Pope wins Nobel prize for Boredom

It's the season for awarding Nobel prizes (Roger Penrose got one for his work on Black Holes Matter), and, as was widely expected, Pope Francis has been awarded the Nobel prize for Boredom, on account of his encyclical Tutti Frutti, as everyone is calling it.

This is what it's all about.

The prize-winning work is said to draw on the writings of such renowned theologians as Karl Marx, Maximilien Robespierre, John Lennon, Meghan Markle, and Greta Thunberg, with lots of citations of the humblest pope in history (Pope F*****s). To get some flavour of it, pick three words at random from the word cloud above, and form them into a sentence. Bonus marks if you spot anything to do with religion, such as "God", "Jesus" or "Sin".

So we dipped in and got "world", "people" and "dignity". Our message to you all is "The dignity of the people of the world." Or possibly "Dignity from the world of people." You can probably find both phrases somewhere in Tutti Frutti.

Useful advice on putting duvets into covers!

Of course, not everyone is an admirer of this masterpiece. We have heard two criticisms:

1. The title "Fratelli tutti" is sexist, and so no self-respecting womyn should read the encyclical. Sigh... we know what's in it... just a catalogue of ways that Catholics are encouraged to oppress womyn. Pope Francis thinks that all womyn are good for is putting duvets into covers! Come on, sisters, let's go to the Vatican and have a sit in! Bring your duvets!

2. Pope Francis doesn't like the death penalty. So Catholic teaching has changed. Next week, Catholic teaching on abortion, homosexuality, drug orgies, embezzling money, and framing Australian cardinals may also be changing. Do let us know your suggestions!

Prof. Massimo Faggioli, top gelato Catholic, distributing copies of Tutti Frutti.

So, nothing new, and a worthy recipient of the Nobel Prize for Boredom.

What are you giving up for Lent?

As seen in the Catholic Herald.

We asked some friends of this blog to tell us what they were giving up for Lent this year.

Prof. Massimo Faggioli.

When you live entirely on ice-cream, as I do, there is no food that you can reasonably give up. Likewise, my every waking moment is spent in explaining theology to less intelligent mortals by means of insights so profound that even I don't understand them; so it would be dangerous to make any changes, since civilisation would collapse without my brilliant epigrams.

Pope Francis.

Being the humblest pope who ever lived, I have no luxuries in life that I can give up. Likewise, I have no vices worth speaking of, Eccles. How dare you ask such an impertinent question! SLAP!

Cardinal Dolan.

It is important to show self-discipline during Lent, and so I am giving up health food - salads, spinach, fruit, etc. - and sticking to a diet of giant steaks, suet, and sticky toffee pudding. It will be hard for me, but I know that this penitential regime will do me good.

Prof. Tina Beattie.

What a sexist question! By asking me that, you're implying that women are inferior to men, aren't you? Just you wait until I get ordained and you want ashes on your forehead... they'll be so hot that you'll end up with scar tissue, you pig!

Fr James Martin SJ.

I shall give up reading the Bible in Lent - I disagree with most of it, anyway. Still, I shall miss the absorbing tale of how it took a humble carpenter's son 30 years before He was able to do miracles successfully, and even then everyone misunderstood His teachings until I came along.

Dr Austen Ivereigh.

People have asked me to give up my worship of Pachamama, my idolatory of Pope Francis, and my "brain-rotting" writing. But I thank God that I am unlike other men, and have no vices worth speaking of.

Emeritus Pope Benedict XVI.

I am giving up tea for Lent, and indeed I am handing over my stock of Yorkshire tea to this new chap. I much prefer beer, anyway.

Prof. Richard Dawkins.

Well of course we have all outgrown the idea of Lent, as something that only religious extremists celebrate. So when I mention that, following an outcry, I have decided not to eat any human flesh from now on, this is not to be interpreted as a foolish religious fetish, but merely the wise decision of a venerable professor who is fed up with having bricks thrown through his window.

Fr Antonio Spadaro.

If 2+2 can equal 5, then the 40 days of Lent can equal 32. Thus, for the first week it isn't Lent at all, so why bother?

The CNA and Catholic Herald do a hatchet job on me

I, Professor Massimo Ecclesioli, am a very distinguished professor at the University of Astonvilla, and an expert on history, theology, theological history, historical theology, gelato, theological gelato, and gelatinous history, and of course a pious Catholic who prays to the Spirit of Vatican II every night.

