Proverbs

It's time for another instalment of the Eccles Bible project, in which we explain the books of the Bible to atheists, Jesuits, and others who haven't really grasped the point. Good to see you again, Richard Dawkins, Stephen Fry, Fr Thomas Rees, Fr James Martin, Tim Kaine, Donald Trump and of course dear Hillary.

Our star pupil has a thirst after righteousness.

Well, there's not much of a "plot" to the book of Proverbs: it consists of various wise sayings. Indeed, wisdom is the main theme. Rather than making a pointless analysis, I'll just give five quotations from Proverbs, interspersed with wise remarks from other sources. See if you can identify them.

Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

If my good friend says a curse word against my mother, he can expect a punch in the nose.

Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise.

It is never difficult to distinguish between a Scotsman with a grievance and a ray of sunshine.

A ray of sunshine.

Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging.

How often do you ask for the help of the Holy Spirit, the breath, the "ruah" of God? Call on her in time of need. Count on her help.

The wicked flee where no man pursues; but the righteous are as bold as a lion.

I think on the whole mumps are better than measles.

As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion.

Virtue is better than no bread. Whom the gods love, butter no parsnips.

Buttered parsnips. Possibly a source of spiritual nourishment.

Right. The five non-Biblical quotes are from a computer, Pope Francis, James Martin S.J., Nigel Molesworth, and P.G. Wodehouse, in some order. They are not as full of wisdom as the authentic quotations from Proverbs, are they?

DONALD! Put that woman down! Who do you think you are, Bill Clinton? Go and sit on the naughty step!

Anyway, the next book we'll study is Ecclesiastes, commonly known as Eccles and thus universally admired.

The Scottish bishops disaster

By William McGonagall

'Twas in the year twenty-fifteen
That strange events in Scotland were seen:
The Nationalists' hopes began to burgeon
Because of a bonnie wee lass called Sturgeon,
Who was bound to do well in the General Election
Because of a mood of disaffection.

The Catholic bishops were all very fine,
Except perhaps for Keith O'Brien.
Of the rest I would mention especially
Philip Tartaglia and Leo Cushley.
Devine was divine, and as for Toal,
There was quite a high chance of saving his soul.

Trouble ahead: Leo Cushley makes a new friend.

But 'tis often thought that Catholics
Should be careful when dabbling in politics.
Bishops, you may write your flock a note
But don't tell 'em exactly how to vote.
When making our choice most think it better
To ignore the tedious "Bishops' Letter".

Alas! The bishops had been gammoned
By Nicola Sturgeon and Alex Salmond.
They fell into a hopeless passion,
And expressed themselves after this fashion:
"She may have got enormous feet,
But her voice is low and sweet -
Aye, she's a' the world to me;
And for bonnie leftie Nicky 
I'd lay me doon and dee!"

Bonnie Leftie Nicky.

I must now conclude my lay,
And tell the world what many men say.
Bishops are blessed, and they know how to pray,
But in Scotland, as in England, they
Sometimes don't take care what they say.
Respectfully, I warn the episcopal classes:
"Your conduct sometimes rather crass is.
Worship God, and say your Masses,
But don't trust any political lasses,
Or people will say you're a bunch of asses!"

Wiser than some bishops.

The Synod of Bridlington

As historians know, the twenty-first century was the beginning of the period known as the Dark Ages, a time of intellectual darkness and barbarity. The weather was harsh, and, thanks to a reliance on wind turbines and the energy generated by hamsters running around in little wheels, there were frequent periods when heat and light were no longer available.

The solution to an energy crisis.

Britain was subject to waves of invaders from overseas. Some came from Scandinavia in long ships, wearing horned helmets. Others came from Poland, armed with plungers, pipe cutters and wrenches; their only wish being to settle on these islands to unblock drains and mend leaking pipes. Still others came in from Muslim lands, showing a passionate hatred for sausages and women's rights.

Education was in decline. Whereas once all children knew Latin, Greek, advanced calculus, brain surgery, and the kings of Israel and Judah at the age of five, the majority of school-leavers in the twenty-first century were unable to read and write anything except text messages; they used numbers only for operating their mobile phones.

No longer a suitable gift for a five-year-old.

