Saturday, 7 November 2015
The Real Purpose of the Pyramids
Ben Carson received ridicule this week for saying, apparently on the basis of the story of Joseph, that the Egyptian pyramids were grain stores.
It's worth remembering that this is not, by a long chalk, the silliest thing a US presidential hopeful - even a Republican - has said. Some are against gun control, for goodness's sake.
I often find the story of Joseph problematic, as the buzz word is. I presume that all the stuff with the coat of many colours and the hungry years must have happened in the period when he fled to Egypt with Mary and the Holy Infant, as otherwise the chronology makes no sense. Unless Joseph did his stuff with Pharaoh first, then married Mary and then he knew where to go when they had to run away from Herod. I guess that works better, but typical of the Bible to offer such discrepancies.
I digress. It seems clear to me that the grain stores theory is wrong. The buildings are the wrong shape and they have internal rooms that would stop the grain flowing down to the bottom.
No, the pyramids were in fact just the first stage in an elaborate plot by a race of hyper-intelligent, pan-dimensional alien beings. The creation of the pyramids - which they encouraged by appearing in front of the Pharaohs with fake noses, pretending to be the god Thoth - was the setting of the seed in the hearts of men and women. But mostly men.
The final stage is being played out now, on the screens of the History Channel. All over the world, capable middle-aged men are lured into watching endless programmes on the mysteries of the pyramids. Trendy young archaeologists pout to camera as they detail how the unknown Pharaoh Tutankhameron is depicted in an unthinkable act on the walls of the tomb, thanks to the work of an evil servant who was passed over for promotion.
For make no mistake. These aliens plan imminently to invade this world for its plentiful supplies of bagels. The need for a reliable supply of bagels has, indeed, caused more and more terrible wars than any other cause. The galaxy has now been swept clean of its formerly rich bagel planets, formed in the depths of cosmic time. But these aliens, monitoring a small subjected race in a corner of ancient Egypt, saw that they had discovered the concept of the bagel and foresaw, with ineffable alien foresight, that one day this product would be available across the whole Western world.
And so now, as they prepare to invade and strip our lovely blue-green planet of its bagel riches, they are attracting the aging male population to watch pyramid mystery programmes so as to engage the people who could resist their evil invasion. For the aliens fear none of our weapons - no rockets, no nuclear bombs, no ring of cold steal. But they fear carpentry.
Yes, carpentry. There's nothing scares the average alien as much as a good dove-tail joint. And with all the ageing men in the front room, pondering the mystery of the tomb of Pharaoh Aniseed III, they know they will be safe from reliable joinery.
Friends, I beg you. Petition your local TV providers to show more programmes about the destruction of the Minoan civilization, and fewer about Ancient Egypt. Only by getting the old blokes of our planet off their sofas and out into their toolsheds can we hope to save our planet's bagels.
It's worth remembering that this is not, by a long chalk, the silliest thing a US presidential hopeful - even a Republican - has said. Some are against gun control, for goodness's sake.
I often find the story of Joseph problematic, as the buzz word is. I presume that all the stuff with the coat of many colours and the hungry years must have happened in the period when he fled to Egypt with Mary and the Holy Infant, as otherwise the chronology makes no sense. Unless Joseph did his stuff with Pharaoh first, then married Mary and then he knew where to go when they had to run away from Herod. I guess that works better, but typical of the Bible to offer such discrepancies.
I digress. It seems clear to me that the grain stores theory is wrong. The buildings are the wrong shape and they have internal rooms that would stop the grain flowing down to the bottom.
No, the pyramids were in fact just the first stage in an elaborate plot by a race of hyper-intelligent, pan-dimensional alien beings. The creation of the pyramids - which they encouraged by appearing in front of the Pharaohs with fake noses, pretending to be the god Thoth - was the setting of the seed in the hearts of men and women. But mostly men.
The final stage is being played out now, on the screens of the History Channel. All over the world, capable middle-aged men are lured into watching endless programmes on the mysteries of the pyramids. Trendy young archaeologists pout to camera as they detail how the unknown Pharaoh Tutankhameron is depicted in an unthinkable act on the walls of the tomb, thanks to the work of an evil servant who was passed over for promotion.
For make no mistake. These aliens plan imminently to invade this world for its plentiful supplies of bagels. The need for a reliable supply of bagels has, indeed, caused more and more terrible wars than any other cause. The galaxy has now been swept clean of its formerly rich bagel planets, formed in the depths of cosmic time. But these aliens, monitoring a small subjected race in a corner of ancient Egypt, saw that they had discovered the concept of the bagel and foresaw, with ineffable alien foresight, that one day this product would be available across the whole Western world.
