Giles Fraser condemns the Re-election of Jesus

Palestine, 33 AD.

Gi-les Fra-ser, a Sadducee scribe, has expressed himself extremely dissatisfied with the recent surprising Re-election of Jesus of Nazareth.

The Church of Charlotte was also dissatisfied.

Dr Fra-ser, known for his regular Take no thought for tomorrow slot for the Roman Empire Broadcasting Company, was writing his "Lost Canon" piece for the Guardian's The comments will make you free section. He pointed out that there had been three candidates for Re-election, namely, Jesus, Ed Dismas the Good Thief, and Nick Gestas the Bad Thief. (There were also candidates with less potential for salvation, such as Judas Isgalloway.)

Dismas's brother demonstrates the Vulcan death grip.

It is thought that Dr Fra-ser was first disillusioned with Jesus when he came across His views on marriage: apparently, it was the bigoted "one man and one woman" model that he found unacceptable. Weeping copiously, Dr Fra-ser wrote how he was ashamed to be a citizen of the Roman Empire, and that he felt that the democratic system had failed the most vulnerable in society. He thought that God had got it wrong ("as He so often does"), and that the highly eccentric Russell Barabbas might have been right after all, when he told people to support nobody at all Ed Dismas, the Judaean People's Front.

A powerful message from Russell Barabbas.

Jesus, is of course associated with food banks (5000 hungry people were clamouring for a free meal at one point), and a somewhat hit-and-miss attitude to health care, as Lazarus and Jairus's daughter could testify. However, it seems that He has now been Re-elected for a long period, and it is not clear how Fra-ser proposes to resist his authority. Meanwhile, he admits, "I'm very Sadducee."

There's good in all of us

This blog has occasionally been criticised for taking a negative attitude towards certain people - apparently casting down the mighty from their seats and exalting the humble and meek isn't appreciated if you're one of the ones being cast down - so today we get into the Christmas spirit and praise everyone. After all, even Pope Francis is supposed to have said that all of us are redeemed, and this also applies to our pets, especially cute ones.

Mother and child, by A. Hitler.

Sister Wendy Beckett comments: This charming picture, from the "Nazi" School of art, shows a touching scene of a mother and child. See the devotion in the mother's eyes, as she regards her little baby, born to be Führer, while he looks around, perhaps wondering whether he needs more Lebensraum. Evidently, the artist was a kind and sensitive man, who knew the true meaning of love. Do look up his life history, as I am sure that we can follow his example in many ways.

Lord Voldemort.

Damian Thompson writes: Lord Voldemort, sometimes incorrectly called "Lord Tom Voldemort" by people who don't know how to refer to peers of the realm, was a talented wizard. I knew him well in his childhood in Reading, when he was simply Tom Marvolo Riddle; he attended the same primary school as I did, before winning a scholarship to Hogwarts, and was a very clever boy indeed, coming second in the class (to me). Although a devout Catholic, he was strongly influenced by the Spirit of Vatican II, and this may have contributed to the bad press he received in later years. I blame Cormac Murphy-O'Connor.

Basil Fawlty attempts to mend a broken-down car.

Andrew Sachs explains: Basil Fawlty has received a lot of bad press, from those who see him as a bad-tempered bully. However, we must wonder whether with such a personality he would have been better suited to another occupation, for example, as a deacon in the Croydon area. In any case, having encountered both him and Russell Brand, I have to say that Mr Fawlty was a much kinder person all round, and he definitely never made nuisance telephone calls or tried to harass bank staff going about their lawful business. No, with all his faults Mr Fawlty was a kind and generous man, and he certainly wouldn't have written a pretentious "bookie wookie" called Revolution.

Only cute pets can go to Heaven

As is usual nowadays, Fr Federico Lombardi has clarified the off-the-cuff remarks of Pope Francis that all God's creatures are saved. "What the Holy Father really said," he explained, "is that all cute animals are saved." The offer does not apply to the Hound of the Baskervilles, for example; and pit bull terriers will still end up in the pits of Hades.

Cute enough to be saved.

It was explained that, whereas Jesus died to save humans from their sins, animals as such do not have a great idea of the difference between Good and Evil, being in that respect something like Members of Parliament or Guardian-readers. For instance, how do you tell the difference between a good crocodile and a bad crocodile when it's biting your leg off? Moreover, it would be inconvenient to have crocodiles wandering round Heaven, even ones equipped with angels' wings.

An optimistic crocodile sings "Amazing Grace".

C.S. Lewis once said that a Heaven for mosquitoes could be combined with a Hell for humans. Nowadays, modern teaching has largely abolished the idea of Hell, and Good and Evil are replaced with Niceness - see the Niceone Creed for details. Nevertheless, being able to decide whether one is saved simply on the basis of one's Cuteness applies only to animals, and not to humans. For example, many of the saints were not at all cute.

John the Baptist - as un-cute as Russell Brand but still saved.

Fr Lombardi added that simply possessing a cute pet was not an automatic guarantee for salvation: the pet itself would have to abandon its owner in the afterlife. Cats, for example, will do this without any scruples.

Only one of these is saved. Can you work out which it is?

