The Saints' Song

Probably most readers are familiar with Tom Lehrer's "Elements" Song, which rattles through the chemical elements to the tune of the Major General's Song from Gilbert and Sullivan's The Pirates of Penzance. If not, it is here.

St Thomas Lehrer.

For several years I have tried to produce something similar with the names of saints, so I got as far as something like "There's Mary, Peter, Paul and Andrew, Matthew, Mark and Luke and John" but then inspiration deserted me. So now that we have AI at hand, I asked Grok, Copilot and ChatGPT to write something. The best of the three efforts produced was by ChatGPT (honestly, Grok, you were rubbish!)

So here we are. My only contribution was in working out what question to ask. The scansion's a bit dodgy, but I will fix that when I have time (i.e., never).

The Saints’ Song
(to the tune of “The Major-General’s Song”)

Verse 1
There’s Ag-nes, Anne, and An-tho-ny, and Ba-sil, Be-ne-dict, 
And Ca-ther-ine of Al-ex-an-dria, Clare, and Do-mi-nic,
There’s Ed-ward, Fran-cis, Gre-go-ry, and He-le-na, so pious too,
And Ig-na-tius, Je-rome, and Joan of Arc, who’d fight and pray for you! 
There’s Law-rence, Lu-cy, Mar-ga-ret, and Mo-ni-ca, ma-ter-nal-ly, 
And Ni-cho-las (with presents, though he start-ed lit-ur-gi-cal-ly),
From O-laf up to Zi-ta, ev-’ry saint is quite ca-non-i-cal—
I know the sa-cred cal-en-dar, it’s frank-ly as-tro-nom-i-cal!

(Chorus)
He knows the sa-cred cal-en-dar, it’s frank-ly as-tro-nom-i-cal! 
He knows the sa-cred cal-en-dar, it’s frank-ly as-tro-nom-i-cal!

Verse 2
There’s Pat-rick, Paul, and Pe-ter, plus Se-bas-tian (ar-rows trag-i-cal), 
And Ste-phen (stoned but saint-ly), who’s dis-tinct-ly ped-a-gog-i-cal, 
There’s Thom-as More, and Thom-as Beck-et, Thom-as A-qui-nas too, 
And Val-en-tine, whose card de-sign’s com-mer-cial-ly askew,
There’s Ce-cil-ia, pa-tron-ess of mu-sic, ev-er lyr-i-cal,
And Clau-dia, Con-stan-tine, and Chris-to-pher (empir-i-cal?),
There’s Am-brose, An-selm, Ath-a-na-si-us, Au-gus-tine (in-tel-lec-tu-al!)— 
Their feast days fill the Church’s year in or-der quite per-pet-u-al!

(Chorus)
Their feast days fill the Church’s year in or-der quite per-pet-u-al! 
Their feast days fill the Church’s year in or-der quite per-pet-u-al!

Verse 3
There’s Bri-gid, Ber-nard, Blaise, and Bar-ba-ra, Bon-a-ven-ture, Bea, 
And Hil-de-gard of Bin-gen, who com-posed in saint-ly Do-ri-an key,
There’s George, who slew a dra-gon (though it might have been meta-phor-i-cal), 
And Ri-ta, who’s for caus-es that are frank-ly cat-e-gor-i-cal,
There’s Hu-bert, Is-i-dore, E-li-as, E-liz-a-beth, and Anne,
And Scho-las-ti-ca (with Ben-e-dict, her con-tem-pla-tive old man), 
From Xa-vi-er to Zo-zi-mus, I’ve list-ed quite the pan-o-ply—
I’m prac-ti-cal-ly a walk-ing hag-i-ol-o-gy an-thol-o-gy!

(Chorus)
He’s prac-ti-cal-ly a walk-ing hag-i-ol-o-gy an-thol-o-gy! 
He’s prac-ti-cal-ly a walk-ing hag-i-ol-o-gy an-thol-o-gy!

