I saw this on the blog of Rebel Priest, also known as the Revd Dr Jules Gomes. He is a wise man, full of common sense and to be trusted.
A 15-year-old Polish boy is being hailed as a Catholic “hero” after daring to block an LGBT pride march with a raised crucifix and rosary in his hand.
After reading the whole story I was reminded of these lines from Rudyard Kipling’s poem “If”.
“If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools”
I expect it’s one of many poems that have been banned now, having been written by what must obviously be a “homophobic, racist, colonialist bigot.” Quoting Rudyard Kipling probably makes me an HRCB too.
This brave lad, Jakub Baryła, was inspired by “a similar gesture by Fr. Ignacy Skorupko during the Warsaw battle with the Bolsheviks in 1920. Father Skorupko was a Polish army chaplain who was killed on Aug. 14 1920, at the battle of Ossów during the Polish counter-attack. Standing with soldiers leading a charge on the front lines, the priest was holding a cross to encourage Polish soldiers.
Jakob was, of course, removed from the scene. He must have known that would happen and he says the police behaved “impeccably.” Since he describes himself as “Catholic, traditionalist, conservative and patriotic” on Twitter, the other side are out to get him. Here’s where the truth gets twisted.
The Monitoring Center on Racist and Xenophobic Behaviour, Warsaw, has issued a statement calling Baryła’s action “another example of nationalists using children for political struggle.”“Irresponsible parents have jeopardised the life and health of their 15-year-old child by sending him to a riot to intentionally hinder the police. The lost boy stood in the middle of the road clutching the cross. The child was confused and completely deprived of care by adult caregivers,” the statement said, insisting that Baryła was a child and no one had the right to send him to fight the police. “It seems that the parents have been indoctrinating their child for a long time,” the statement added, accusing Baryła of being “seen at meetings with racists and homophobes.”
The Monitoring Center on Racist and Xenophobic Behaviour said it intends to notify the prosecutor’s office of a “crime committed by parents who sent a child against police officers,” and will provide the Family Court in Płock with information “about a boy who, unaccompanied, hindered police operations.”
I’ve looked at those two pictures again and again and I can see neither ‘a lost boy’ nor a ‘confused child’. On the contrary. There has been plenty of praise for him on social media where people have remarked on his courage and his quiet confidence in his faith.
Please don’t ignore this because it happened in Poland. Think about it and about why it couldn’t happen here in Britain.
There is a problem with blogs. We bloggers try to keep our posts short, but in making them concise it is easy to give the wrong impression. I think this happened with my last blog, “I’m Back Because I Can’t Stand Sham”. I was trying to explain how I sometimes try to imagine how I would explain some aspects of modern life to my father, were he still alive. He fought all through WW1 and writing about him has emphasised what a different world we inhabit now.
In that blog I mentioned a man called Freddy McConnell. He is someone presenting with either complicated and complex problems or, at the other end of the scale, a tissue of lies.
So, let me reassure readers that I’m not a full of hate bigot and I do have compassion — a lot of it — for anyone finding themselves in a perplexing and difficult situation.
What is worrying me about Freddy McConnell and his baby son is the utter unreality of it all. Common sense has flown out of the window.
I would have nothing against Freddy if I met him – say at a play group – with his beard and moustache, and I would have no trouble calling him Mr McConnell and describing him as ‘he’ and Daddy. I have the evidence of my eyes and, in any case, I wouldn’t want to be rude or hurtful. There is no harm in being courteous in any merely social situation, particularly if surrounded by small children and other parents. This will surely happen frequently as Freddy Jnr grows
But, and it is a big BUT, Freddy was a woman when she gave birth. At that stage she had been registered as a man but had stopped transitioning in order to conceive. So the truth has already been mucked about with and feelings had already trumped facts. It wouldn’t just be stupid, it would be every shade of wrong to change the law so that Freddy appears as his child’s father on the birth certificate and there is no mention of ‘mother’. There’s also the problem of the biological father. Freddy is not a hermaphrodite. Even if he were he couldn’t impregnate himself. The donor of the sperm with which Freddy got pregnant may be just a name or a number but biologically he is the child’s father and to change the law in order to make Freddy the father — the only parent — is another whopping lie.
Two other points in this Freddy saga concern me.
He went to court to claim anonymity because he says forcing him to register as the child’s “mother” breaches “his human right to respect for private and family life.” Where is his respect for truth and honesty?
National newspaper editors wisely challenged the order after McConnell featured in a documentary film and a newspaper article about his journey to parenthood. Not much anonymity there.