Now, it is true that I wrote a piece in which I claimed that St Peter, St Paul, St Augustine, and St Thomas Aquinas were "devout schismatics," diminishing the authority of Pope Francis by constantly disagreeing with him. They are all siding with Archbishop Viganò, as are Cardinal Burke, Pope Benedict XVI, Archbishop Chaput, Cardinal Sarah, and Jesus Christ, Himself. They seem to believe that Viganò is basically an honest man: whereas, I, Professor Doctor Austen Ivereigh, Cardinal Cupich, Fr Thomas Rosica, and Cardinal Mr McCarrick all say he is a fiend incarnate.

Prof. "Cakes" Ecclesioli (L).

Anyway, the Catholic News Agency (CNA) did a hit piece on me, telling people what I had written. They didn't even consult me, they just went ahead and published an account of my words. And they claimed that I could not be reached for comment, on the spurious grounds that when they tried to reach me, they failed. These scurrilous allegations were taken up by the Catholic Herald too.

The explanation is simple. After travelling home from Europe, I indulged in a light meal of gelato - banana, raspberry, bacon, onion, lychee, spinach, vanilla, gin, chop suey, mustard, blackcurrant, aspirin, and octopus flavoured ice-cream. (As an aside, when the Amazon Synod leads to the consumption of gelato flavoured with leaves, faggioli beans, piranha fish, and curare, I shall be first in the queue!) Anyway, as a result of my simple meal, I felt rather unwell and slumped under the table. If the CNA had looked there, they could have found me.

I should finish by pointing out that I am the Professor of Catholic Gelato at the University of Villageidiot, and therefore much cleverer than anyone else I have ever met. I rest my case.

It's a wonderful life

One of the most popular Christmas films ever is "It's a wonderful life" telling the story of George Bailoglio, of Buenos Aires Falls. After a long and complicated life he becomes Pope, but things go badly for him, and he is criticised on all sides. Should he end it all?

George Bailoglio with Ted McCarrick his guardian angel

His guardian angel persuades George to look back at all the lives he has affected, and to see how things would have turned out if he had not come to Popersville.

There's James Martin SJ, no longer an influential LGBT activist and part-time priest, but in a much lowlier job, acting and dancing.

There's Matthew Festing, no longer in retirement and relaxing over a glass of port, but the powerful Prince and Grandmaster of the Sovereign Order of Malta, forced to fight endless battles with Al Boeslager, the condom king.

No, don't hang yourself!

There's Austen Ivereigh, no longer a famous writer of toadying biographies and self-styled expert on the papacy, but simply a failed journalist sleeping in a cardboard box.

There are cardinals Cupich, Tobin, Farrell, Wuerl, Kasper, Marx, Coccopalmerio, Sch... (all right, thirty other names omitted), all demoted to the rank of acting subdeacon responsible for the boiler, on account of their heresies.

There's Professor Massimo Faggioli, no longer a highly-revered academic whose lectures attract sometimes more than three students, but simply a gelato salesman who harangues passers-by with his latest theories.

Professor Faggioli at work.

There's Henry Sire, no longer the multi-millionaire author of The Dictator Pope, soon to be a major movie starring Tom Hanks, but the unread author of The Pretty Good Pope Really, the story of Cardinal Sarah's pontificate.

There's the Vatican staff, employing ten times as many people as before, all fielding questions of the form "Did the Pope really say that?" and "Did the Pope really do that?" So many would otherwise be unemployed.

Anyway, in the end George Bailoglio realises what a great influence has had on people's lives, and decides not to end it all. "If Benedict can live into his 90s then so can I!"

A happy ending for everyone.

Do atheists make the best Christians?

On this blog we have long been admirers of Cardinal Blase Cupich, as he exemplifies one important principle:

You don't need to have intelligence, faith or theological insight to rise to the position of Prince of the Church (and possibly even Pope - wouldn't that be fun?)

So we were impressed by his recent statement that some of the best Christians are atheists:

As is usual in Vatican circles these days, rejecting Christ's teaching is the way to advancement. Clearly we should bin Matthew 33:37-38.

Jesus said to him: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with thy whole heart, and with thy whole soul, and with thy whole mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment.

However, in Cupichianity, Love means never having to say "I believe you exist"; so we can skip this commandment (greatest and first? Ha!) and go straight onto the second about loving your neighbour - perhaps calling him a "witless worm", or a "neurotic", or even a "self-absorbed Promethean neo-Pelagian", depending on your personal taste.

"I can see lots of great Christians with my new glasses!"

