The O'Vienna Sermon

O'Vienna Syndrome is a debilitating illness, causing its sufferers to express themselves in the lyrics of the New Romantic Movement. It  can strike at any time. But this evening it struck while I was writing tomorrow's sermon. 
Worse, I fear that I now have Gilbert O'Sullivan Syndrome, where you even quote from the 1970s. Eventually, Brethren, I had to cut the sermon short before too much of the 1980s' immorality and have-it-all attitude could escape. But I reproduce the sermon here, to show how terrible O'Vienna Syndrome can be.


So we turn to the message , from dear John 3:3, that we must be born again. Time after Time I had asked God, how will I know if I have faith? My daddy was a preacher man, and I would see him on Sunday – bloody Sunday, when he was back in black. He would ask me, have you found your personal Jesus? And I would say, Papa don’t preach. I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.

And I remember, one blue Monday, at a Celebration. To me just one more night. But the preacher believed in the Rapture. He said, “it’s the end of the world as we know it. I can feel it in the air tonight. You gotta have Faith.” And I responded, even though I don’t like Mondays.

And Lord - you decided to lay your love on me. But I resisted – saying “I love rock ‘n’ roll. Although it is a tainted love.” But I heard you saying – “don’t you want me? I know you suffer from temptation. You say, “we’re going down the pub” – consuming two pints of lager and a packet of crisps, hitting the sherry, looking for some electricity with girls, girls, girls. Just want to have fun, don’t you?”

And it was true. I was in love with Roxanne, my best friend’s girl. A maneater. I couldn't beat it. When I saw Ben, I’d say to myself – is she really going out with him? I wanted sexual healing – even though it's a sin - but it just left me hungry like the wolf.

“My Sweet Lord, I’m addicted to love,” I said, “She drives me crazy. I wanna dance with somebody who loves me. Yet when I need you – I can’t live, with or without you.”

And he said to me, “Sweet child of mine, relax. Don’t push it. You don’t need these West End Girls. You’ve been bad. You’re in a rat trap. You’re in a fast car on the road to hell. But walk this way instead. You can live with the Spirit in the sky.”

But I was a rebel... rebel. One of the bad boys. “Who wants to live forever?” I asked. But it hit me like a sledgehammer.

I walked in the cold air. Should I accept the power of love? Or walk like an Egyptian? I knew I had to get back to life. I couldn’t fight the power.

“You spin me right round like a record,” I said. “From now on I’m living on a prayer. I was defeated – you won the war. The winner takes it all – another one bites the dust.”

So, my friends, you may be waiting for that careless whisper, but don’t you forget about me. In the Name of Love, don’t stop believing. The only way is up.