According to Biblical teaching, God has decided that sheep are saved, and goats are not; this does indeed follow the principle of "cuteness", as goats are not generally regarded as cute animals. Indeed it is hard to imagine Pope Francis trying to gain credibility by walking around with an unsaved goat round his neck. Q.E.D.

The Pope poses with a saved creature.

Russell Brand becomes a Catholic

The comedian, actor, radio host, author, and activist Russell Brand has announced to his adoring fans that he has become a Catholic. Apparently, after flirting with revolutionary socialism for a month ("which is longer than most of my affairs last") he has decided to become a revolutionary Christian instead.

Pope Russell I (as he will be known).

Brand admits that he is new to this "religion business" but expects to rise quickly through the ranks, and to become Pope shortly before giving up the whole thing out of boredom. When we asked him if he had received the "call" from God, he replied, "Yes, and He left a very rude message on my Ansaphone! Such people should be locked up!"

Apparently, Brand has a new book to sell (the Gospie Wospie according to St Russell), which contains many valuable new insights into the life of Jesus, who is revealed to have been a comedian, actor, radio host, author, and activist, secretly married to St Katheryn of Perry. "I'm really writing about the only thing that interests me," admits Russell, "Myself!"

According to Wikipedia, Brand describes himself as "a person who’s trying to live a decent, spiritual life". If that is really the case, he may not get very far in the Catholic hierarchy within the month or so that he has given himself to take over the Church. But who are we to judge?

Lookalikes: the Million Mask flag, and the ISIS flag.

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.

What are my human rights?

QUAERITUR: What are my human rights? I have read recently that Judge Dedov, a comedian employed by the European Court of Human Rights, took the (minority) view that Catholic priests had the "human right" to remain priests, even if they disregarded the celibacy rule. Moreover, Michael Fabricant M.P. has just declared that homosexuals have the "right" to give blood. So is there a comprehensive list of rights anywhere?

Do I have the right to a silly mop of blond hair?

Professor Eccles answers: I once read a book by Simone Weil - clever lady - in which she argued that talking about "rights" was silly, and we should be talking more about "responsibilities". So instead of saying "I have a right to a silly mop of blond hair", we should argue "The NHS has a duty to provide me with a silly blond wig". Instead of saying "I have a right to give blood", we might say "The NHS (or Count Dracula, or whoever you wish to give it to) has a duty to accept this bottle of red stuff that I've brought in with me."

"Cliff Richard might get your lot - that'd slow him down a bit."

Human rights have clearly changed over time: originally Ug the cave-man felt he had the "right" to food and shelter - but not necessarily the prime cut of mammoth or the most comfortable rock to lay his head on. The human right to watch Russell Brand on colour television never occurred to him (those were happier times). Even then he might feel he had the right to be a high priest and to participate in the sacrifices that were going on (mostly goats in those days, it seems).

After some thought, I have formulated the Eccles Principle of Human Rights. Human Rights are whatever someone else has that you want.

Jeremy Clarkson has a Mercedes Benz - so it is your human right to have one too!

It is clear that the Eccles principle will improve your life immeasurably. Want a seat in the House of Lords? It's your human right - frankly, the last few appointees seem to have been chosen at random, so you are probably just as suitable. Do you want to be a lady Catholic bishop? It is your right to reassign your gender as "female" (if necessary), and initiate a new career, bullying deacons and posing for narcissistic pictures - or whatever it is that bishops do.

You too have the right to participate in a Dr Who tribute act!

Correction: as we went to press, we learned that you do not have the human right to express your opinion if it offends atheists, liberals, socialists or terrorists. Sorry about that.

The Two Doctors

Yes, it's the 50th anniversary of the first Dr Who episode, and we have an exciting new adventure starring the Two Doctors, Dr Tim Stanley and Dr Damian Thompson. Those alien time-lords from the planet Telegallifrey are back!

Dr Tim, with some of his most notorious enemies.

In this special story they encounter a whole range of famous villains. For Dr Tim - the one with the truly extra-terrestrial hairstyle - the one big threat comes from the Obamamen, loathsome, unscrupulous and totally amoral creatures whose only aim is total power.

See! I really am a Doctor!

For Dr Dame, the senior doctor, there is a whole range of enemies to confront, such as the repulsive Johanns of Hari, the terrifying Hitchens, and the fiendish Cormacmen, who threaten to turn the pope into robotic creatures like themselves.

"WE WILL CHANGE YOU. YOU WILL BE LIKE US..."

Of course the Master is back, too, vainly claiming to be a time-lord like the Doctor, but thwarted because he does not have a "proper" doctorate in sociology from the London School of Custard.

The Rev. Magister (or Master).

As always, Dr Dame's assistant Cristina will be at his side, ready to scream "Doctor! Doctor!", or simply to say in confused tones: "I don't know what's going on - but I'll blog about it anyway." We also see another would-be assistant, Paul, a part-time archbishop from Corby, but he turns out to be on the side of the angels, and does not survive long.

The angels practice some liturgical dance steps.