This is a photograph few men will recognise but many women will immediately identify with it. Except that most women in this situation would be without their trousers. I suspect it may have been posed for the film.
According to The Sun newspaper Freddy McConnell wants his child to be the “first child in the world to legally have no mother. Why? Where is the benefit to his son there? Except to make him an object of curiosity.
Changing the law of this land in order to perpetrate a lie is to take the highway to chaos and confusion.
“O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!”
Walter Scott was so right, as society will soon discover to its cost.
I stopped writing blogs ten months ago. I popped back to comment on Curry and Churchill but that was as long ago as January and February. Now, however, I think there are things I must say or I shall burst!
I gave up blogging for two reasons. I seemed to be saying the same things in slightly different ways over and over and getting nowhere. Every time I grumbled about something that seemed to me wrong or stupid something even worse happened.
I thought I could find something better to do with my time, so I did. I decided to tell the story of my father’s experiences in Flanders, Greece and Palestine during the First World War. (Yes, I really do mean my Father and not my Grandfather.)Inevitably, I have also been trying to look at the modern world through his eyes, like this item from The Sun on July 16th.
How on earth would I begin to explain to my father the convolutions and complications involved with a woman who changes to a man and then goes back to being a woman so that she can have a baby – father unknown – and then demands that the law of the land is changed so that he can be registered as the father. Since children need a mother and a father perhaps he should be registered as both — although that is still a lie, because he isn’t.
Let’s get back to my father and my memoir. Everyone knows the horrors of the trenches; most people have heard of the disaster that was Gallipoli; but Palestine? That was something to do with Laurence of Arabia, wasn’t it? Well, yes – he was there, along with many thousands of assorted troops from Britain, France, Australia and India, as well as local Arabs.
It hasn’t been an easy task. While I was describing the first couple of years of his training it was often quite amusing There was plenty of frustration but also a lot of fun. When “Tubby” moved to France in 1916 telling the story became emotionally much more difficult. My father was a small, quiet, very gentle man. The thought of him in the trenches was horrible. Soaking myself in eyewitness accounts and sorting through endless photos day after day left me feeling like a chewed rag.
Then he was sent to Salonika. He’d never talked about Flanders and I had no idea he’d ever been in Greece. This was a strange discovery and very interesting. The whole story became even more fascinating when he went to Egypt.
From there he walked all the way to Jerusalem, interrupted by some rather nasty battles along the way.
In this photo, dated 9th December, 1917, the Mayor of Jerusalem tries to surrender the city to two British Tommies of the London Regiment.
Then he returned to Flanders just in time to win a medal, about six weeks before the Armistice.
I began by telling the story for the family — it’s a wonderful example of how a very ordinary man came to do extraordinary things. Now I’m wondering if it could find a wider audience, because people I’ve talked to are amazed to hear about this “other” war. At the moment I’m struggling to edit the fourth or fifth draft so perhaps I’d better finish that first.
My father was not a churchgoer. He pooh-poohed everything to do with the Church of England,mainly on the grounds of hypocrisy. He saw hypocrites everywhere and wanted nothing to do with them. The antics of the present Anglican church would have proved how right he was to be wary. On the other hand he would have been horrified to know that these days you can lose your job just for quoting from the Bible.
He wouldn’t have understood “unplatforming” or “safe spaces” either. Foxholes and dugouts were safe spaces for him. He was fairly left wing and delighted in discussion and argument where facts mattered and you could give as good as you got in verbal battles. If I’d tried to tell him that nowadays feelings trump facts he’d have thought I’d gone raving mad.
That is what has encouraged me to begin blogging again.
I don’t want you to get the impression that the book I am writing is unrelieved gloom. Tubby and his mates found plenty to laugh about. In this little scene they are in the Judean Hills in early 1918. They are almost at the end of the supply lines and food is short.
These hills are what stopped Richard Lionheart and they did their best to stop us, too. For most of our route there was a precipice on one side and a steep hillside on the other. It was a long, arduous trudge, with my pack feeling as though it were gaining weight with every step I took. Finally we reached the crest of the first range of hills and descended into a valley and to a village called Enab. This place looked closer to paradise than anywhere we’d been in months. The hillsides were wooded, covered with orchards of olive and fig trees or terraced for vineyards. There was even a monastery, where wine was made. Not that that helped the troops much; the officers had most of it before it ran out! Here we stayed for over a week. Needless-to-say, paradise was an illusion. The trees were bare of fruit and the torrential rain not only soaked everything, but seriously impeded the camel convoys. A camel’s feet are designed for sand, not mountain passes. Heavily laden as they were they kept slipping and sliding on the wet, rocky tracks and too often these falls caused serious and even fatal injuries. After a few days “Someone” found 2,000 donkeys from “Somewhere” which were much more sure-footed on the steep rough slopes. Sometimes miracles still happened!
