What happened after Francis left

As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a den, and laid me down in that place to sleep; and as I slept, I dreamed a dream. I dreamed...*

It was two weeks after the departure of Pope Francis from the chair of St Peter. In my dream it was not clear to me whether he had died, resigned, been carried off to the funny farm, or been arrested by the Swiss Guard. In any case, a conclave had been held and Cardinal Sarah was quickly elected Pope. Nobody wanted a Francis II, and even the Cupiches and Marxes realised that they could not get away with it.

Noisy popes? Who on earth did Cardinal Sarah have in mind?

Pope Pius XIII (as he now was) wasted no time in tidying up the mess left by his predecessor. When he emtered the papal apartments he removed all the Pachamama idols that were cluttering up the place and burned them in public - tschugguelling them into the Tiber left the risk that they might be fished out again. He made the possession of the Pachamama dolls an excommunicable offence - much to the distress of Austen Ivereigh, who had planned to give his nearest and dearest Pachamamas for Christmas.

No longer needed in the Catholic Church.

Then he turned his attention to some of Pope Francis's writings. Instantly he repealed Traditionis Custodes, much to the distress of Arthur Roche, who turned out to have backed the wrong horse. Uncle Arthur was taken away from the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments and sent back to his native Batley to sort out the problems of the schoolteacher who was in hiding after showing his class a cartoon of the Prophet Mohammed. We did not see him again.

Amoris Laetitia was next for the bonfire, and the Dubia were answered with a definite "No, yes, yes, yes, yes!" to the delight of the surviving cardinals, Vice-Popes Burke and Brandmüller.

"Synods?" said the new pope. "Who needs synods, let alone synods about synods? They're cancelled, and anyone seen trying to set up a synod will be severely disciplined by the new Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, now renamed the Inquisition once more."

A tense moment in discussions at the Batley Townswomen's Synod.

"A good morning's work," said Pius XIII. "I'm now going to visit Emeritus Pope Benedict for lunch, and see whether he has any more suggestions."

In the afternoon of the first day the new pope excommunicated Joe Biden and Nancy Pelosi, sacked Jeffrey Sachs, and laicised Fr James Martin LGBTSJ. "Francis bullied the Order of Malta, and the Franciscan Friars of the Immaculate," he told his friends. "I have my sights on the Jesuits and their Satanic America magazine."

Then he sorted out the German bishops and turned his attention to China, and ...

Unfortunately, it was only a dream.

*John Bunyan.

An Anglican Service

For reasons I won't go into, I had to attend an Anglican Communion Service this morning, somewhere in deepest East Anglia. This is what I found.

Not the actual church, but something like it.

The church itself was built in Catholic times, several hundred years before the Reformation. I'm told that when the Church of England was set up they planned to construct a whole new set of churches, but thanks to the generosity of the Catholic Church, which lent them its own buildings, they didn't need to.

The first hymn was Onward, Christian Soldiers. I am not sure whether this was chosen as being appropriate for Lent, or because we are soon expecting to fight a re-run of the Crimean war. The hymn has a stirring tune by Sir Arthur Sullivan, and this verse in particular stood out:

Like a mighty army
Moves the Church of God;
Brothers, we are treading
Where the Saints have trod.
We are not divided;
All one body we:
One in hope and doctrine,
One in charity.

This is where the Anglicans definitely have the edge - I don't think the Catholics could sing "One in hope and doctrine" with a straight face (see this blog, passim, for reasons why not). But then a dreadful thought struck me? Was S. Baring-Gould being satirical? Were Baring-Gould and Sullivan a comic partnership similar to Gilbert and Sullivan?

I don't think he was being satirical there.

I checked this with an Anglican after the service. "Don't you have dissenters too? Some Anglicans want women bishops, some don't believe in the authority of women priests. Some of you campaign for same-sex weddings, and others think they're an abomination?"

"No, Eccles, we all believe in the traditional Christian doctrine handed down by our ancestors. We may allow some women to call themselves bishops, but nobody really takes them seriously."

The comic vestments are a hint that she is not to be taken seriously.

