could enlighten us?
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Afterword
Forgive me if now breaking character detracts from this post: it’s not something I’ve done before. But in the course of writing this I discovered more “ex-gay” blogs than I’d ever dreamed possible, and the depth of despair, self-loathing, guilt, shame, and desperation therein was utterly heartbreaking. And wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Feeling sexually attracted to people of your own gender isn’t any more a sin than feeling attracted to people of a different gender. Some of us find our longings run more in one direction, and some of us yearn in another; just as some of us have curly dark hair and others straight blonde - not to mention a whole lot variations in between! It's all part of being human, part of the wonderful experience of being made from the same stuff as Jesus. Despite what some (often very dishonest) Christians claim, being gay, or lesbian, or transgendered, or anywhere in between, doesn’t mean you can’t follow Christ without pretending to be someone you’re not. Nor does God hate your sexuality, and "biblical" arguments to the contrary are exactly the same as those once used to justify obscenities like slavery, as well as idiocies like the idea women shouldn’t vote, drive cars, or operate office typewriters (yep – people really did once use the bible to justify that last one).
If you’ve somehow wandered here from the type of places that want you to believe God doesn’t love you as you are, and you find the idea of walking away from self-hatred and guilt frightening, then – please – remember you’re not alone. A lot of people have been along that path before you, and their journeys are proof that you too can find life and the light of Christ on the other side of “ex-gay” judgmental bitterness.
Anyone wanting support along the way in North America should try contacting Integrity; those in Great Britain can get in touch with the wonderful team at Changing Attitude. And since fist posting this I've been informed Australians now have their own Changing Attitude Australia, as well as the wonderful www.freedom2b.org. Or you’re always welcome to email me and I’ll do my best to confidentially find the details of someone in your region. Just please don’t ever buy into the lie that the Pharisees speak for God.
They don’t, and the love for you God revealed in Jesus is proof.
‘Fr. C.’
Mind you, when it comes to being internationally recognized as a man’s man in the imaginative world of homosexualist reparation therapy (that’s the technical term experts like myself use for the process in which young men who enjoy musicals and value their privacy are forced to feign an interest in poontang) not everyone waiting at the checkout has what it takes in their basket. One only has to look at the recent Anglican Mainstream debacle (less than 30 paying participants: that wouldn’t have even raised enough to cover Lisa Nolland’s internet “research” subscriptions – never mind buying the ex-gay speakers flowers and some nice cologne) to realize it takes more than just a stained copy of Leviticus to make a mark at the big end of the queer-curing scene.
Which is why I have in the past weeks become such an admirer of a young man to whom I was introduced through a blog from the heart of Mordor - the incomparable Haydn Sennitt. Nor, might I add, am I the only one here at St. Onuphrius’ to be so enamored, both Bishop Quinine and a number of Brother Richthofen’s Friends from Seminary share my fascination – although I still can’t quite understand why they keep printing out copies of the boy’s rugged manly visage “for the purposes of personal private study”.
Consequently I have, as a generous blessing to both members of My Ministry Team and the global multitude of Sinners regularly following My Word, undertaken further research on the only Christian I’ve ever encountered who regularly uses the term “faux-brothers” when speaking of fellow believers. (Read his first paragraph here for a wonderful example - that's an insult which even I have never thought of flinging around.) And what I’ve found shows little Haydn to be an absolutely remarkable boy. Even by the comfortingly nasty standards of his vocation as an unqualified psycho-sexual “pastoral worker” with an organization audacious enough to call itself “Liberty” while specializing in burdening men (and presumably also women, although like most such “ministries” anyone without a penis who isn't a “proof I’m straight” trophy wife rarely rates a mention) with soul-crushing guilt and self-loathing.