The extra supplies they brought in were desperately needed, mainly for the transport animals. We were utterly exhausted so we stayed in our bivvies and groused. There was quite a lot to grumble about. ‘I don’t want to grumble,’ Charles said, ‘but I’m bloody cold. As well as food I wish they’d issue us with some winter woollies. It would have been bitterly cold last night, even if I hadn’t been soaked to the skin.’
‘Thank God for the socks I got in one of those parcels,’ I said. ‘My boots have had it.’
I stuck out my feet in front of the other three, showing how the sole was coming loose on one boot and the toecap was flapping on the other. ‘Don’t be hard on them,’ George said. ‘Think where they’ve been. First the desert, then the sandhills around Jaffa, then the Palestine plain and now these bloody foothills. No wonder they’re falling to pieces.’ ‘Not as bad as the animals,’ Lanky piped up. If he worried about anything it was most likely to be about the four-legged troops. ‘D’you know,’ he paused, looking solemnly around at us. ‘The horses have been on half rations for nearly a month.’ ‘So’ve we,’ said Charles. ‘They didn’t get oranges and things when we did,’ Lanky insisted. ‘Those really bucked us up, remember. One transport bloke told me some of the horses have been trying to eat the leather of their harnesses.’ ‘I wonder if they’d like my boots,’ I said. ‘Better hang on to them,’ George said. ‘You may be glad to have them to gnaw on yourself soon, by the look of you.’ I looked around at the other three and I could see what he meant. The truth was, like the horses, we were all half starved. The three of them returned my gaze, then George said, ‘Look on the bright side. Far fewer flies and bugs around now.’ He grinned and his face was transformed. That at least was true, though the cold and wet seemed to have no effect on the lice.
I’ve always been grateful to God for giving me a sense of humour. It has been my salvation so many times. Recently, I have begun to appreciate even more my sense of the absurd. In fact, I am coming to the conclusion that it is through a sense of the absurd that God is going to show us the dire straits we’ve got ourselves into. Some people have made the fatal error of taking themselves and their perceived needs too seriously. What is worse, they have done infinite damage by convincing those in places of power and influence that they must also have due respect for all this nonsense.
Remember when the Archbishop of Canterbury, no less, stood up and assured us that any sort of coupling, between any sort of gender, to create any sort of “family” unit, was as good as any other because that was the way the world is now. Untold studies and statistics have proved that children brought up by a man married to a woman in a long term relationship do better than any other arrangement. That is just a simple truth but very few people thought the Archbishop was being absurd.
Here are two pieces of news that have helped to convince me of God’s sense of the absurd.
Stonewall, the gay rights organisation, explain why they exist.
“We’re here to let all lesbian, gay, bi and trans people, here and abroad, know they’re not alone. We believe we’re stronger united, so we partner with organisations that help us create real change for the better. We have laid deep foundations across Britain – in some of our greatest institutions – so our communities can continue to find ways to flourish, and individuals can reach their full potential. We’re here to support those who can’t yet be themselves.”
Unfortunately, yesterday’s Times explained how the organisation has managed to upset the Lesbians.
“Lesbians have accused Stonewall, the gay rights organisation, of erasing biological women by saying that ‘male-bodied persons with penises’ can be lesbians.
The Lesbian Rights Alliance (LRA) has sent an open letter to Stonewall demanding that it take the L out of LGBTQ because it makes ‘lesbians invisible and erases lesbians through its promotion of the Trans Agenda’.
“The 135 signatories say that Stonewall supports the ‘absurd idea that male-bodied persons with penises can be lesbians’.”
Well, it is absurd. But there’s so much that’s absurd about LGBTQAI brigade statements. Those 7 letters could have another 64 initials added to them to include the 71 different genders that are supposed to exist at the moment. Once one gender, such as the Lesbians, break away that will be the start of chaos. I foresee a time when there will be a ‘Pride’ march every week to cater for every category. There’ll be a Bi-gender march, not to be confused with the Non-Binary march, and a Trans-sexual female march which is not the same as a Trans-gender female march. In addition, Agenders, and Androgynes appear to be quite separate from the Androgynous, to say nothing of the Two-spirits or the simply Other.