Anyway, it's a great relief to us all that you can go straight to Heaven - which doesn't exist of course - by being "good" and "conducting yourself well". Perhaps by working for three hours a week for charity? Choose a modern charity such the British Pregnancy Advisory Service - or Planned Parenthood if you are in the States.

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In other news, Professor Massimo Faggioli has written a fascinating article for the Catholic Herald explaining that he identifies as an ice-cream salesman.

Accordingly, we are pleased to show you an exclusive photo of Professor Faggioli selling some theology to Cardinal Marx.

"Now to understand Amoris Laetitia you need the code book, the breeder's guide, and some Vatican II documents..."

Rhino Marx in "A Week at the Synod"

It has been announced that the sole surviving Marx Brother, Cardinal Reinhard "Rhino" Marx, long regarded as one of the funniest of the team, is to star in a new film A Week at the Synod.

Those are my principles, and if you don't like them... well, I have others.

The basic plot of the film is that Rhino takes the part of Rufus T. Moneybags, the chairman of the German Bishops' Conference. He has become extremely rich as a result of a dodgy "church tax", and wishes to declare independence from the Catholic Church, citing the precedent of the great Martin Z. Luther. This will enable the German church to become even richer, and make up its own rules, such as rejecting all the traddy Christian teaching about marriage and the family.

In the words of Rhino: "Please accept my resignation. I don’t care to belong to any church that will have me as a member."

"There ain't no Sanity Clause for cardinals." Rhino with "Chico" Baldisseri.

Naturally, the repressive Roman Church, led by businessman Francis I. Pope, is opposed to the Moneybags "Go it alone" policy, but at the Synod Francis is told in no uncertain terms: "From the moment I picked up the Catechism until I put it down I was convulsed with laughter. Some day I intend reading it."

Time for reflection: Rhino and "Harpo" Kasper, the one with nothing useful to say.

Eccles verdict: the characters played by Marx, Baldisseri and Kasper are as ludicrous as any we have ever seen, but the plot is totally implausible. Watch out for veteran comic Tina Beattie in the "Margaret Dumont" role of the foolish old woman.

Job

Welcome back, class, to the Eccles Bible project, in which we explain Holy Scripture to atheists and any others who require spiritual nourishment. And it's a big welcome to one or two scholars that we don't remember seeing before. We have Russell Brand (put that phoney-woney away, boy - no nuisance calls in class, please), and a contingent of cardinals fresh from the Extraordinary Synod in Rome, sent here by Cardinal Burke for a refresher course: so hello to Walter Kasper, Reinhard Marx ("Rhino" of the famous Marx Brothers), and of course our dear friend Vincent Nichols!

Cheer up, Job! It could be worse!

Well, the basic idea of the book of Job is that s*** happens. Job is rich and prosperous, and a truly religious person. Satan asks, "What would he be like if we took everything from him?" God says "Let's find out." So Job loses his oxen, asses, camels, sheep, servants, sons and daughters - this is called down-sizing - and gets afflicted with boils. At this stage, he is not really enjoying life. "Let the day perish wherein I was born," he says.

So what do you do if things go wrong? Well, it's good to have friends - in Job's case Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite* and Zophar the Naamathite - who can come along and console you by saying. "You know, Job, it's your own fault really. You must be a dreadful sinner."

"Who was the shortest person in the Bible? Bildad, as he was only shoe-height."

It's all YOUR fault, Job.

Anyway, Job keeps moaning, with catchy lines such as "Man born of a woman, living for a short time, is filled with many miseries," so you can see that he is not looking on the bright side at this point. His friends continue to tell him "Serve you right. You're a great sinner. ROFL," and thus they get the somewhat exasperated response "You are all troublesome comforters."

Job sticks to his faith, in particular the idea that in the end God will make all things right. He gradually gets round to giving a little homily about wisdom - for one with a very grievous ulcer, from the sole of the foot even to the top of his head, he is still remarkably chatty - and he says some very sound things such as "Behold the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom: and to depart from evil, is understanding."

I can see that I'm losing my audience here: some of you don't believe in God, and others are quite happy to compromise with evil, eh, cardinals? Still, Job doesn't quite see it your way.

And after more of the same, God comes back.

Do you think there's someone outside?

God is not going to explain what's been going on, nor defend Himself. He makes the (if I may say so) very valid point that He (God) is infinitely wise and powerful, and Job is a mere human. "Canst thou draw out the leviathan with a hook, or canst thou tie his tongue with a cord?" asks God, and Job is fairly sure that he cannot.