And so now, as they prepare to invade and strip our lovely blue-green planet of its bagel riches, they are attracting the aging male population to watch pyramid mystery programmes so as to engage the people who could resist their evil invasion. For the aliens fear none of our weapons - no rockets, no nuclear bombs, no ring of cold steal. But they fear carpentry.
Yes, carpentry. There's nothing scares the average alien as much as a good dove-tail joint. And with all the ageing men in the front room, pondering the mystery of the tomb of Pharaoh Aniseed III, they know they will be safe from reliable joinery.
Friends, I beg you. Petition your local TV providers to show more programmes about the destruction of the Minoan civilization, and fewer about Ancient Egypt. Only by getting the old blokes of our planet off their sofas and out into their toolsheds can we hope to save our planet's bagels.
Friday, 6 November 2015
2 Years Short of a 4 Pack
I must admit, I was quite surprised when Droleen told me how of a 1662 fan she was. Said she was a great traditionalist, and that when we chase the Spirit of the Age we are soon lost in heavy going over the hurdles.
I was quietly impressed though. Hadn't realised she was so serious and spiritual.
Although I was enlightened later when I saw her hanging onto the gate while trying to focus on the fireworks over Aspley Guise way.
1664. She's a big fan of 1664. She was only two out.
I was quietly impressed though. Hadn't realised she was so serious and spiritual.
Although I was enlightened later when I saw her hanging onto the gate while trying to focus on the fireworks over Aspley Guise way.
1664. She's a big fan of 1664. She was only two out.
Wednesday, 4 November 2015
The Homophobic Verses
A minister who helped out at a prison has resigned after complaints that he read out a "homophobic" verse from the Bible.
The verse concerned is 1 Corinthians 6:9-10: "neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor homosexuals, nor sodomites, nor thieves, nor coveters, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners will inherit the Kingdom of God"
Now it's a short article in the BBC. We aren't told if Mr Trayhorn then expounded upon the passage. I guess he might have, as he says " I...do not believe it is right to alter the Christian faith so as to tailor it to any modern view of sexual ethics."
Now I guess we're all in our own ways inclined to tinker with the ethics (sexual or other) in the Bible. If I ever meet a Midianite, I always resist the urge to kill them and burn their village down, sparing not even the sheep. If anyone with crushed testicles wants to join the Beaker Folk, I won't ban him from entering the Moot House. And black pudding - banned in the New Testament as well as the old - is in my view a tasty snack.
But however we look at it, the Bible is still the Bible. We can't edit out the bits we don't like. We can't just change the Bible itself. You have to deal with it as it is, even if you make of it what you want or believe you should. Maybe you do believe we need to read it in the light of modern sexual ethics. Or maybe you think all gay people should repent and settle down with people of the alternative genital grouping. But the text you start from is still the text. You can't edit out bits about sexual behaviour any more than you can take out St James' s warnings about speech or give Samson a happy ending, where he and Delilah make up and all their kids go to Oxford.
In other news, the Governor at Littlehey is considering separate complaints from drunkards, thieves, coveters and extortioners. Apparently a few of them were in the congregation as well.
Tuesday, 3 November 2015
Sung Eucharist
Walked past a church advertising its regular Sunday service, "Sung Eucharist". And wondered.
If they'd just said "High Mass", non-churchgoers would have a rough idea what they meant. They might or might not like it, but they'd know roughly where they were.
If they'd said "Sunday Service", the Communion part of the service would probably not have been a surprise. Though anyone wandering in expecting a Morning Prayer might have wondered why it was so long, they wouldn't have been shocked.
If they'd said "Lord's Supper", non-regulars might have wondered why it was in the morning.
But "Sung Eucharist". A Greek word attached to an English past tense. It's an odd concept. Says "something you don't understand is in the past. In the passive voice."
I dunno. It's very intellectual. But I'm not sure it helps.
The Alternative Service Book Society
On this day in 1980, the ASB was born.
An exercise in the elimination of poetry, the ASB encapsulated modernity. That is, it was well-meaning but ugly, and soon obsolete.
We in the Alternative Service Book Society have the following Rule:
1. To use the ASB once a month, so we remember why we shouldn't.
2. To turn Anglican members of the ASBS in to the police, to remind them why religious establishment is a bad idea.
3. To wish it was still 1967.
4. To regret allowing that Anglo-Catholic Eucharistic Prayer in. It only encouraged them.
The Alternative Service Book Society (a sod-all-ity) meets fortnightly in a brutalist cubic church made from asbestos sheets and reinforced concrete, in the outskirts of Harlow.