Not that undertaking this research has been an easy. The boy’s got more internet personas and closed blogs than a middle-aged Cub Scout master - the kind who lives with his parents and claims communal showers are the most health-giving aspect of camping. Add to this a practice of routinely deleting/editing any ejaculations which subsequent to their emission cast a less than evangelically-glorious light, and nailing down the real Haydn Sennitt becomes more than simply a question of dialling a number on the parish toilet wall. Fortunately, however, it’s been beyond his power to remove the wealth of material quoted on other people’s blogs, and it’s largely through these gems that we’re blessed with a truly inspiring insight into type of person who feels called to make a career out of claiming that people whom God has created, redeemed, and loves, will suffer eternal hellfire should they dare to live as God made them.
The first such jewel comes from Haydn’s now firewalled blog http://giraffepen.blogspot.com - no: I’d also prefer not to speculate upon the significance of the moniker “Giraffe Pen”, but you can trust it’s really him alright. Sourced here, it’s a post on an expat Korean forum discussing another of our boy’s unique evangelistic efforts - be warned that he induces some strong language in those he’s thoughtfully rebuking back to righteousness.
"I'm now on my honeymoon- in Korea, on Jeju island. This has had to be one of the most bizarre stories:Yes My Sinners, you did read that correctly! According to Haydn (who would never lie or exaggerate), his second-ever night of conjugal hetero bliss involved Mrs. Sennitt’s exposed mammaries chilling to the point of inducing cardiac arrest. Whereupon our hero – whose obviously done more whilst watching Baywatch than just ogling David Hasselhoff – resuscitated his freshly demised bride and then, rather than calling 911 so paramedics could race her to the nearest intensive cardiac care unit, expertly treated her alarmingly acute myocardial infarction by “keeping her warm for the night”. What a guy! Obviously it is purely due to reasons of personal modesty that Haydn no longer lets the public read his original account of breathtaking medical chivalry.
a) on Saturday, March 10 2007 at 4pm, I was married to Ji Hyun Sennitt in a Sydney Anglican church, followed by a reception at a golf course. The ceremony and the reception were absolutely terrific- praise God that the day was good!;
b) we went to the Vibe hotel in Milson's Point, where we stayed for 2 nights. On the second night Ji Hyun's heart stopped when she slept with her chest uncovered in a freezing cold bedroom. She had an encounter with 'the other side' of death (I've never been more terrified in my life than that moment when I thought I was going to lose Ji Hyun). I managed to restart her heart and keep warm for the night, but scary it was."
Yet that’s by no means the only fascinating window Mordor’s fresh-faced ambassador for heterofascism. The next is from May 2009, just over two years after our proof of effective reorientation saved his spouse from fatal thermo-mammarial coronary disease. This time the quotes are taken from the blog of a tragic young man convinced that by publically recounting the minutia of his sexual urges (including a daily masturbation update - TMI is most definitely not a term he understands) God will respond by exchanging an interest in men’s bits for the kind of sexuality George Rekers is probably still purporting to enjoy. The exchange is here, but given Haydn’s determination to remove anything incompatible with his persona du jour I’ve taken the precaution of preserving the screenshots below:
Many of My Beloved Sinners might not be aware that during the Korean War I served in a missionary capacity, conducting top-secret negotiations on behalf of western armament manufacturers. As a Biblical Christian and Patriot I’m proud to say that it was purely due to my faithfulness that the godless communists weren’t the only ones to make a fortune by supplying weapons to the North. During the long sleepless, prayer-filled nights of ’50-’53 I was called to gain intimate knowledge of a little Korean, much of which occurred in one of the relaxing locations to which the indirect object of Haydn’s proposition - 찜질방 - refers. Transliterated as “Jjimjilbang”, those unable to deduce the meaning via onomatopoeic contemplation will be interested to learn it refers to the public bathhouses popular in the land of Mrs. Sennitt’s birth. Not, of course, that a newly-minted hetero could share the steam with his genitally-appropriate helpmate - even if he so desired. Jjimjilbang are strictly segregated, and as Haydn is well aware, during the course of a visit only those possessed of a penis are permitted to give other such endowed bathers a refreshing suds up and scrub down.