The book has a happy ending, as God ticks off the three comforters and restores to Job his wealth, more than previously: namely, fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand she-asses. He also has seven sons, and three daughters. Phew!

Job and his (apparently, rather musical) family.

It's a good book to read if you're feeling depressed. Class dismissed.

The 2012 Tabloid Lecture

A longer and funnier version of the lecture appears here.

Catherine Popehater, Editor of the Tabloid comic (motto Ecclesia Contra Papam), was very pleased that Kaiser Wilhelm II agreed to give the 2012 Tabloid lecture. Last year, by mistake, we invited Vincent Nichols, who said that, on balance, he thought that poisoning the Pope was not the only possible answer to the problems facing the Catholic Church. This year, we have managed to find someone less conservative.

Robert Blair Kaiser.

These days, both wings of the Church are saying that the Second Vatican Council was a failure. I do not believe that this is true. For one thing, it allowed an obscure talentless journalist such as myself to make a career out of the Catholic Church's problems, just because I am a fluent Latin speaker.

I remember meeting Pope John XXIII just before the Council opened. "Hic, haec hoc!" I said to him, challengingly, and followed this up with "Mensa, mensa, mensam, mensae, mensae, mensa!" The Pope looked at me in a puzzled way, crossed himself, and moved on: it was at that moment that I knew I had influenced the Church in a way that would go down in history.

John XXIII - he had no answer to my arguments.

His predecessors, Pius XI and Pius XII, had campaigned against Evil. As an historian, Papa Roncalli knew what a risky business this could be. "No more moralizing," he said. I am sure he didn't want the Council to take sides in the so-called battle between God and the Devil.

As the Council opened, I sought out America's most famous Catholic preacher, Bishop Fulton Sheen. I expected him to be sleeping in a cardboard box under a railway bridge, but when I saw that he was staying in a hotel, I instantly knew that he was a reactionary. "This Council will be inspired by the Holy Spirit," he said.

"Never heard of Him," I retorted. "Can you tell me how to interview Him?"

Bishop Sheen merely smiled sadly, and I knew that we would be in danger, if the Holy Spirit - an unelected grandee - tried to interfere in the Council's decisions.

Fulton Sheen - did he wear gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints?

Well, you expect to see dinosaurs like Sheen when bishops are appointed by the Vatican hierarchy, instead of being democratically elected like police chiefs, in a free ballot in which atheists may also participate!

In the end, unlike the previous twenty Councils, in which some mythical person called "God" had played a key role, Vatican II was inspired directly by the 1960s ethos. The inspirational figures of the 1960s - people like Ronald Biggs, Jimmy Savile and Christine Keeler - were all to be found outside the Church oligarchy.

Christine Keeler, in prayer.

The Council changed the way we thought about God and the World. Indeed, Pope John and his Council made preliminary moves that helped end the Cold War - and, only 25 years later, Communism collapsed. (I make this comment since I am not pretending that the effects of the Council were always beneficial.)

Marxists reflect on the threat posed by the Council.

Before the Council, Mass had to be celebrated by a priest. Afterwards, nobody went to Mass anyway, so it didn't matter.

Before the Council, women were forbidden to attend Mass. Afterwards, they were freed from their bonds and allowed to participate fully in the life of the Church. The shock of this liberation drove some women insane with joy, and special caring arrangements had to be made: for example, Patient C was appointed editor of a Catholic comic, while Patient T was sent to sheltered accommodation in Roehampton.

Roehampton - a place where crazy people are respected.

Before the Council, Catholics were forced to read the Bible. Afterwards, they could read my best-selling books The Selfish Pope and The Pope Delusion.

Before the Council, we were sin-obsessed. Nowadays, Good and Evil are recognised as lifestyle choices, and nobody in the Church dares to say that one is better than the other. Before the Council, people spoke of Heaven, Hell and Purgatory. Nowadays, we know that nobody will judge us, not even God.

Do we really see God like this, as a judge?

What we modernizing Catholics really hated was the Council of Trent (1545-1563). When announcing Vatican II, Pope John XXIII stated that the precepts of the Council of Trent continue to the modern day, but of course he wasn't serious. What could a bunch of medieval people know about sex and drugs, and rock and roll?

The Council of Trent. We hates it, we hates it, we hates it.

When Jesus addressed the multitudes on that hillside overlooking the sea of Galilee, he didn't tell them how to behave. He told them how to have fun. Jesus could have learned a lot from Vatican II - the Council told us what he should really have said. Which is as it should be.