Pope Francis refuses to meet the Mayor of Whitby

Councillor Heather Coughlan, Mayor of Whitby, has reacted angrily to reports that Pope Francis will be meeting with Patriarch Kirill of Moscow, but has, as yet "no plans to visit Whitby".

Nicene Nice one, Kyrill.

"What is it with Francis?" asked the mayor angrily. "He's happy to talk to Lutherans, Anglicans, Orthodox - even Catholics sometimes. But he refuses to consult Whitby town council when it comes to discussing an alternative date for Easter."

In fact, Pope Francis's negotiating position with Patriarch Kirill is more wide-ranging than this, being based on three demands (the fourth was considered to be "a step too far"):

1. Use the Gregorian Calendar.
2. Drop that stupid alphabet.
3. Stick "Filioque" in the Creed.
4. Get involved in gay masses, clown masses, and liturgical dancing.

Many of Whitby's most famous inhabitants, such as, er, Captain Cook and Dracula, are known to have favoured the current method for deciding the date of Easter; this was agreed at the Synod in A.D. 664 and has survived the changes brought on by the Reformation, Vatican II, etc.

A tense moment at the Synod of Whitby.

If a new date for Easter is agreed now, then it is likely that Yorkshire will go it alone, sticking to the present means of calculating it. After all, what's one more schism between friends? It is thought that both John Sentamu (Anglican Archbishop of York) - who signs himself John Ebagum, using the Roman word for York - and Marcus Stock (Catholic Bishop of Leeds) are strongly supportive of the plan for a Yorkshire Easter.

As far as the Catholic Bishops Conference of England and Wales is concerned, they would like to move Good Friday to a Sunday (cf. Epiphany and Ascension), but have not yet worked out how this would fit in with all the other plans under discussion. For Prime Minister David Cameron the important thing is that Easter Sunday should become an even more important shopping opportunity, the exact date being unimportant.

"Are you sure this is an Easter egg?"

The Synod of Bridlington

As historians know, the twenty-first century was the beginning of the period known as the Dark Ages, a time of intellectual darkness and barbarity. The weather was harsh, and, thanks to a reliance on wind turbines and the energy generated by hamsters running around in little wheels, there were frequent periods when heat and light were no longer available.

The solution to an energy crisis.

Britain was subject to waves of invaders from overseas. Some came from Scandinavia in long ships, wearing horned helmets. Others came from Poland, armed with plungers, pipe cutters and wrenches; their only wish being to settle on these islands to unblock drains and mend leaking pipes. Still others came in from Muslim lands, showing a passionate hatred for sausages and women's rights.

Education was in decline. Whereas once all children knew Latin, Greek, advanced calculus, brain surgery, and the kings of Israel and Judah at the age of five, the majority of school-leavers in the twenty-first century were unable to read and write anything except text messages; they used numbers only for operating their mobile phones.

No longer a suitable gift for a five-year-old.

Religion was in a parlous state. Christianity was on the verge of dying out, or was being perverted into strange forms in the name of "modernization". It was illegal to refuse to bake a cake for a same-sex couple who wished to hold a "wedding", indeed it was even considered "extremist" to disagree with their redefinition of marriage. Catholic bishops had affairs with married women, the Anglicans allowed bishops to divorce and remarry, and the Baptists didn't even have bishops to show them how to behave.

Of the dreadful year of 2014, the monks wrote in the Anglo-Saxon chronicle, Ye power of ye Magick Circkle cometh not to an end, and a group of demons calling itself ACTA wieldeth influence in ye lande. In other news, ye Pope in Rome hath decreed that ye feast of Alle Saintes shall be on ye first day of November, yet ye rascally bishops, led, so they say, by ye mischievous Cardinal Nickels, have chosen to move it to the Sundaye. And now a quick look at ye weather: it is expected to be cold and dark for the next 200 years.

Ye synod starteth at Bridlington.

In the end, another synod was called, at the Yorkshire town of Bridlington, so that the Catholic Church in England and Wales might agree on the date of All Saints (they had originally planned to hold the meeting in Whitby, as on an earlier occasion, but all the hotels were booked up). The Scottish church did not participate: they were loyal to the pope, and celebrated All Saints on the 1st November; besides, they were more interested in what came after, namely the day of "A' Souls", named in honour of Alexander yclept Salmon.