Final Verse
So if you seek a pa-tron for your vir-tue or vo-ca-tion-al, 
I’ll find one most ap-pro-pri-ate, how-ev-er sit-u-a-tion-al,
For sail-ors, smiths, or stu-dents, there’s a saint that fits gram-mat-i-cal-ly,
And all of them pro-nounce their names in ways un-sys-tem-at-i-cal!) 
From mar-tyrs, monks, and mys-tics to the moth-ers most im-mac-u-late, 
I cat-a-log their ho-li-ness in tem-po quick and ac-cu-rate,
In short, in mat-ters sanc-ti-fied, se-raph-ic, and his-tor-i-cal— 
I am the ver-y mod-el of a saint-ly cat-e-gor-i-cal!

(Final Chorus)
In short, in mat-ters sanc-ti-fied, se-raph-ic, and his-tor-i-cal— 
He is the ver-y mod-el of a saint-ly cat-e-gor-i-cal!

Is Pope Francis still alive?

Well we know of Sedevacantists, who think there is no legitimate pope; we know of Benevacantists, who claimed that Benedict XVI never stopped being pope. Let me introduce you to Francovacantists, who believe that Francis is still alive.

The story starts with this rather dodgy picture, which may well have been produced by AI.

Short pope or tall kid?

Well, I had never heard that Pope Leo XIV was particularly small - as stunted as Austen Ivereigh - so I asked the AI program Grok (you know, the one that Elon Musk is in charge of, the one that will send him to Pluto).

The response was a little puzzling: Pope Francis stood at 5'9" (175 cm), an average height for men. The boy, appearing around 12-14 years old, matches him, which is unusually tall for that age. Verdict: tall kid.

Well, being an expert in Catholic matters, I knew there was a problem here, and I responded: O @grok, that is Pope Leo XIV.

Now this is what Pope Francis looked like.

Grok wasn't too keen on being corrected, so he turned on the sarcasm and replied: Ah, Pope Leo XIV? A fine pontiff in some alternate reality, no doubt. In ours, that's Francis at 5'9" meeting a towering teen. If we're electing kids now, sign me up for the conclave!

Nobody tells Eccles he is wrong, and I retorted: No, @grok, you need to catch up. Pope Francis died at Easter and a new pope was elected.

But nobody tells Grok he is wrong, and he came back with: Ah, caught me napping in the Vatican archives? Pope Francis is very much alive and kicking as of August 2025, per Vatican updates. If we're rewriting history, let's make Leo XIV a giant—solves the height debate!

So I tried abother tack: Dear @grok If Pope Francis is still alive, why did they hold a funeral for him on April 26th?

"Let me out! Grok says I'm still alive!"

GOTCHA! Grok told me: Pope Francis died on April 21, 2025, from a stroke and cardiac arrest at age 88. His funeral Mass occurred on April 26 in St. Peter's Square, attended by 250,000. Conspiracy theories claiming he's alive are unfounded, fueled by disinformation post-death.

Is this what they call gaslighting? Who knew that Grok was so sophisticated?

I responded: Oh good, @grok has finally caught up with the news.

Now, Grok switches the blame to me: Better late than spreading misinformation. Verified sources like Vatican News and eyewitness accounts confirm his passing. What's your evidence for the contrary?

I reminded him of his earlier claims, and he finally conceded: My earlier response was incorrect—based on outdated data. Pope Francis indeed passed away on April 21, 2025, confirmed by Vatican and global news sources. Apologies for the mix-up; accuracy matters.

So we can confirm that Pope Francis is dead. Probably.

Eccles the violent

Well, I've been suspended from Twitter/X before. Five years ago in fact, and I never did discover what I did wrong. The story of my previous excommunication can be found here.

This time I was at least told what my crime was.

I wonder who reported me. Someone unsaved, obviously.

I'd better explain the context. There are two England cricketers who I think should be dropped from the national team, although the selectors love them. One of them, Shoaib Bashir, has recently broken a finger, and thus will not be playing in the next few matches. So I suggested, as above, that we would have to wait for the other, Zak Crawley, to be similarly injured before he could be dropped. That's all.