We have no idea why.
It only gets us down.
Gathering Together at Armageddon
Downing Street denies the PM has shelved plans for a second vote on bombing Syria.
The PM's office says we will definitely bomb Syria, just as soon as he's decided which side to bomb. We've ruled out the Americans and Russians, but there's just so many other options, aren't there?
The PM's office says we will definitely bomb Syria, just as soon as he's decided which side to bomb. We've ruled out the Americans and Russians, but there's just so many other options, aren't there?
Sunday, 1 November 2015
The Highest Aims
Two sprained ankles, one toppled-over and bashed their head.
Two hyperventilations and four cases of exhaustion.
You know, I think we're getting better at the "Hopping Gloria".
Two hyperventilations and four cases of exhaustion.
You know, I think we're getting better at the "Hopping Gloria".
The Over-long Procession
You know how it is. We wanted to do something proper liturgical for our All Hallows/ Saints/ Souls/ Halloween Mash Up Service. Something like a proper church.
And our plan was to have a procession. A proper procession. Not just the usual one where the Druids and the Acolytes follow the Tea-Light-Bearer along the Corridor of Uncertainty, walk up to the Worship Focus and plonk themselves down on their bean bags.
No, I wanted to go for a proper procession. One where we did a figure of eight, passing through between the Beaker Circle for numerous different directions to do the whole "Pretending to be in a Cathedral" thing.
Except we didn't rehearse it, did we? It's been a long week. And the procession had too many members for the manoeuvre we were trying. As we realised when the front of the procession was about to intercept the middle of the procession, in the middle of the Moot House.
Full marks to the Folk in the procession. The early ones just timed their steps to alternate their way through. And then the fitter ones, who had experience in gymnastic liturgical dancing, managed to leap over the people coming from the other direction. Bad news for Zyril, who vaulted over little Demelsa then realised his arthritis wasn't as quiet as he'd thought. There's nothing puts you off worship so much as a bloke screaming and holding his ankles.
But the real problem came when the Acolytes realised they weren't totally in control of their Heelys. Dreadful, dreadful braking technique. Smashed straight into each other. Then Raderick ricocheted off and ran over Zyril's wrist.
It was, it's fair to say, a bad day for Zyril.
So I feel we've learned a few things today.
First up - measure the length of processions. Then don't let Zyril do anything acrobatic. Do not issue Licenses to Acolyte until the people concerned have passed their Heely Proficiency Test (Grade 3) with at least a Merit.
And finally, never never never think you're a cathedral. It's only asking for trouble. Unless you have a very good gift shop with St Albans fridge magnets. Then you'll probably be OK.
And our plan was to have a procession. A proper procession. Not just the usual one where the Druids and the Acolytes follow the Tea-Light-Bearer along the Corridor of Uncertainty, walk up to the Worship Focus and plonk themselves down on their bean bags.
No, I wanted to go for a proper procession. One where we did a figure of eight, passing through between the Beaker Circle for numerous different directions to do the whole "Pretending to be in a Cathedral" thing.
Except we didn't rehearse it, did we? It's been a long week. And the procession had too many members for the manoeuvre we were trying. As we realised when the front of the procession was about to intercept the middle of the procession, in the middle of the Moot House.
Full marks to the Folk in the procession. The early ones just timed their steps to alternate their way through. And then the fitter ones, who had experience in gymnastic liturgical dancing, managed to leap over the people coming from the other direction. Bad news for Zyril, who vaulted over little Demelsa then realised his arthritis wasn't as quiet as he'd thought. There's nothing puts you off worship so much as a bloke screaming and holding his ankles.
But the real problem came when the Acolytes realised they weren't totally in control of their Heelys. Dreadful, dreadful braking technique. Smashed straight into each other. Then Raderick ricocheted off and ran over Zyril's wrist.
It was, it's fair to say, a bad day for Zyril.
So I feel we've learned a few things today.
First up - measure the length of processions. Then don't let Zyril do anything acrobatic. Do not issue Licenses to Acolyte until the people concerned have passed their Heely Proficiency Test (Grade 3) with at least a Merit.
And finally, never never never think you're a cathedral. It's only asking for trouble. Unless you have a very good gift shop with St Albans fridge magnets. Then you'll probably be OK.
A Mourinho Liturgy
Introduction
Archdruid: Peace be with you.
All: We have nothing to say.
Archdruid: Don't you think it's a wonderful world?
All: We have nothing to say.
Confession:
Archdruid: Let us confess the naughty things we have done in this naughty world.