It would be wrong of us to give away the entire plot of the story: anyway, since it was written by Steven Moffat, it doesn't make a great deal of sense, being just a conflation of manic scenes with no logical connection between them. But we can reveal that the doctors zap some of the nasties with their sonic screwdrivers (while assembling a set of IKEA bookshelves with the aid of their sonic laser cannons), and they also rewrite Time itself on three occasions.

Hide behind the sofa - it's a Yeti!

The story finally ends with the Doctors defeating the Yeti, robotic creatures who serve a disembodied entity knows as the Great Stupidity.

De Satturday colunm

I'VE WRITTEN ANOTHER BOOK

Birds do it, bees do it, even Russell Brand does it

Russell Brand is a smug git, isn't he? But he talks sense about drugs. In fashionable Notting Hill circles, they say that no dinner party is complete without some E, cocaine or cannabis (just don't try lighting up a cigar). I am sure that the working men of Barnsley are no different, relaxing sociably with a fix of heroin after they complete an all-night shift at the local tripe factory. (Most of my readers are from London, and will not have heard of Barnsley, but it is a northern town. Lancashire, I think. Tripe is a delicacy much enjoyed by people who use Twitter.)

I talked to Paul Bearer, my local undertaker, and he confirmed my impressions. "Of the under-21s who are brought in dead to our establishment, over 90% had been taking drugs." Again, we may be making a hasty generalization here, but I think this figure is typical of the population as a whole.

In my new book I'm in a fix, I discuss Brand's other addictions, including the much-publicised Sachs addiction.

Obviously Sachs in moderation cannot harm you, and often, when I am feeling depressed, I relieve my spirits by telephoning the man who brought us "Manuel"; when he answers, I wittily reply "I speak Eenglish. I leaarn it from a boook,"  "No, eet ees no a rat, eet is a filigree Siberian hamster," or "I know nar-theeng!" in a cod-Spanish accent. Then I burst out laughing and put the receiver down. The last time I did this I heard Mr Sachs saying "Oh, it's just that crazy man from the Telegraph again," so I knew he was as amused by the joke as I was.

But of course Brand, in collaboration with that other supposedly cutting-edge wit, Jonathan Ross, found that he could not control his Sachs-drive. Please buy my book, and I'll tell you more.
 

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There's no one like Dame Teksako Itchipowda

I've just discovered a promising young composer called Franz Schubert, who will probably be new to most readers. Here's his photo.

The legendary Dame Teksako Itchipowda performed his last three piano sonatas at the Southbank Centre on Monday ("piano" is a technical term used by some musicians to refer to one of those big instruments with a lid that lifts up. My friend Stephen Hough also plays one, but frankly he's not very good at Schubert). Dame Teksako is a neighbour of mine, and I often follow her into the supermarket, playing excerpts from Schubert sonatas to her on my piano-accordion, while she hunts for her essential supplies of baked beans and toilet rolls. She pretends not to recognise me, of course, but I expect she is secretly flattered to be adored by a Telegraph journalist.

There's an unfinished chapter about Schubert in my latest book, The Fish (a reference to his famous trout quintet, which he also arranged for a double bass: that's also some sort of fish, I believe). It's a little-known fact that it was Schubert's addiction to haddock that killed him.

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What might have been

I realised yesterday that we are approaching the first anniversary of the death of a prominent member of Al-Qaeda. Osama Bin Laden and I were at school together; he was one of the most gifted intellectuals I’ve ever met. Alas, he was unable to discipline his brilliant mind, while also lacking the social skills to mingle with ordinary people. He could orate, dazzlingly, on the Koran, the novels of Barbara Cartland, or the Thomas the Tank Engine canon. Moreover, he loved founding unusual sectarian groups, such as the “Tory Islamic Nudists" and the "Jihadists for Geoffrey Howe," which today have only a handful of members.

Osama was a much-misunderstood individual. I tried to convert him to Catholicism, but he confessed that he could never accept the idea of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary; also, he did not think that women should be allowed into church with the men. How history might have been different if we could only have agreed on these minor theological details.

I don't have much about Osama in my latest book, The Fez, but I do discuss in detail the question why so many people are addicted to silly hats.

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Doctor Who?

For many years, Alastair Campbell has been referred to as a "spin-doctor," but does he really deserve this title? I have been unable to find any evidence that he obtained a Ph.D. from a reputable university, or even from the London School of Egomaniacs. My editor asks me to point out that you wouldn't get Conservatives deceiving people in this way.

Indeed, leading intellectuals such as Richard Chartres tell me that they are very worried about this proliferation of undeserved "Doctor" titles. Here's another example.

Did you spot that sinister-looking chap with the glasses in the picture above? He calls himself "Doc," and is a senior executive for the Disney Corporation. I spoke to his P.A., a Mr Dopey, who refused to provide any proof of his boss's qualifications. Do you think that "Doc" is lining himself up as a possible candidate for Rowan Williams's job? I hope that someone will warn Her Majesty.

In my new book "Jim'll fix it" I write a hard-hitting chapter about how people can be addicted to qualifications - whether it be a B.Sc., an M.A., or a Ph.D. My conclusion: they're killing themselves by degrees. I thank you.