The Lord smiteth Alexander yclept Salmon.

So Catholicism in England and Wales stood on the brink: would it show loyalty to Pope Francis the Humble, or to Cardinal Nichols the Cunning? Would a new St Hilda emerge to put to flight the forces of rebellion? Er, well, ...

Bitter disagreement at the Synod

Reprinted from the Tablet, in the days when it was a religious newspaper.

Whitby, A.D. 664

After a week of fierce debating, the Extraordinary Synod on the Date of Easter and the Monastic Tonsure, called by King Oswy of Northumbria, shows no signs of reaching agreement.

Whitby Abbey - damaged when the debate got out of hand.

It is clear that there are two strongly-divided parties to the discussion. First, there are the traditionalists, led by "Saint" Wilfrid, who wish to calculate Easter on orthodox Roman lines; second, there are the modernists, led by Colmán, Bishop of Northumbria, one of the discredited "Magic Circle" of English bishops who prefer to go their own way, keeping to the Ionan tradition. Following a request from St Damian the Spectator, the debate has also been extended to include a discussion of monastic hairstyles. In the end, the decision will be made by King Oswy.

"Who am I to judge?" asks King Oswy.

So far the Synod has heard evidence from a number of families advocating disordered lifestyles: some celebrate Easter at Christmas, some celebrate it twice a year, and some do not celebrate it at all, regarding it as a nasty traddy feast, far inferior to pagan festivals such as the Blessing of the Inwood. Cardinal Kasper has suggested that these people should be shown Mercia, although it is difficult to see how this could best be done.

The situation is worse in the far south of the land, where it is rumoured that Fr Steven the Fisher has abolished Easter altogether, replacing the Light of Christ with Endless Night, while Dame Tina the Beater describes the whole concept of Christianity as male-dominated, and proposes a radical women-only alternative. There are even reports of extensive heresy in the kingdom of Arundel and Brighton, where Bishop Kieran the Scandalous has resigned in disgrace.

Kieran the Scandalous has let himself go a little since he resigned.

Moving onto the secondary subject of the synod, namely monastic tonsures, many have been annoyed by the comments of "Baldy" Sseri, recommending a complete shaving of the head; still less do they approve of his exhortation, "Come unto me and ye will be shaved". For those, such as St Damian, who judge a man on the quality of his hairstyle, the tonsure is an abominable fashion to which they can never subscribe in good conscience.

Go up, thou bald head; go up, thou bald head. (2 Kings 2:23).

We shall continue to bring you regular reports from the synod, as we follow the team of great minds wrangling over the future of the Church.

Ven. Bede the anachronistic.

What is a traditionalist?

The often-excellent Fr Dwight Longenecker has recently got himself into a bit of a pickle over a post Traditionalists Reject Divine Mercy, which in its original version appeared to give the impression that all Catholics calling themselves traditionalists believe exactly the same thing. In fact, pace* Fr Dwight, there are at least three sub-species of traditionalist, and here is a short guide.

* traddy Latin expression meaning "with peace", here meaning "with due deference to".

Pope Pius I (2nd century A.D.). Accepted by most trads.

Traditionalistus Sedevacantus. These are the extreme trads, who do not accept any pope since Pius XII (or Pius X, or possibly Pius V; one of the Pii, anyway) as being legitimate. They have severe reservations about the "modernistic" Tridentine Mass, preferring the Sarum Rite, although some prefer to celebrate the Whitby Rite dating from A.D. 664, in which "Yorkshire" Latin (lingua ebagumsis) was recommended. Some theories you may hear from T.S. include the notion that Pope St John XXIII was replaced by the demon Telbat, just before he summoned Vatican II, and that the next Pope - "who will come from a Minster to the West" - will be the last before the final Armageddon, the great battle between Conservatism and Liberalism.

Archbishop Lefebvre looks on in horror as a giant puppet walks up the aisle.