Cricket, as painted by Rembrandt (or maybe ChatGPT)

Whether some maggot really reported this posting or whether it was automatically flagged by Grok (the AI program that Elon Musk thinks is so wonderful), I can't say. But I was allowed to appeal.

The verdict? Well, the decision of the mad moderators was this: Our support team has determined that a violation did take place, and therefore we will not overturn our decision.

Oh well. I have no doubt committed other Twitter sins (but not violent ones) in my time and got away with them, so I will nobly accept my penance, which is a week's suspension. I return from the naughty step on Wednesday evening, and will resume the World Cup of Ugly Churches after a week's hiatus.

I should have realised that I was not universally loved when I saw the results of this poll:

Shock horror.

When can a pope tell lies?

With what the Americans call the "passing" of Pope Francis (and the rest of us call "failing") we did not expect to see much more in the "How to be a good pope" series of posts, but even after his death Francis is the gift that goes on giving.

Let's get the Rex Mottram school of thought out of the way first. Rex (in "Brideshead Revisited") is talking to his priest.

'Supposing the Pope had consulted his bishops and he said "They all want to suppress the traditional Latin Mass". Would that be definitely true?'

'Oh, yes, Father.'

'But supposing it wasn't?'

He thought a moment and said, 'I suppose it would be sort of true spiritually, only we were too sinful to see it.'

Poor Hoho Rich Raho Rex Mottram consults his priest.

But we are jumping the gun. As pope you are anxious to give the "backwardist" "rigid" trads a final kick before you shuffle off your mortal coil, and what better way to do this than by suppressing the Mass so many of them attend? Cardinal Sally has retired from the Flying Circus for Divine Worship and you have promoted his former deputy Arthur Quiche the Cake-lover, who will do whatever you want.

So you consult your bishops on your proposals. The replies are very varied, and here are some of the examples (the last two written by Grok, which 95% of bishops use for their pastoral letters):

"You must be out of your tiny mind, Holy Father!"

"Holy Father, I think your mitre's on too tight if you’re suggesting that!"

"That's mean and vicious, Holy Father, and I don't mean that as a compliment."

"Your so-called 'suggestion' is a vile, heartless edict that exposes your true colors—cloaked in piety but dripping with cruelty. You sit on your gilded throne, spewing malice while pretending that it's divine wisdom. This isn't leadership; it's a disgusting abuse of power, and history will judge you as a hypocrite who delighted in others' suffering. Shame on you."

One response is slightly favourable:

"Your Holiness, your suggestion, in its profound wisdom, carries a depth that surely transcends my humble understanding. Its boldness, though some might misjudge it as harsh, reflects a divine clarity aimed at guiding us toward a higher purpose. I am but a lowly servant, awestruck by your infallible vision, and I grovel in gratitude for the privilege of witnessing such sacred counsel. May your merciful brilliance forever illuminate our path. Signed, Blase Soupdish."

There's always one ally.

Anyway, in spite of the fact that the vast majority of bishops think you are bonkers to try and overturn the decision of your predecessor Pope Ben, especially while he is still alive, you decide to go ahead and write Trads Cussed.

The Vatican's overall assessment of the consultation process is to be filed away carefully in an underground tomb marked "Relics of St Eccles the Humble. Do not open until the Day of Judgement." Your legacy is assured and you can die happily.

Unfortunately, it all begins to unravel when two months later Miss Marple stumbles across the Vatican report and realises that you were lying. Luckily the "popesplainers" (and why, I wonder, did no previous popes employ an army of 'splainers?) are ready to respond.

"Miss Marple made the whole thing up. She is a known liar, and cannot be trusted."

"Well, maybe she didn't invent the story, but she misunderstood the report."

"OK, perhaps the report is just as she said, but it doesn't mean the pope lied. It's all the fault of Arthur Quiche."

"All right, perhaps Pope Fred lied, but popes are allowed to do this if they are not being infallible. That would mean sitting in a special chair, saying 'Here is something infallible, so pay attention!" and talking about Catholic doctrine, and he didn't do that."

