Wednesday 9 October 2013

Report on "Holy Smoke Parish" (how social media is sending your children to hell)

"Holy Smoke", muttered the youthful modernist priest, Fr. Aidan McNutty to himself as he finished reading the report on the "spiritual growth" of - you guessed it - Holy Smoke Parish. "Archbishop Weakling will be very pleased", thought the cleric as he sealed the document and handed it to the FedEx man to send it to the Chancery.

Later that morning:

Avante-garde theologian and disciple of ex-priest, Matthew Fox, Archbishop Rupert Weakling arose from his personal Steinway concert grand in his chancery office; a "cultured" man, the prelate had just finished playing an exquisite interpretation of John Cage's 4'33. Weakling, turning on his gramaphone, seated himself and leant back in his imported oak armchair (in truth akin to a throne) to listen to Sir Harrison Birtwhistle's Panic.

A knock on the door alerted the Archbishop to the delivery of the FedEx package..."bloody hell", the fiendish prelate growled. "Come in" he shouted...

Later that evening: 

"Outstanding Aidan, simply outstanding, spoke Archbishop Rupert Weakling; "Aidan, this has got to be the best report submitted so far this year. Think of it: on the surface a "conservative" parish - they even use Latin. This is really an amazing accomplishment. How do you do it"? "Well, I get a lot of guidance from Ms. Ann Thrope. Her master classes at the "Lesbo Power Centre of  Spirituality" focused the attention on the families most involved with the parish.... she also ensured that great attention was paid to the local parochial school. It was essential - superficially - to be very doctrinally spot-on, and full of devout and pious teachers. Her advice has produced results beyond our wildest imagination. She placed particular attention in her lectures to us on the use of social media: get the kids on it; hook them...Placebook is just a great place for these young losers to be". McNutty was beside himself with excitement and pride.

"Your work certainly has been excellent Rupert. Look at this" - the Archbishop thumbed rudely through the document: "Not just sensuality, eroticism, and crass vulgarity - but homosexuality and  the occult!. We have everything here. Impressive, most impressive! You deserve an award; I think I'm going to make you a Monsignor for all your efforts".

"And look at these photos from Placebook!", continued the ever helpful McNutty. "Mmmmm",  moaned the evil Archbishop with glee. Weakling flicked through a huge pile of downloads related to various large, regular Sunday-going families. 

"Oooh my word", laughed the Archbishop. "What is it?", questioned Aidan. "Well, look at this photo", replied his master. Rupert sniggered as the Archbishop showed him a photo taken by a Catholic school girl with the words "&^%*%@)" beautifully embroidered on a French damask curtain. "And to think, my boy, that this girl is the daughter of one of our local so-called lay 'theologians'!". The Archbishop laughed uproariously perusing the dossier with relish. Finished, he placed the contents inside a folder marked "Hell Bound", and then (you guessed it again) bound the dossier with a pink, silk ribbon.

"Let's have a drink Aidan", lisped the vile Weakling. McNutty opened the Archbishop's lavish drinks cupboard and poured out two large glasses of Armagnac. "Success"! - the two men toasted.

"By the way, Rupert, the girl was a star at the private, parochial school" offered McNutty. "Ann was insistent that to get the results we wanted, the teachers would have to really increase the amount of texts on spiritual combat, along with lengthy orthodox religious classes; and to augment all that with a minimum of solid half-hour recitation of various prayers". 

"She certainly knew what she was doing", replied Weakling. "I should think so Rupert, answered Aidan. "Ann has studied in detail the writings of St. Teresa of Avila, but she uses the works in a Luciferian manner; reversing the advice, whilst pushing externals. Another of her tricks is over-emphasizing one aspect to the detriment of another." "Amazing woman, replied the prelate, taken aback with Ms. Ann Thrope's evil genius, "simply amazing". "She'd teach in my seminary, if it wasn't empty", chortled Weakland, as he refilled the glasses. 

"Oh, look at these", tittered Aidan, handing the Archbishop a number of bizarre, kinky photos bordering on porn. "And look at this one Rupert", said the young cleric, handing his superior a high quality printout. "Let me see", said Weakling. The Archbishop adjusted the light on his desk to better ogle the occult inspired visuals presented to him. Roaring with laughter, Weakling lit a Havana and lent back in his chair, puffing frantically.

"Things are going well Aidan, very, very well. To think that we have had such success with good families. This bodes very well for the future. Aidan, do you realize this means we are right on target in decimating the local archdiocese?  In a few years I'll be retired on a huge index-linked pension relishing these victories (and changing into a sneering and ghoulish sounding voice the Archbishop continued);  "and I don't "%^$%$#&*&%#@" - to quote our "little" Catholic school girl - what happens financially. As long as I have money, and the church torpedos: that is all I care about. Souls, souls, it's about destroying souls". 

The Archbishop arose and carefully placed the dossier in his wall safe. Spinning the dial, he sniggered evilly and with a puff of smoke, disappeared from the room. Aidan, glancing at himself in the Archbishop's full-length mirror murmured, "how dare I be so beautiful", before quietly lying down on Rupert's couch to reflect on the deep, dark, sinister plans of his lord and master.... as well as to meditate on the macabre and evil world that once innocent Catholic children had been dragged inexorably into...

Later, well after Midnight:

"Living after midnight, rockin' till the dawn..." blared Fr. McNutty's stereo, as the Judas priest listened - you guessed it again! - to his Judas Priest albums... be continued 


Freyr said...

In this popular piety, we mark our gain in sensibility and our loss in vision. If other ages felt less, they saw more, even though they saw with the blind, prophetic, unsentimental eye of acceptance, which is to say, faith. In the absence of this faith now, we govern by tenderness. It is a tenderness which, long since cut off from the person of Christ, is wrapped in theory. When tenderness is detached from the source of tenderness, its logical outcome is terror. It ends in forced-labor camps and in the fumes of the gas chambers…. [Flannery O’Connor

Freyr said...

Methinks ye are mistaken sir...
You do not need demons to lead people to hell. All you need are good, well intentioned people who have forgotten the great mercy shown to them and the source of that mercy. Such people delude themselves into believing they have actually done something to merit that mercy. And so with the descent into pelagianism the march to the gas chambers begins...