Traditionalistus Nonvaticanduensis. Next on the scale we have a variety of traditionalists who reject parts of Vatican II. Bishop Fellay, the head of SSPX, has said that his team accepts 95% of the teachings of Vatican II, which is not a bad score: an A* grade, surely? Of course nobody has ever read all the Vatican II documents (739 pages of fine print, as contrasted with 42 for Vatican I and 179 for Trent), although we are all waiting for the movie, which will star Stephen Fry as Hans Küng and Kermit the Frog as Basil Loftus. The documents have titles such as Decree concerning the sacred pastoral dogmatic constitution on the apostolate of the renewal of priestly mission through the divine ministry of the ecumenical activity of social communication with the laity, which roughly means Kick-starting our priests.

T.N. will of course only attend a Latin Mass, regarding the Novus Ordo as - at best - inferior, and - at worst - invalid. Although they accept that Pope Francis is the legitimate pope, they tend to dislike him so much that he might easily be the Beast of the Apocalypse in a white suit.

Flamenco dancing in church? At my age?

Traditionalistus Orthodoxus. These are the most numerous, and in fact tend to be totally orthodox Catholics who see no point in changing things just for the sake of change. They may well prefer the traditional Latin Mass for its universality, purity and beauty (enabling them to focus on God rather than worrying about whether they will catch a loathsome disease from young Ernie Grotchet in the Kiss of Peace); still, they accept that the Novus Ordo is a totally valid way of worshipping.

They have no particular quarrel with Vatican II itself (after all, if you look closely, you find that it stressed the importance of Latin). However, they go for the "hermeneutic of continuity" approach, and therefore believe that the so-called Spirit of Vatican II - motto "Anything Goes" - is just a snare and a delusion leading to liturgical dancing, clown masses and banal hymns such as Shine, Jesus, Shine. Often, they prefer Pope Benedict XVI's approach rather than Pope Francis's, but they console themselves with the thought that the Holy Spirit never promised that all popes would be supermen.

Not Pope Francis... or is he?

One could go on, with an analysis of watered-down Catholicism: does a fondness for Walk in the Light mean that you automatically subscribe to the weird views of Tina Beattie? If necessary, we can advise you.

New blogger

William Thompson (age 11).

In recognition of the fact that James Delingpole's little brother has followed him into the glamorous world of Telegraph blogging, we are pleased to announce that Damian Thompson's nephew William will be writing today's guest post for us.

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Hello, I'm William Thompson (age 11), and my uncle Damian is jolly pleased that you're letting me write on this blog. At first I was a bit jealous when I heard that my great friend Ginger Delingpole was going to be blogging on the Telegraph. I know I am better than him at Latin and RE, but he knows a lot about wind farms, and especially how to blow them up with things from the school science labs!

My chum Ginger Delingpole (age 11) with some of the girls in our school.

Like my friend Ginger, I am very keen on war games. At weekend my gang and I dress up in medieval costume, and we re-enact the historic religious controversies of the past. At first it was a bit dull, as we were recreating the Synod of Whitby, when St Hilda was forced to accept the Roman date for Easter rather than the Ionan date. What a yawn!

The critical moment when St Wilfrid convinces St Hilda.

Later on, we got onto the religious disputes of the middle ages, and I had a super time making torture implements out of the garden tools in Uncle Damian's shed. However, Mummy told me off when I set fire to little Violet Elizabeth Odone, as part of our "Joan of Arc" re-enactment.

"I'll scweam and scweam and scweam until I'm thick!" says Miss Odone.

Like Uncle Damian I am very interested in what the Catholic church is doing. I tried to go with him to Westminster Cathedral to see the Pope, but Uncle Damian confiscated the catapult I was going to use to fire pebbles at Cardinal Cormac. I don't know whether he used it himself!

The Cardinal drinks tea.

In my next blog I will go into the differences between Novus Ordo Masses and Extraordinary Form. This is something that I know a lot about, because we spent last weekend re-enacting Vatican II. In fact, I was sent to bed early for putting a worm down the back of Hubert Lane (who was playing the part of Basil Loftus).

I'm sorry, Father, but my Uncle Damian says that Ad orientem is best.