Thursday, February 23, 2006

The Church of England

Your humble Devil is—as may have become painfully, and ironically, obvious—an atheist of the most virulent type. Well, I'm not as proselytising as Messers Dawkins or Harding, but generally I do not—cannot—believe in a god of any type, no matter how many times I may take his name in vain in these scribblings. That doesn't mean that I don't yearn to believe that there may be some massive and benevolent power, even if it were the power in the land (as the Celts believed), but, alas, the logic in my head counters the romantic yearning of my heart.

Therefore, I have no real problem with those harmless tyes who do believe, nor those who are driven to do good works by their adherence to their faith. It would, one imagines, be rather churlish to do so.

Your Devil is also awed by the amount of beauty produced by this faith; the awesome cathedrals and churches, the art and, obviously, the hymns. What can be better than belting out Jerusalem or I Vow To Thee My Country under a massive vaulted ceiling, the stained glass windows drenching the congregants in vibrant colours? Or more poignant than the tuneful murmur of Dear Lord And Father Of Mankind swelling to fill those ancient spaces, softly lit in greens and blues?

I therefore find it rather distressing to find that the Church of England continues to fill its spaces with little more than ugliness and abject apologia. Alas, Jerusalem (now absent from the Scottish hymnal owing to its lack mention of "England" only: just another example of the petty, parochial bigotry of the Scots) and I Vow To Thee My Country have fallen out of favour and are now rarely, if ever, sung; their swelling tunes and sense of pride in the achievements of oneself and one's nation rendered unfashionable and, for many in the Church's ruling bodies, positively offensive. Even Dear Lord And Father Of Mankind is sung less, in favour of the utter bilge written by right-on vicars who love nothing better than to collect the royalties from the hymns that they force their browbeaten congregation to sing.

Here is one example of this kind of egregious ditty, one which I recollect from my prep-school days, and which had accompanying actions which I would be happy to demonstrate, and mock, should you ever meet me in the flesh.
My God is so big, so strong and so mighty
There's nothing that he cannot do.

The rivers are his,
The mountains are his,
The stars are his
Handiwork too,

My God is so big, so strong and so mighty
There's nothing that he cannot do.

[repeat single verse and bloody chorus (with actions, natch) ad nauseam et ad infinitum]

No wonder the Church has lost its way. Indeed, even this piece of shit is probably no longer acceptable, as the concept of ownership, even by an omnipotent being, is almost certainly an anathema to the politically-correct shitbags in charge. At least I wouldn't be sad to see the back of that piece of shit.

Indeed, so repulsive are the actions of Church leaders that, even as said atheist, your humble Devil feels a sense of burning shame when he considers what that once great organisation has become.
As I'm not an adherent to any organised religion - finding the manifestations thereof often ludicrous and not infrequently terrifying - it's with some amusement that I regard the current campaign of the Archbishop of Canterbury to present the Church of England in the most ridiculous possible light. Were I an Anglican, I'd most likely be saddened - and even this committed secularist does feel a tinge of pity when considering those who do in fact have a sincere emotional (dare I say 'spiritual'?) attachment to the church.

Well, quite. I know that the bearded git is Welsh, but surely that excuse can only allow him so much latitude...?

I weep for the adults of today, and find no solace in those vast echoing halls where once the spiritual cup of the nation was refilled. Indeed, The Waterboys said it best, in what should become a modern hymn, so beautiful is the tune and apposite the lyrics to The Love That Kills.
Will you take me slowly
will you lead me all the way
Will you sing me your songs
until I am ready for
The LOVE that kills

I have known you in the
sheets and folds of many lifetimes
You were there when I was made
and I will speak to you in the language of dream until
Love comes my way
love that kills

Hey I will ride on a dolphin, rain in my face,
wind in all of my sails
There's a shadow hard on my heels now,
but I'm still trying to, I'm still trying to...
Get to the place, where rolling rivers overspill
I have come a long way and I need my cup refilled

So when you come for me slowly
when you come knocking on my door
When the soul sings
and the man is still
I will be ready
I will be ready
Yes I will be ready for the love that kills

The love that kills
the love that kills, Kills, kills
the love that kills

A hymn to reclaim the sinners, and faithful alike, sung by a man who—though, one suspects, is slightly loony—does, at least, understand the power of spirituality in all of its many forms: it is the power to move men to extraordinary feats, and to bring comfort to many.

It is a power that people like Rown Williams—morally bankrupt and sententiously aware of every political trend which should be followed; a man so blinkered that the existance of a deep power is not one which he can grasp; who has continued the trend of debasing and diluting the power of that spiritual power of which he claims to be the driving force—cannot, in fact, even begin to understand.

It is the power of men to be extraordinary: and how could a pedestrian mind like Williams' ever begin to have the slightest inkling of such a concept?

What a cunt.

1 comment:

Unity said...

My God is so big, so strong and so mighty
There's nothing that he cannot do.

Shit, that's like something out of Python's Meaning of Life...

"CHAPLAIN: Let us praise God. O Lord,...
CHAPLAIN: ...ooh, You are so big,...
CONGREGATION: ...ooh, You are so big,...
CHAPLAIN: absolutely huge.
CONGREGATION: absolutely huge.
CHAPLAIN: Gosh, we're all really impressed down here, I can tell You.
CONGREGATION: Gosh, we're all really impressed down here, I can tell You.
CHAPLAIN: Forgive us, O Lord, for this, our dreadful toadying, and...
CONGREGATION: And barefaced flattery.
CHAPLAIN: But You are so strong and, well, just so super.

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