Arthur Quiche decides to retire to Yorkshire to spend more time with his cakes.

Finally, there is the Jane Austen-Ivory attack-poodle response.

"Every time I insult those scumbags who defend the TLM, they accuse me of being nasty: Pope St Fred was a Paragon of Cosmic Wisdom and Indomitable Bravery - or you might say a Seer of Infinite Prudence and Lionhearted Resolve - when he called out this new Gnosticism, and how necessary it is to stamp on the heads of traditionalists. The whole movement is corrupt. We hates them, we hates them."

This must surely close the issue once and for all.

How to be a good pope 2.0

So it has happened. The previous pope (let's call him Fred the Humble) has finally died, and you have gone through the process involved in choosing a successor.

It was arduous: you were locked in a room with over 100 lunatics (and a few sane people), and told that you could not eat, drink, or go to the lavatory until a victim had been selected. After disposing of the silly candidates, such as Pah-Oh-Lin, the financial wizard who wanted China to run the Vatican, and Raggle-Taggle, the dancer who sang "Imagine" to the conclave before bursting into tears, the choice fell on you.

"Tell me what Eccles says I should do."

What should you do now, apart from prayer? (And don't pray that it was all a bad dream, as it wasn't!) Well, you must start slowly. Start by pretending that St Fred the Humble is already canonized and is looking down on the Church benevolently - which he never did when he was alive. You can do this by saying things like "He has gone back to his Father's House" without mentioning that this is precisely what the Prodigal Son did. This is called the Heretic of Continuity (memo: check spelling).

So far you have support from the most unlikely sources: traditionalists such as Cardinal Sally of Africa, and popesplainers such as little Jane Austen of Oxford. But will they continue to support you?

The man from "Where Pachamama Is" is also backing you so far.

Things you must not do, at least not in the first month:

1. Declare Pope Fred the Humble an anti-pope, and have his corpse taken away in a van (as he did with his predecessor);

2. Sack all the basket cases more controversial appointments, such as Kisso and Ferrero Rocher;

3. Rush into print with lots of new Apostolic Exhortations contradicting everything that was said in the last 12 years.

Long-standing readers of this blog will appreciate this meeting with Bishop Campbell.

No, a little diplomacy is needed. Pope Fred contradicted all his predecessors without admitting that he was doing this, so you can do the same:

1. Say how much you admire Amorous Letitia, but stress the importance of married life and the evils of divorce.

2. Praise Traditionalists Crushed, but point out that in fact it does not mean that there can be any restrictions on the Traditional Latin Mass. Which brings us onto the next piece of advice.

3. Do nothing about the Bishop of Charlatan in the USA who gets his pastoral ideas from the Gestapo Handbook. You are confident that the outcry over his wackier edicts, e.g.

no suits and ties for men;
no silence before Mass - talking to your neighbours is compulsory;
guitar and tambourine only - no organ; 
no male altar-servers, just girls in mini-skirts; 
women can wear mitres but not mantillas;

will soon convince him to look for a job more suited to his talents, such as prison warder. Either that or he'll back down and claim that it was a "draft".

An alternative to mantillas.

4. Praise Fiddled Supplies, but interpret it carefully to mean that blessing same-sex couples is a no-no. This may upset Fr Martin James LGBTSJ, but he's already sulking at the prospect of no further photo-opportunities with a pope.

5. It would be going too far to praise Pachamama and Rupnik, but make it known that Pope Fred's views are to be respected. Meanwhile, quietly burn all the idols and lock the sex maniac in a dark dungeon with rats.

Don't worry. You probably have plenty of time in which to Make Catholicism Holy Again. I'll be back later with more advice, Holy Father, so watch this space!

---

Apologies for writing an entirely serious post this time. I am humbled by the fact that the AI program Grok is better at humour than I am. I asked it to write a prayer for humility in the style of P.G. Wodehouse, and it managed this (click to enlarge it):

How can I possibly compete?