All of which, of course, implies absolutely nothing with respect to young Mr.Sennitt and his intentions. In fact it’s quite possible that expressing a longing to visit men's steambaths is common practice among the staff of Jensenist para-church “ministries”: for all we know sharing the urge to get “man-to-man” in such contexts is an actively-encouraged aspect of Mordor church culture, and plays no part in evaluating the efficacy of an individual’s reorientation. Perhaps Dobby Ould or one of the other “anonymous” propagandists from the diocese Christianity forgot regularly visiting could enlighten us?
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Afterword
Forgive me if now breaking character detracts from this post: it’s not something I’ve done before. But in the course of writing this I discovered more “ex-gay” blogs than I’d ever dreamed possible, and the depth of despair, self-loathing, guilt, shame, and desperation therein was utterly heartbreaking. And wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Feeling sexually attracted to people of your own gender isn’t any more a sin than feeling attracted to people of a different gender. Some of us find our longings run more in one direction, and some of us yearn in another; just as some of us have curly dark hair and others straight blonde - not to mention a whole lot variations in between! It's all part of being human, part of the wonderful experience of being made from the same stuff as Jesus. Despite what some (often very dishonest) Christians claim, being gay, or lesbian, or transgendered, or anywhere in between, doesn’t mean you can’t follow Christ without pretending to be someone you’re not. Nor does God hate your sexuality, and "biblical" arguments to the contrary are exactly the same as those once used to justify obscenities like slavery, as well as idiocies like the idea women shouldn’t vote, drive cars, or operate office typewriters (yep – people really did once use the bible to justify that last one).
If you’ve somehow wandered here from the type of places that want you to believe God doesn’t love you as you are, and you find the idea of walking away from self-hatred and guilt frightening, then – please – remember you’re not alone. A lot of people have been along that path before you, and their journeys are proof that you too can find life and the light of Christ on the other side of “ex-gay” judgmental bitterness.
Anyone wanting support along the way in North America should try contacting Integrity; those in Great Britain can get in touch with the wonderful team at Changing Attitude. And since fist posting this I've been informed Australians now have their own Changing Attitude Australia, as well as the wonderful www.freedom2b.org. Or you’re always welcome to email me and I’ll do my best to confidentially find the details of someone in your region. Just please don’t ever buy into the lie that the Pharisees speak for God.
They don’t, and the love for you God revealed in Jesus is proof.
‘Fr. C.’
Friday, January 27, 2012
Learning from Scripture
The demands and pressures upon a Bible Teacher as faithful as myself truly are relentless, My Dear Sinners, and these past few weeks have found me tenderly ministering at the deathbed of one of my oldest and dearest parishioners; a man who was not merely a parishioner, but also a friend.
Since I don’t have my notes at hand I can’t recall his name, but his last words shall remain with me always. Although I’m sure you’ll naturally understand why for exegetical purposes I altered them slightly for the funeral sermon (the text upon which I preached was Luke 12:48 – “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required”), and included a moving vision of welcoming angels leading him into the Father’s presence, wherein the deceased’s last-minute (but completely voluntary) decision to name the parish as his sole beneficiary received lavish praise. Just between you and me, however, there’s no denying the plaintive simplicity of what he actually said: “If only I’d spent more time searching for free internet porn.” A regret we can be sure few conservative clergy will share when their turn comes.
And now, as promised in My Previous Homily: while preparing my traditionally dazzling Christmas Day Bible Talks, I hit upon the novel idea of actually reading the Gospel accounts of our Substitutionary Atoner’s birth. Believe me, My Beloved Sinners, there’s no denying I was horrified by what is to be found there: clearly the octopus-like tentacles of today’s liberalism stretch back further than even a relentlessly-vigilant Doctrinal Warrior like myself could have imagined. Using my inequitably perceptive exegetical skills, I guided the spirit into identifying not just one, but three shameful incidents of Christ’s birth blatantly contradicting the Blessed, Holy, and Eternal Scriptures written by St. King James.
