First week of Ordinary Time
Please open
your Hymnal to page 3 and join in our processional “O Lord Please Don’t Burn Us” Verse 1
O LORD, please don’t burn us, Don’t grill or toast your flock,
Don’t put us on the barbecue, Or simmer us in stock,
Don’t braise or bake or boil us, Or stir fry us in a wok.
Thank you for that spiritual rendition it warmed my heart as I walked to the
pulpit. Now please open The Holy Text
volume 1 to episode 23 page 315 where the prophets say:
(Cut
instantly to sky. CAPTION: 'SCOTT OF THE SAHARA')
Voice Over: Booming out
of the pages of history comes a story of three men and one woman whose courage
shocked a generation.
(Blinding sun. Pan down to Paignton beach. Scott, Evans, Oates
and Bowers wearing furs crossing sand on snow shoes. With sledge pulled by
motley selection of mongrel dogs, badly disguised as huskies.)
Voice Over: From the
same team that brought you ... (the names come out
superimposed) 'Lawrence of
Glareorgan' ... 'Bridge Over the River Trent' ... 'The Mad Woman of
Biggleswade' ... and 'Krakatoa, East of Leamington' ... comes the story of
three people and a woman united by fate who set out in search of the fabled
Pole of the Sahara and found ... themselves. See ... Lieutenant Scott's death struggle
with a crazed desert lion.
(The four are walking along. Suddenly they stop, stare, and
react in horror. Scott steps to the front to defend the others. Intercut,
non-matching stock shot of lion running out of jungle and leaping at camera.
Scott waits poised and is then struck by completely rigid stuffed lion. Montage
of shots of him wrestling, firstly with the stuffed lion, then with an actor in
a tatty lion suit. The lion picks up a chair, fends Scott off, smashes it over
his head. Finally Scott kicks the lion on the shin. The lion leaps around on
one leg and picks up a knife. Scott points, the lion looks, Scott kicks the
knife out of the lion's paw. He advances on the lion, and socks him on the jaw.
The lion collapses in slow motion. After a pause, phoney blood spurts out.)
Voice Over: See Ensign
Oates' frank adult death struggle with the spine-chilling giant electric
penguin...
(Oates looks up in horror, a shadow crosses him. Reverse shot of
model penguin [quite small, about a foot] which lights up and looks electric.
The penguin is close to the camera in the foreground and appears huge. Oates
looks around desperately then starts to undress. Shot of penguin throwing
tentacle. Half-nude Oates struggles with it. Intercut a lot of phoney reverses.
Oates by now clad only in posing briefs sees a stone. He picks up the stone,
then camera zooms into above-naval shot; he removes his briefs, puts the stone
in the briefs, twirls it like a sling, and releases stone. The penguin is hit
on beak, and falls over backwards.)
Please open your hymnal to page 29 and join us in singing “Finland” Verse 3
You're
so sadly neglected, And often ignored,
A poor second to Belgium, When going
abroad.
Finland,
Finland, Finland, The country where I
quite want to be,
Your mountains so lofty, Your treetops
so tall,
Finland, Finland, Finland, Finland has
it all.
Man: Come on, please try some.
Dad: All right I'll have
some Icelandic Honey.
Man: No, there is no
such thing.
Dad: You mean you don't
make any honey at all?
Man: No, no, we must
import it all. Every bally drop. We are a gloomy people. It's so crikey cold
and dark up there, and only fish to eat. Fish and imported honey. Oh strewth!
Mother: Well why do you
have a week?
Man: Listen Buster! In
Reykyavik it is dark for eight months of the year, and it's cold enough to
freeze your wrists off and there's only golly fish to eat. Administrative
errors are bound to occur in enormous quantities. Look at this - it's all a
mistake. It's a real pain in the sphincter! Icelandic HoneyWeek? My Life!
Mother: Well why do you
come in here trying to flog the stuff, then?
Man: Listen Cowboy. I
got a job to do. It's a stupid, pointless job but at least it keeps me away
from Iceland, all right? The leg of the worker bee has... (They
slam the door on him. Someone rather like Jeremy Thorpe looks round the door
and waves as they do so.)
Homily: As the
presidency of Uncle Joe approaches he begins to announce his picks for top
positions. Which then leads to the few
remaining journalists out there dredging up stories to indicate where these “advisers
for “Uncle Joe” stand on the “Key Issues” of our time. Naturally, they are all “true believers in
the nonsense of Global Warming. So as a
quick reminder to all parishioners of what is really going on n the world’s
climate, I will elucidate the realities (NOT Global Warming). This week I will
start with the Mini Ice Age we are currently entering.
About every 350 years the world goes through a Mini Ice Age,
scientists call them “Maunder Minimums”.
The last one started in the 1640’s and culminated with the French
Revolution in the 1780’s. During a mini Ice Age the main effect is that Frosts
last later into the spring and arrive earlier in the fall. These Frosts outside the expected times of
the year can lead to horrendous loss of agricultural material as the frosts
kill the plants in the field. These
agricultural losses lead to food shortages and social instability. It is a predictable process and has been seen
MANY times through out History.
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-3156594/Is-mini-ICE-AGE-way-Scientists-warn-sun-sleep-2020-cause-temperatures-plummet.html
Or this
https://www.livescience.com/51597-maunder-minimum-mini-ice-age.html
And here is a good picture of a diorama on on display at a local Science Museum (Cranbrook Institute of Science). This Diorama shows The City of Detroit getting plowed off by an advancing Glacier, and informs the viewer that this is what Detroit will face ... in about 2,000 years due to the impending Ice Age. Next weeks topic, the Actual Ice Age, which we are also headed into.
Amen
Please join us in our recessional
on page 3 of your hymnal “O Lord Please Don’t Burn Us” second verse.
Oh Please don’t lightly poach us, Or Baste us with hot fat,
Don’t fricassee or roast us, Or boil us in a vat,
And please don’t stick thy servants, Lord, In a Rotissomat.
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