Then I thought of Giles Fraser, and realised that the Anglicans do have the official position of "comedy vicar" - a spiritual version of court jester - which does not exist in the Catholic Church, although some very well-qualified people are campaigning for its introduction.

The sermon was rather good. Part of the message was again relevant to the Catholic Church with which I am more familiar - the vicar was explaining the virtues of obedience, and he said in an exasperated tone that some people thought that obedience was only for dogs. Perhaps all is not well in the C of E? Do they have people like Hans Küng? Is there an Anglican ACTA trying to undermine Justin Welby? These are deep waters, Watson.

An obedient dog.

We had four hymns, all dating from the 19th century or earlier - in contrast with the last but one Catholic Mass I went to, where all four hymns were from the 1960s or later. We even had "Who would true valour see" by Bunyan, which would make a perfectly good Catholic hymn too. This was the traditional version with hobgoblins, foul fiends and lions to fight, rather than the weaker version one sometime sees; however, it was mildly modernised to "No goblin or foul fiend". I am not sure whether a goblin with a hob is better or worse than a hob-less one.

This will not daunt his spirit.

Oh, there was one dreadful part of the service. The infamous "Sign of Peace". The little country church had about thirty worshippers, and approximately fifteen of them insisted on shaking hands with me - in a Catholic Mass it might be eight out of 150. I had the feeling that some people had got up that Sunday morning and said "I'll bet I can shake hands with thirty people today. My average over the last ten services is 28.4."

Practising for the "peace".

Still, apart from that, a good time was had by all.

The Pilgrim's Ogress 1 - Eccles writes

It has been observed that this blog is a little too serious sometimes, as it endeavours to give its readers spiritual nourishment and theological teaching, as well as guidance on hymns and up-to-date religious gossip news. So, inspired by another great blog, we are starting a very exciting serial, which will appear here from time to time. Each instalment will be written by a different person. Today, it is Eccles. Next time it may be his brother Bosco, or Cardinal Murphy-O'Connor, or A.C. Grayling. Wait and see!

A.C. Grayling and a young Richard Dawkins discuss why atheists need honey.

Dis is de story of Eccles, wot is a saved pusson, but who never misses an opportunitty to get more saved. One day he decided to go on a pilgrimage, not sure exactly where he was gonna go, cos he was very anxious to get away from de City of Destructoin (Notting Hill). He had been livvin in de basement of a huge mansoin, owned by best-sellin writer Damain Thopmson, along wiv his Anti Moly, wot is an unsaved pusson who goes "ROFL" at funerals. She is de ogress of de title, and is gonna be goin wiv him unless he can shake her off.

Eccles, the pilgrim.

Anyway, Eccles had had enough of living on custard and cupcakes, so he packed himself a proper pack, wiv spare clothes, Eccles cakes, and books for spiritaul nuorishment such as the Bibble, Shakespier, Lady, don't fall backwards! by Darcy Sarto, and a copy of Damain Thopmson's The Fox, which was thrust on him as a leaving present. Just as he was startin on his way, his Anti Moly, wot had been peacefully sleepin under the table after a long night screemin at the Internet, woke up and asked him where he was goin.

"I is goin on a pilgrimage, Anti," said Eccles, "and I will probably visit many sacred sites, like Walsingham, and Santiago de Compostela, and Fatima, and maybe even de holy city of Croydon."

Vanity Fair, 10 miles.

"All right, I'm comin wiv you," said his Anti. "We can take my donkey, wot is called Micky Ross, to carry our gin bottles wiv us."

"But you ain't a saved pusson, Anti," complained Eccles. "In fact you is banned from most of de churches inside de M25 for goin ROFL rather than AMEN. I been studyin this book by a man named Bunion, and he says dat de way of a pilgrim is hard, and it aint just goin into pubs and drinkin oneself into a stupor. He says you may even meet de foul fiend Apolly on de road (I fink she writes for de Gaurdian)."

"It's time for me to write another foul and fiendish article!"

But even this frightening prospect did not deter the old lady. Thus, Eccles and his Great-Ant Moli began their pilgrimage, heading westward towards the sinful fleshpots of Hammersmith.

What nameless horrors will our pilgrim encounter in Hammersmith?

Continued in Part 2.