Religion was in a parlous state. Christianity was on the verge of dying out, or was being perverted into strange forms in the name of "modernization". It was illegal to refuse to bake a cake for a same-sex couple who wished to hold a "wedding", indeed it was even considered "extremist" to disagree with their redefinition of marriage. Catholic bishops had affairs with married women, the Anglicans allowed bishops to divorce and remarry, and the Baptists didn't even have bishops to show them how to behave.

Of the dreadful year of 2014, the monks wrote in the Anglo-Saxon chronicle, Ye power of ye Magick Circkle cometh not to an end, and a group of demons calling itself ACTA wieldeth influence in ye lande. In other news, ye Pope in Rome hath decreed that ye feast of Alle Saintes shall be on ye first day of November, yet ye rascally bishops, led, so they say, by ye mischievous Cardinal Nickels, have chosen to move it to the Sundaye. And now a quick look at ye weather: it is expected to be cold and dark for the next 200 years.

Ye synod starteth at Bridlington.

In the end, another synod was called, at the Yorkshire town of Bridlington, so that the Catholic Church in England and Wales might agree on the date of All Saints (they had originally planned to hold the meeting in Whitby, as on an earlier occasion, but all the hotels were booked up). The Scottish church did not participate: they were loyal to the pope, and celebrated All Saints on the 1st November; besides, they were more interested in what came after, namely the day of "A' Souls", named in honour of Alexander yclept Salmon.

The Lord smiteth Alexander yclept Salmon.

So Catholicism in England and Wales stood on the brink: would it show loyalty to Pope Francis the Humble, or to Cardinal Nichols the Cunning? Would a new St Hilda emerge to put to flight the forces of rebellion? Er, well, ...

The Prodigal Son

There was a man called George who had three sons. The eldest was called David, the second Patrick and the youngest Andrew. The youngest one said, "Father, give me a share of your estate." The father said "Actually, we only have a family debt, but you are welcome to take your share of that. No, I thought not. Still, you can take that can of oil that you found, together with anything else that is yours, such as the bottle of whisky and that dreadful set of bagpipes that you will insist on playing at all hours."

The youngest son steps out.

At this point we should point out that the youngest son was definitely in two minds about going. His heart told him to leave, even though his head told him it would be madness. Still, in the end he went, and soon squandered the few pounds he had been able to take with him; then he decided to print his own money, but it was not widely accepted, and indeed the expression "Bent as a five-salmond note" soon passed into common usage.

He therefore went to work for a farmer, and was sent into the fields to feed the haggises. He would have loved to have fed himself on the revolting porridge that these creatures ate, but none was given to him.

The taming of the haggis.

After a while he could take no more of this, and said "I will arise and go to my father, and say, 'Father, give me money and I will live with you.'" For this trick had worked in 1707 (did we mention that the youngest son was adopted?)

And his father saw him coming when he was still far off, and said "Bring my best pair of trousers and put it on him; for he cannot wear that dreadful kilt, as it frightens the cat. Also, let us kill the fatted calf and have a fatted Yorkshire pudding with it: anything but haggis, anyway."

... with fatted Eccles cakes to follow.

Now, the eldest son, David, was in the field, tending to the leek harvest, and singing strange ballades, as was his wont, and as he returned to the house he heard wondrous music: for the youngest brother had brought his bagpipes back with him, and was attempting to play James MacMillan's The Confession of Isobel Gowdie on them.

I thought pole dancing was naughtier than this.

And he was angry and said to his father, "In all the years I have been with you, I never caused half as much trouble as my young brother, and yet he gets a wild party."

And the father said, "Son, it was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was lost, and is found."

And at that moment the youngest son popped his head round the door and said, "Thanks, Dad. Well, I'll be off again now..."

The prodigal son breaks the news to his father.

The Pilgrim's Ogress 8: Getting tough with ISIS

Continued from Part 7.

The story so far: Eccles and his Aunt Moly are on a pilgrimage, and have now arrived in Portugal. Prime Minister David Cameron takes up the story.

I may not care about ISIS but I'm very worried about iced fish.

As Prime Minister, I find that a period of rest and relaxation is a very important part of my job, and so Samantha and I headed for Cascais in Portugal, in order to recharge our batteries by making an in-depth study of fish markets. We were just giggling at an overgrown Scottish Salmond that had run aground and been caught out, when in walked a young man in a red biretta accompanied by an old lady clutching a gin bottle.