All: You think we have done wrong things?
Archdruid:; Maybe made the wrong decisions?
All: We can't say anything about the decisions.
Responsive Reading (Book of Jose)
Archdruid: May they be ever seeing, but never perceiving. Ever spotting Lucas's 2nd yellow, but never noticing Costa's nasty kick in the ribs.
All: We never saw it. We cannot comment.
Archdruid: May they be ever seeing, but never perceiving. Ever spotting Lucas's 2nd yellow, but never noticing Costa's nasty kick in the ribs.
All: We never saw it. We cannot comment.
Affirmation of Faith (according to the new experimental texts)
Archdruid: Do you believe in God and, you know, stuff like that?
All: We have nothing to say.
Archdruid: Do you reject doing naughty stuff?
All: We did not see anything wrong. It was all down to something that happened that we cannot mention.
Archdruid: Will you try and do good stuff?
All: You said this service would last 30 minutes. It is now 30 minutes and 35 seconds. These things only happen to us.
The Peace
Archdruid: Let's share a sign of peace together.
All: If we don't want to shake hands, maybe we don't want to shake hands.
Dismissal
Archdruid: Let us go in..... hang on, where are you going?
All may walk abruptly up the tunnel
Samhain in the Air Tonight
Bit of a challenging Samhain last night even by Beaker Folk standards, then.
I'm not going to beat about the bush, there's a reason why we've always banned badgers from Beaker worship. They're vicious beggars that eat hedgehogs. And all the Beaker Folk are scared of them.
So when two of them wander into the meadow while we're just about to light the Wicker Person, it's not gonna be a great start to the proceedings.
In the panic as everybody scarpered from our barcode-impressionist friends, there was a minor issue with the winner of the Giant Pumpkin competition. Inasmuch as Morbit's finest ever specimen was knocked loose from its moorings and rolled down the drive towards Drayton Parslow's cottage. Drayton, about to head out on his annual circuit of the village warning trick or treaters of the fires of hell, was astounded to be hit amidships by a 220lb vegetable. And ended up covered with pumpkin flesh and rind, and unable to see where he was going. Wandered out into the road, narrowly missed a passing van, and terrified the kids having a party down School Lane.
So we abandoned Samhain for the day. Unfortunately, according to Beaker rules, we can't move it to another feast day that's already booked. And we already had a lot of feast days booked - we get a bit bored if it's not a special occasion. So today's out (All Hallows). Tomorrow's All Souls. Tuesday is the Nativity of Ludovic Kennedy. And you may not think the latter is more significant liturgically than All Hallow's Eve, but we've already baked the cake.
So Halloween this year for the Beaker Folk will be November 31st. Yes, I know that day doesn't really exist. But what can we do? Between midnight on the 30th and midnight and a little bit on the 1st December, we will light the Wicker Person and celebrate the ancient autumnal feast of it being a bit closer to Yule than we really expected. And we're gonna sweep the field for badgers in advance.
I'm not going to beat about the bush, there's a reason why we've always banned badgers from Beaker worship. They're vicious beggars that eat hedgehogs. And all the Beaker Folk are scared of them.
So when two of them wander into the meadow while we're just about to light the Wicker Person, it's not gonna be a great start to the proceedings.
In the panic as everybody scarpered from our barcode-impressionist friends, there was a minor issue with the winner of the Giant Pumpkin competition. Inasmuch as Morbit's finest ever specimen was knocked loose from its moorings and rolled down the drive towards Drayton Parslow's cottage. Drayton, about to head out on his annual circuit of the village warning trick or treaters of the fires of hell, was astounded to be hit amidships by a 220lb vegetable. And ended up covered with pumpkin flesh and rind, and unable to see where he was going. Wandered out into the road, narrowly missed a passing van, and terrified the kids having a party down School Lane.
So we abandoned Samhain for the day. Unfortunately, according to Beaker rules, we can't move it to another feast day that's already booked. And we already had a lot of feast days booked - we get a bit bored if it's not a special occasion. So today's out (All Hallows). Tomorrow's All Souls. Tuesday is the Nativity of Ludovic Kennedy. And you may not think the latter is more significant liturgically than All Hallow's Eve, but we've already baked the cake.
So Halloween this year for the Beaker Folk will be November 31st. Yes, I know that day doesn't really exist. But what can we do? Between midnight on the 30th and midnight and a little bit on the 1st December, we will light the Wicker Person and celebrate the ancient autumnal feast of it being a bit closer to Yule than we really expected. And we're gonna sweep the field for badgers in advance.
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