Bad hymns 22

The judges of the Eccles Bad Hymn award are delighted to welcome Fr Frank Andersen, creator of the Galilee Song, which you can also hear here if you can stand it. This is the sort of hymn that goes down well with a lot of people, since it is only vaguely Christian. It is mostly about the mental state of the person singing the song, rather than about God.

Is it a hymn? Is it a sea shanty?

Eccles: Now, Father Frank, why not lie down on this couch and sing the first verse of the song to me?

Fr Andersen:

Deep within my heart, I feel voices whispering to me.
Words that I can't understand; meanings I can't clearly hear!
Calling me to follow close, lest I leave myself behind!
Calling me to walking into evening shadows one more time!

E: Yes, you do seem to have severe psychological problems, Father. I would say it's like paranoia, only in reverse. You think you're following someone, but you don't know who or why?

Eccles interviews Father Andersen.

FA: Perhaps I need help, Eccles. Following someone such as Christ for a good reason is one thing, but I find myself following random people in the street, and don't know why.

So I leave my boats behind!
Leave them on familiar shores!
Set my heart upon the deep!
Follow you again, my Lord!

E: Oh yes, that's the chorus, isn't it. Well at least you're following someone called Lord, who seems to have something to do with boats. Would that be anyone in particular?

Why does this man Andersen keep following me?

FA: Well, it is supposed to be Christ. But the abandoned boats are mine, so it could also be Mohammed. Or Krishna. Or Buddha. Or Boris Johnson. I wanted to give people a choice of deities.

E: Very ecumenical. And it goes so well with any musical accompaniment, such as guitars, zithers, kazoos or Balinese nose-flutes. Sing me the next verse.

FA:

In my memories, I know how you send familiar rains
falling gently on my days, dancing patterns on my pain!
And I need to learn once more in the fortress of my mind,
to believe in falling rain as I travel deserts dry!

E: Tell me more about these pains, Father. Headaches is it? Migraines? They seem to be giving you delusions, too. You see, as a matter of fact, deserts dry don't have falling rain. That's why they're dry.

Oh will the rain never stop?

FA: Sigh... I suppose you're right, Eccles. What do you recommend?

E: Take two aspirins, have a lie down, and don't try to write any more hymns, they just upset you.

FA: Eccles, thank you very much.

E: My pleasure. That'll be 100 guineas plus VAT. Next patient, please!

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Previous entries for the Eccles Bad Hymn Award:

Lord of the Dance.    Shine, Jesus, shine.    Enemy of apathy.    Walk in the Light.
Kum Ba Yah.    Follow me.    God's Spirit is in my heart.    Imagine.    Alleluia Ch-ch.
It ain't necessarily so.    I, the Lord of sea and sky.    Colours of day.    The red flag.
Go, the Mass is ended.    I watch the sunrise.    Bind us together, Lord.    Our god reigns.
My way.    Ding-Dong! The witch is dead.    If I were a butterfly.
Journeys ended, journeys begun.

Eccles in the desert

Since it is Lent, I aint been bloggin during de week, cos I went out into de dessert to meditate on wot it means to be saved, and only came back on Sunday to get some clean socks. Soon I is gonna go to Rome and attend de conclave of cradinals wot is votin for a new Pop: I gotta luvvly red hat so I shuold be able to sneak in OK.

Cradinal Eccles.

I was hopin to go into de dessert alone, but two famuous comic characters wot is reggulars on dis blogg decided to come along too. First dere was my dere Anti Moly, who came laden wiv a big rucksack. "Wot is you carryin, Anti dere?" I asked.

"Rocks," replied my dere relative.

"But dey got rocks in de dessert," I explaned pateintly. "Dey doesn't need any more."

"Not dis sort, you pathetic sockpoppet," she replied luvvingly.

Anti Moly's Rocks.

De uvver one wot turned up was my freind Damain Thopmson, wot is called Holly Smock. I fink it was de word DESSERT wot attracted him, as he kept askin me strange questoins about whevver we would find lotsa custard out dere. I hope he aint gonna be disappointed. Anyways, it explanes why he aint written his usual blogg dis week.

We is on de right road!

Dere aint many desserts near Notting Hell, so we looked for a spiritaul wasteland instead, and ended up in Croydon. Dere I got tempted by de Devil, which is what normally happens to saved pussons. I aint gonna post a pitcher of the Devil, but he is a very charmin man wot is a Director of de Tablet.

De latest issue of de Tablet.

"OK, Eccles," said de Devil. "If you is saved, you gotta eat dem stones, as if dey was bread."

In fact dey was Anti Moly's rock cakes wot she had baked, in case she wanted some sollid food as well as de gin; but I was able to resist de temptatoin, havvin alreddy lost several teeth dat way in de past.

One of my Anti's molybdenite cakes.

De second fing de Devil did was to take me to de top of a Cathlic church and told me to jump off. Dat's de sort of fing dat Anti Moly's been sayin to me for years, so I resisted dat temptatoin too, cos I know what happens next, you gets hurt.

De church wot I didn't jump off, in de spiritaul dessert.

In fact de third fing de Devil wanted me to do was to bow down and worship him, and dat's annuver fing I is used to bein asked, cos my freind Damain Thopmson is always beggin me to do dat. If I ever does it, he will let me write a blogg for de Telegraph, like his uvver acollytes. So I said no to the Devil, cos I doesnt want to write for de Tablet, either.

"Ho hum," said de Devil. "Eccles, you aint no fun. Perhaps you reely is a saved pusson after all."

After he'd gone, de rest of de week was pretty dull. My Anti Moly was naggin me day and night, sayin dat I gotta vote for Cradinal Pell in de conclave, as she was in luv wiv him about 50 years ago. Damain still aint given me any giudance on who to vote for, he says dat cradinals aint been no good since de days of his hero Cradinal Wolsey, wot could reely keep his bishops in order.

Thomas Cromwell, Henry VIII and Cradinal Wolsey.

Well, I'll report again when I gets to Rome. Singed, Eccles (saved).