The Book of Covidicus - Chapter 5 - No BALM in Gilead

Continued from Chapter 4.

1. Now there was dwelling in the land of Bri-tain a man named Dominus Vobis Cummings, who was an adviser to Bo-sis.

2. And the wife of Dominus fell sick of the plague, and knew not what to do.

3. So Dominus took his wife and child, and they rode to the northern land of Durham, where dwelt the parents of Dominus.

4. And later, when they were healed, they went to the mighty castle of Barnard to test whether the eyesight of Dominus was good enough for them to ride home.

5. And to his great joy Dominus could see the castle of Barnard; so he returned home.

If thou canst see a castle, then thou art healed.

6. And many people were exceedingly wrathful, for they said, "Surely, Dominus and his wife should have cast their child into the street, then lain down in their house to die? Is that not the advice that Bo-sis hath given unto us?"

7. And for forty days and forty nights their anger did not abate, for it was nurtured by the dwellers on the Beebee sea, the sky, the fourth channel, and elsewhere.

8. Then even the bishops called on Dominus to repent, but he heeded them not.

9. So for seven days the priests of the Beebee Sea marched round the walls of his dwelling, sounding seven trumpets.

10. And with all the people making a shout, and the trumpets sounding, the voice and the sound thundered in the ears of the multitude, yet the walls did not fall down.

Outside the walls of Dominus.

11. But then came an event in a distant land which made all that heard of it forget the plague and the possible sins of Dominus.

12. For there was a man called Floyd, a notorious bandit, who had been slain while being held for his crimes.

13. He was black but comely, and the Antifites were exceeding wrathful, yeah, even in the land of Bri-tain.

14. For they said, "Was there no balm in Gilead, was there no physician there?" and so they called themselves BALM.

The prophet Iver-iah foretelleth a balming campaign.

15. The men of BALM spake out, saying, "Let us destroy the altars, and break the statues, and cut down the groves, and burn the graven things."

16. Thus they waged war on the statues of notorious slave-owners, such as Winston of the Hill of the Church, Venus of Milo, Pachamama, and Ozymandias, king of kings.

Possibly a notorious slave-owner.

17. And the warriors of BALM said, "We may not strike the officers of the guard, since we cannot do this while remaining distant by four cubits."

18. "Accordingly, we shall throw missiles at them, and thus no man can say we broke the law of the land."

19. Thus they continued to wage war on the statues, the monuments, and indeed the people.

A statue fighteth back.

Continued in Chapter 6.

How to cancel the Sign of Peace

There is a fine video going the rounds of a deacon saying "Let's offer each other a sign of peace" (presumably at the standard point in a Mass) and Cardinal Dolan, the celebrant, responding "Let's not!"

This happened not because the good cardinal is Eirenephobic (or whatever the word is for a fear of peace), but because he was worried about viruses.

"Let's not!"

Now, although I approve of anything that can stop the Sign of Peace, the words "Let's not" are not in the Novus Ordo liturgy (and "Nolite!" isn't needed in the Extraordinary Form). Besides, the words would come better as a roar from from the congregation than the celebrant.

So we propose a new made-up liturgy (or as we used to call it, "A new Vatican-II inspired translation of the traditional liturgy into the vernacular"), as follows:

Deacon: Let us offer each other a sign of peace.
Congregation: Let's not!

Here the Deacon may shrug his shoulders ruefully, or wave his arms triumphantly, according to choice.

Of course, this business of the congregation refusing to obey can be taken further. "We pray for the personal intentions of Pope Francis" may be blocked by a loud "No, we don't!" if the congregation has any doubts as to what those intentions really are.

How should we respond to this?

Finally, if the clergy are wearing cartoon vestments (as above), then "Thanks be to God" is clearly inappropriate as a reply to "The Mass is ended: go in peace", and the Warner Brothers* have determined that only one liturgically appropriate response is possible.

* A religious order unknown to me.

Illud omnia est, Homines!

Pope Francis affected by ransomware virus

It was finally admitted this week that Pope Francis had been hit by the ransomware virus - which scrambles data and makes it incomprehensible - a fact that commentators see as explaining many of the statements coming out of the Vatican recently.

"I can save your pictures of cats, but the Magisterium is lost forever."

For example, a recent statement that the Corpus Christi procession would be moved to Sunday, "to cause less inconvenience in Rome", was obviously nonsense - only the English and Welsh bishops would do something as silly as this. In fact it was a result of the papal diary being encrypted by the virus, and having to be reconstructed from memory. Pope Francis has no intention of changing his official policy of causing inconvenience to people, which includes dropping in on random houses in Rome to bless them when the family would rather be watching Dr Who.

"Everyone who reads Amoris Laetitia wants to commit suicide, Doctor."

For Jesuits, releasing statements that cannot be deciphered - or, more commonly, can be deciphered in any way you wish - is all part of the training. However, it turns out that the ambiguities in Amoris Laetitia were not simply Jesuit waffling, but a direct result of attempting to reconstruct the decisions of the Synods on the Family from corrupted data.

Software experts - Engineers Burke, Sarah and Müller included - have spent months attempting to make sense of AL, and they believed that by sending five questions to Pope Francis they could determine what the uncorrupted version of AL was supposed to have said. However, the questions mysteriously vanished from the papal discs, and Pope Francis is embarrassedly trying to pretend they never existed.

Pope Francis presents a copy of his book The Great Sycophant to his hero, Austen Ivereigh.

Over at Crux, the virus has clearly struck Austen Ivereigh, whose writings are becoming more and more deranged, as he submits garbled copy without even attempting to make it meaningful. And to think that this man was once the Voice of Catholicism, with the power to makes popes tremble!

Another victim of the virus is of course our old friend Fr James Martin SJ, whose electronic copy of the Bible was reduced to disconnected fragments, from which he ended up drawing all sorts of nonsensical conclusions about Mary Magdalene being the Church and Jesus being taught a lesson by a Canaanite woman. Luckily he has found a new career in comedy.

Still, the news is not all bad. Pope Benedict XVI (retired) is backing Cardinal Sarah, whose own data is mercifully as clear as the day it left Heaven.

"Have you tried switching the Pope off and on again?"