Should we pray in public?

There's recently been a fascinating - no, not fascinating, what's the word? - ah yes, mindless debate on Twitter, over the question "Should we pray in public?"

Ignore him, he just wants attention.

Those who are a little weak on understanding wheel out Matthew 23 at this point, and start mumbling about phylacteries and Pharisees (which are two distinct things, as it happens). There is a subtle point here, athough their fuddled minds rather miss it. It is obviously wrong to feel that you are somehow better than others because you call yourself "A miserable sinner" or "On the side of the angels"; however, joining in public prayers is not quite the same thing.

We mustn't pray the Angelus - there's a painter watching!

The Angelus itself is basically a Catholic prayer (although used by some other denominations) and all to do with the angel greeting the Blessed Virgin Mary. This is generally regarded as an important event, and no decent person of any faith would mock it, or even mock a prayer that commemorates it. Of course, it is a fine Twitter tradition to mock Christianity, and if you do so, you need to use lots of swear words and insults, as otherwise people won't take you seriously.

Personally, I find this whole "praying in public" business very distasteful, don't you? When the intercessions begin in church, I generally ignore them, and just turn to the Tablet cryptic crossword puzzle instead. Hmm - Nice debt rearranged - how we hate him! (8). Any ideas, there? Anyway, I don't like people to know I'm praying, so I do it privately at home. Well, of course I don't usually bother. Life's too busy, know what I mean?

A nasty traddy cat, praying.

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To finish off, we have a guest post from Sister Wendy Beckett. This was posted as a comment on Damian Thompson's blog, and immediately deleted by the muddlerators.

Custard for David Cameron.

In this charming 21st century painting by Adams of the Telegraph school, we see an updating of the Belshazzar's Feast story, in which a ruthless dictator lets his gluttonous instincts get the better of him, shortly before his inevitable downfall. The use of custard in this context, traditionally presented in a "rainbow" tin, is an astute reference to the dictator's obsession with same-sex marriage, which was one of the causes of his downfall.

There is a message in this painting for all of us, I think: namely, that custard, although one of the staple foods of life, can be misused and misapplied. St Paul warns us that someone who has turned to the dark side will feed on custard to his own destruction. Incidentally, the painting is one of a pair, as Adams later went on to depict the cupcakes of Clegg.

As we gaze on this beautiful painting, shall we meditate on the fate of Cameron, and say a prayer, possibly one involving custard? I think so.

Parodies make me depressed

Today we are luck enough to have a guest post from Marvin the Paranoid Deacon. The Reverend Mr Marvin writes his own blog, with a special password-protected section that his bishop cannot read.

Our guest blogger.

Parody is the last bastion of the bully (with apologies to Dr Johnson). I've heard of Dr Johnson, and his remark about patriotism. So I thought I'd do a clever parody of his epigram and... no, not a parody. Oh dear, can I start again?

Sir! The Tablet is a scurrilous rag, not worthy of the house of a gentleman.

What I was trying to say is that I get very depressed when I see parodies. For example, there's this organization ACTOR that everyone keeps talking about. It seems to be a parody of the Church of England, or at least its liberal tendency. Abortion, same-sex marriage, homosexual priests, defying the Pope... We've seen all this before, and these ACTORs (who are doubtless all true and faithful Catholics) are simply trying to bully the liberal Anglicans by parodying their views.

Six wives? I left the Catholic Church because I really wanted six husbands!

Excuse me while a pour a bucket of water over my head. You'd like to see a deacon in good standing with water streaming off him, wouldn't you? It would make you laugh, wouldn't it? All right then, here goes.

As a deacon, I am expected to be a martyr.

Now, I was looking around for examples of parody, and, apart from Eccles's blog, I found that the worst examples are in the Bible. That's a book that we deacons like to read in the bath. I've got a special waterproof edition, as I keep dropping it into the water.

You may be familiar with a man called Jesus Christ. We deacons get told about him when we go to deacon classes. But Christ could never have been a deacon in good standing, because he kept telling jokes, being satirical and even making parodies.

Consider that poor Pharisee. By all accounts, he was a Pharisee in good standing. Probably he was a spiritual life coordinator, so that he used to fast twice in a week, go on Twitter to insult Catholic women, and give tithes of all that he possessed. Note that A. Pharisee was his real name - Anthony Pharisee, at a guess. He's more likely to be a real person than the publican, who called himself Mr Peccator, an obviously made-up name. But Jesus bullied him unmercifully.

A Pharisee in good standing.

Christ also made stupid jokes about people straining at gnats and swallowing camels. How depressing. I don't often eat gnats, but I see nothing wrong with swallowing camels. Here's one of my favourite recipes.

I'll swallow camels if I want to!

Well, I hope that you will all take my remarks to heart, and continue to be really nasty to anyone who engages in satire or parody. We're not in this world to have fun... well, I'm not... you try being a manically-depressed deacon sometime.