What worries me is that this nonsense isn’t limited to the 2% of the population who claim to belong to one or other of the 71 different genders. If you don’t believe me look at this from yesterday’s Guardian. Even the most respectable and dignified of organisations can’t seem to see the absurdity of what they are doing.
‘“A Freemason who after initiation ceases to be a man does not cease to be a Freemason,” says new guidance issued by the Freemasons’ governing body, the United Grand Lodge of England. Those who have transitioned from female to male can also apply, the guidance makes clear.’
How can any journalist write that and not question the logic? Why would anyone who had loaded his body with hormones and had his penis chopped off, in order to become a woman want to join a men only organisation. Doesn’t that strike you as really, truly mad?
This was an invitation to members of the Elementary Teachers Federation of Ontario to attend an inclusiveness training session in Canada back in the summer. I would like to think it was a joke but I doubt it. Have you noticed how totally lacking in humour activists of any sort are?
The acronym stands for Lesbian, Gay, Genderqueer, Bisexual, Demisexual, Transgender, Transsexual, Twospirit, Intersex, Queer, Questioning, Asexual, Allies, Pansexual and Polyamorous.
About the only thing that is clear from this is that these people are certainly into sex!
The ad makes the claim that “only 1% of members of the ETFO are open with their identities.” In addition, there is this extraordinary statement. “Some surveys suggest as much as half the public secretly identifies as LGBT …..”
That really is mad.
This is bad.
Christians should pray for Prince George to be gay, says senior Scottish reverend – headline in the Independent newspaper.
I wasn’t surprised when I learned who the “senior Scottish reverend” was. (I’ve commented before on this particular Rev on my blogs “How to Get Your Knickers in a Twist” Jan 17th and “Shame” Jan 23rd, 2017
The Very Revd Kelvin Holdsworth, Provost of St Mary’s Cathedral, Glasgow, and a campaigner for LGBT rights in the Church suggested in a blog that ‘the fastest way to make the C of E more inclusive [is] to pray for Prince George to be blessed one day with the love of a fine young gentleman’.
Is this Very Reverend gentleman seriously suggesting that we should pray that a four year old boy will grow up gay in order to make churches more inclusive! Clearly our Kelvin isn’t a parent. We pray a lot for our children but mainly along the lines of keeping them fit and healthy and happy. Perhaps we’ll add an occasional request that they are also tolerant, generous and kind.
Surely there can’t be parents who pray that their children will be somewhere—anywhere—on the LGBDTTTIQQAAPP spectrum.
Churches already have a far higher proportion of the LGBT+ brigade in their ranks than the general community so if they’re not inclusive whose fault is that?
I presume that the Rt Revd Mark Strange, Bishop of Moray, Ross and Caithness, Primus of the Scottish Episcopal Church, must be already so deep into his pre-Christmas Retreat that he hasn’t had time, away from his prayers and meditations, to notice this. If he were aware he should be yelling from his pulpit “This will not do!” Given the way his church just voted on Same Sex Marriage I suppose he thinks it will do very well. It won’t. It’s really very bad.
This is Dangerous.
Everything about this advert is awful.
This is promoting something so dangerous that I thought the Archbishop of Canterbury should sack the All Saints clergy immediately, and close the building until it has been fumigated or re-sanctified, or whatever is done to a church in which heresy and blasphemy have occurred.
My concern and outrage had nothing to do with Islam. What was worrying me was the appalling lack of understanding of the most basic tenets of Christianity that a service like this reveals.
However, although All Saints was built in 1120 AD I’m not sure how much of the atmosphere of a sacred space it still retains. Here is a page from the church website.
Start of the church website
Reviews for All Saints, Kingston
Have you noticed how often, just as you think it couldn’t get any worse—it does. These little birthday parties, for the Prophet Mohammed and a chap called Jesus, are the creation of the Church of England Liturgical Commission.
I used to bemoan the falling congregations in the church. Now I thank God that so many more Christians are turning away from all the mad, bad and dangerous absurdities that are being spouted in once sacred spaces.
When I took a break from blogging in the summer, I hoped, over the holidays, to be able to update my blog page. I wanted to add all sorts of whistles and bells and links and side bars and . . . . Well, as you know (“May You Live in Interesting Times” —blog Oct 2nd) things didn’t work out quite like that. I haven’t even been producing my more pedestrian blog very often, either, but please don’t think I have succumbed to the sin of sloth. It’s just that life has become different and, at times, rather more complex, with some very odd problems.
Apart from visually brightening up my blog I had also intended to widen its scope and broaden its horizon. since I was thoroughly fed up with the mediocre shower making up so much of the Moronarchy which is the Church in Wales.