"Enjoying your holiday?" asked the rather vacant-looking man, whose name, it later transpired, was Eccles.

"This is a time for difficult, and I may say, unpopular decisions," I replied sternly. "I have a positive vision of what is needed for a fair and just dinner tonight; however, I still have to convince Samantha that our future depends on going for the efficiency and flexibility of a meal based on haddock, rather than the more popular short-term alternative of cod."

"Oh really. Heard the news, by the way?" asked Eccles. "ISIS is committing genocide in the Middle East, Christians are being massacred, and President Obama has responded by getting his golf handicap down to 22."

George Galloway - hitting Israel where it hurts by banning their tourists from Bradford.

"Woeful!" screeched the old lady who, I later discovered, was Eccles's aunt.

"Yes, I thought things had gone quiet," I rejoined. "We seem to have lost someone called Baroness Whowasshe over the Gaza issue - I was never quite sure how she got into my government in the first place - and she was a Muslim woman, so I am going to have to use Google to find another. Also, Boris wants my job again."

"So you don't propose to do anything to help the Christians in Mosul, or the Yazidis on Mount Sinjar?"

"Oh no, I don't think that would be very popular with our focus groups," I explained. "There are no votes in helping Christians - they refuse to subscribe to my core policy of seizing the middle ground between Good and Evil. And although it might be nice on the grounds of equality and diversity to save a few Yazidi refugees with their 'Peacock Angel' temples, this is not going to help me win the 2015 election, is it? I might alienate the Muslim terrorist vote."

No votes in peacock angels.

"Have you no shame? No conscience?" asked Eccles, his originally-placid countenance suddenly as twisted as Vince Cable gets when I tell him his sums are all wrong.

Luckily, I never go shopping for fish without my personal bodyguard - there are sharks everywhere - and Eccles was hastily escorted away. I have a deep conviction that my policies - based on the old legal maxim of caput in arena*, will soon be widely accepted, even amongst the small Christian community, but it is an uphill struggle to convince them!

*head-in-the-sand

Continued in Part 9.

Scottish news

Some Scots confused about sex

Startling news comes from North of the Border, where it has been discovered that many Scots have been confused about which sex is which, all along. Consider the following "Lookalike":

Alex Bastedo, actor and sex symbol, wears a skirt... male or female?

Alex Salmond, actor and sex symbol, wears a skirt... male or female?

It has now finally been explained to some of the less alert Scots that the guys in trousers are usually male (use the door marked "Laddies," chaps!) and the guys in skirts are female ("Ladies").

Alex Salmond has decided that the only way to prevent such confusion in future is to allow for the possibility of same-sex "marriage." However, if you are not sure of the sex of your prospective spouse, then do please ask a qualified doctor to advise you, to avoid embarrassment later.

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New job opportunities for Italian clergy

Viva Italia! Green, white and red

Now that the job of Pope is no longer reserved exclusively for Italians, it has been decided that the post of Archbishop of Glasgow will be the main alternative option for high-flyers. In succession to "Don" Mario Conti, the position has now gone to "Don" Philip Tartaglia, Bishop of Paisley.

Is there a Catholic Mafia in Glasgow?

The position of Archbishop of Glasgow was heavily contested amongst the Italian community, and it was a relief that the succession was established without any serious problems. True, there were a few shoot-outs, car bombs, and garottings, but this is considered to be normal at Masses in Glasgow. It has been agreed in principle that the next Archbishop of Glasgow will come from the Corleone family.

Over in Paisley, life is much quieter, as this picture shows.

A tastefully-dressed resident of Paisley on his way to Mass

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Veneration of relics

The false teeth of Eccles's "Anti Moly," now widely regarded as a sacred relic, continue to make their way round the country, to be venerated by pious Catholics. Here they are seen in Edinburgh, surrounded by adoring crowds.

Relics transported in a special vehicle, donated by the Pope

So far, very few miraculous events have been attributed to the relics. Anti Moly, the original owner of the teeth, is of course not dead, but she is still behaving very strangely. A few of her recent utterances from Twitter:

I think I must have eaten a bad spider last night. The anti-freeze hides the taste.

Will people stop wishing me good night? I find it offensive. Besides I don't sleep at night. WOEFUL.

Do please say a prayer for Anti Moly's return to sanity.