1) Jesus’ family had no respect for Scriptural Teaching. As every Biblical Christian knows, the Bible clearly teaches that after giving birth to a boy the mother must not touch anything holy for a total of 40 days (baby girls rate 66 days, which shows somebody had issues long before Forward in Faith started getting worked up about women’s ordination). Yet Luke 2:7 shows that during Mary took Jesus and “wrapped him in swaddling clothes” – a process which unquestionably involved handling Him! Since we know nothing is - nor ever can be - holier than Our Personal Savior, we are left with but one inescapable conclusion: Jesus’ parents had no respect for God’s Word.
2) Jesus’ family engaged in inappropriate relationships. Although Deuteronomy 18:10 doesn’t specifically mention astrology (probably because Mr. Rupert Murdoch had not yet invented newspapers, and those wicked columns which never deliver on their not infrequent promise of an imminent encounter with an exciting stranger didn’t pose much of a problem for the Israelites), it does prohibit God’s People from having anything to do with any form of divination unrelated to the stock market. In a similar vein, 2 Corinthians 6:14-17 categorically forbids True Christians from socializing with unbelievers. Yet Matthew 2:1-12 reveals the parents of Our Sacrifice for Sin actually welcomed 3 magi from the east (in an obvious use of righteous conservative sarcasm the King Saint James version calls them “wise men”) into the presence of their newborn, even permitting them to lay gifts at His feet. Rather than showing these unabashed foreigners the door until they had had the very least prayed the sinner’s prayer and publically repented of their demonic star-gazing ways, Joseph and Mary even permitted them to worship the infant Christ! We can only wonder at what blasphemous and arcane prayers such worship must have entailed: two things at least are certain – there wasn’t any respect shown to the Prayer Book on that occasion, and nobody preached a challenging exegetical exposition upon a reading from Colossians. So their "worship" obviously counted as nothing in the eyes of god.
3) Jesus’ family were irresponsible. When it comes to giving birth, mangers are about as suitable a venue as bus terminals. Let’s face it: the entire process of parturition is deeply unnatural, and any responsible parent does their utmost to ensure labor is thoroughly medicalized, with every intervention possible given the level of one’s insurance. Joseph and Mary’s choice of obstetric setting shows a complete absence of respect for any of the crucial Christian features of childbirth: they had no private birthing-suite, no personal physicians, and prior to the blessed event they didn’t even send everyone in their church little DVDs of the fetal ultrasound. Obviously they either held a distinctly socialist attitude with regard to health care cover, or they were simply poor - in either case it’s hard to imagine a less suitable choice given the importance of the One with whom they were entrusted. In fact, were Our Lord incarnating today they sound just the kind of people who’d selfishly rely on Medicaid to save them from maternal/neo-natal disaster, and that’s no sort of role-model for the infant King of Kings.
The infallible Scriptures were given so that those who like myself have wisely chosen to display theologically-unblemished lifestyles and attitudes might learn from the examples therein. Which is why I’m proud to say that I’ve never given birth in a manger, nor any other edifice constructed for the purpose of housing livestock. Neither should any of you, My Beloved Sinners, if you’re serious about escaping eternal torture at the hands of a loving god. And while you’re about it I strongly recommend you avoid all of Joseph and Mary’s other mistakes. After all – just look at how much trouble their son Jesus ended up causing.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Since I don’t have my notes at hand I can’t recall his name, but his last words shall remain with me always. Although I’m sure you’ll naturally understand why for exegetical purposes I altered them slightly for the funeral sermon (the text upon which I preached was Luke 12:48 – “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required”), and included a moving vision of welcoming angels leading him into the Father’s presence, wherein the deceased’s last-minute (but completely voluntary) decision to name the parish as his sole beneficiary received lavish praise. Just between you and me, however, there’s no denying the plaintive simplicity of what he actually said: “If only I’d spent more time searching for free internet porn.” A regret we can be sure few conservative clergy will share when their turn comes.
And now, as promised in My Previous Homily: while preparing my traditionally dazzling Christmas Day Bible Talks, I hit upon the novel idea of actually reading the Gospel accounts of our Substitutionary Atoner’s birth. Believe me, My Beloved Sinners, there’s no denying I was horrified by what is to be found there: clearly the octopus-like tentacles of today’s liberalism stretch back further than even a relentlessly-vigilant Doctrinal Warrior like myself could have imagined. Using my inequitably perceptive exegetical skills, I guided the spirit into identifying not just one, but three shameful incidents of Christ’s birth blatantly contradicting the Blessed, Holy, and Eternal Scriptures written by St. King James.
1) Jesus’ family had no respect for Scriptural Teaching. As every Biblical Christian knows, the Bible clearly teaches that after giving birth to a boy the mother must not touch anything holy for a total of 40 days (baby girls rate 66 days, which shows somebody had issues long before Forward in Faith started getting worked up about women’s ordination). Yet Luke 2:7 shows that during Mary took Jesus and “wrapped him in swaddling clothes” – a process which unquestionably involved handling Him! Since we know nothing is - nor ever can be - holier than Our Personal Savior, we are left with but one inescapable conclusion: Jesus’ parents had no respect for God’s Word.
2) Jesus’ family engaged in inappropriate relationships. Although Deuteronomy 18:10 doesn’t specifically mention astrology (probably because Mr. Rupert Murdoch had not yet invented newspapers, and those wicked columns which never deliver on their not infrequent promise of an imminent encounter with an exciting stranger didn’t pose much of a problem for the Israelites), it does prohibit God’s People from having anything to do with any form of divination unrelated to the stock market. In a similar vein, 2 Corinthians 6:14-17 categorically forbids True Christians from socializing with unbelievers. Yet Matthew 2:1-12 reveals the parents of Our Sacrifice for Sin actually welcomed 3 magi from the east (in an obvious use of righteous conservative sarcasm the King Saint James version calls them “wise men”) into the presence of their newborn, even permitting them to lay gifts at His feet. Rather than showing these unabashed foreigners the door until they had had the very least prayed the sinner’s prayer and publically repented of their demonic star-gazing ways, Joseph and Mary even permitted them to worship the infant Christ! We can only wonder at what blasphemous and arcane prayers such worship must have entailed: two things at least are certain – there wasn’t any respect shown to the Prayer Book on that occasion, and nobody preached a challenging exegetical exposition upon a reading from Colossians. So their "worship" obviously counted as nothing in the eyes of god.
3) Jesus’ family were irresponsible. When it comes to giving birth, mangers are about as suitable a venue as bus terminals. Let’s face it: the entire process of parturition is deeply unnatural, and any responsible parent does their utmost to ensure labor is thoroughly medicalized, with every intervention possible given the level of one’s insurance. Joseph and Mary’s choice of obstetric setting shows a complete absence of respect for any of the crucial Christian features of childbirth: they had no private birthing-suite, no personal physicians, and prior to the blessed event they didn’t even send everyone in their church little DVDs of the fetal ultrasound. Obviously they either held a distinctly socialist attitude with regard to health care cover, or they were simply poor - in either case it’s hard to imagine a less suitable choice given the importance of the One with whom they were entrusted. In fact, were Our Lord incarnating today they sound just the kind of people who’d selfishly rely on Medicaid to save them from maternal/neo-natal disaster, and that’s no sort of role-model for the infant King of Kings.
The infallible Scriptures were given so that those who like myself have wisely chosen to display theologically-unblemished lifestyles and attitudes might learn from the examples therein. Which is why I’m proud to say that I’ve never given birth in a manger, nor any other edifice constructed for the purpose of housing livestock. Neither should any of you, My Beloved Sinners, if you’re serious about escaping eternal torture at the hands of a loving god. And while you’re about it I strongly recommend you avoid all of Joseph and Mary’s other mistakes. After all – just look at how much trouble their son Jesus ended up causing.
I’m Father Christian and I teach the Bible.
Subscribe to:
Posts
(
Atom
)