Now, a whole avalanche of news has proved a spur. Much of it makes me think surely this can’t be true? I don’t know how much is ‘fake’ news, but I do believe quite a lot is sensationalised into ‘news’ by the media, especially if it involves Sex, or the C of E, or both—which it so often does.
Danny La Rue
Archbishop Welby says boys should be allowed to wear tiaras to help stop bullying. (No, sorry. I must have misread that! Since when was cross dressing news worthy!)
In Shakespeare’s day all the girls parts were played by boys. One of the best Lady Macbeth’s I ever saw was a strapping six-foot lad who made no effort to feminise himself. No high voice. No mincing walk. No pretty gestures. He was just so completely in the part that he was totally convincing. I don’t know what has happened to him but I doubt he’s on hormones to give him boobs.
I was fortunate enough to go to an all girls’ school so when we did Shakespeare we got to play all the male parts. My best friend Judy was a particularly convincing Shylock although I don’t remember any mention of sex or gender.
Glenda Jackson as Lear
Another subject I’ve found jaw-dropping concerns Church maintained schools. Why do they still exist? What on earth is the point of them? One in Birmingham has 80% Muslim children—surely that makes it more of a Madrassa—so why is the C of E maintaining it? They are, of course, exceptionally good schools, which is why so many parents lie and cheat to get their children into them. Presumably Muslim parents and children are deemed ‘Christian’ enough to qualify because they acknowledge Jesus as a prophet. What seems to me ironic and pathetic is that those parents who attend a church in order to “prove” their children are suitable for admission to a C of E school are rarely converted to Christianity by their church-going experiences! I suspect that once they get their child safely “in” no church will hear of them again. But, if a Christian Group is found to be teaching shocking subjects like sin and forgiveness, then the bullying starts, the headmaster sacks the Christian group and the Bishop nods her/his mitre in agreement.
There is always something going on in the Church in Wales to depress one’s spirits still further. It’s gone quiet in the church down south in Llandaff and St David’s but there are things going on up here in St Asaph that reveal how deeply unpleasant “church” people—both clerical and lay—can be. The sheer nastiness occurring in some of the Mission Areas beggars belief. They display all the most notable aspects of the Pharisees. Perhaps that’s why the Bishop of St Asaph has been finding forums away from home.
Members of the Anglican Oriental–Orthodox International Commission with local Fathers and the Egyptian Ambassador to Ireland in St Maximus and St Domatius Coptic Church in Drumcondra.
The man in red is the Rt Revd Bishop Gregory. The other men include representatives from the following churches: the Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria, the Syrian Orthodox Church of Antioch, the Armenian Apostolic Orthodox Church, the Malankara Orthodox Syrian Church and the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church.
+Gregory was Chairman of this Commission which met in Dublin last month. It has been struggling for years to reach agreement on some obscure bit of deep theology. What puzzles me is what is Gregory doing there. The other men all belong to churches which do not admit women as priests. Yet the St Asaph bishop has spent the last few years supporting women bishops, homosexuals, priests in civil partnerships, “proud to be gay” films, innumerable lectures and meetings with speakers like Jayne Osanne and “open tables” dedicated to LGBT+ activities and people. Talk about hypocrisy and humbug! At least, I hope he left his LGBTQUIA+ chaplain at home.
This month, further demonstrating the breadth of his ecumenism, +Gregory attended a service in the Roman Catholic cathedral in Cardiff to commemorate Luther and the beginning of the Protestant Reformation. Here he was observed turning to face the altar so that he could take a Selfie with the congregation.
Most of the people I meet now on an almost daily basis—medics and paramedics—display the Christian virtues of sympathy, tolerance, generosity and a quite amazing compassion. They laugh at me when I comment on this. “You couldn’t do this job if you didn’t care about people,” they say.
That attitude contrasts starkly with many of the clergy in the Anglican Church, all the way up to the Bishops, who seem perfectly happy to collect their stipends, wear the robes and strut the strut, without giving a second thought to all those of us who still believe in the Bible. We are totally ignored, if we’re lucky; labelled and excoriated if we speak out.
I first heard the Chinese greeting ‘May you live in interesting times,’ many years ago but it wasn’t till I read a lecture by Rabbi Lord Sachs recently that I learned it is actually a curse.
When I signed off from this blog for the summer at the beginning of July I was expecting things to jog along through July and August pretty much as usual. They didn’t. I have certainly lived through some very “interesting times” over the last three months – nerve wracking, exhausting, frightening – but, thank God, I haven’t had the feeling that I’d actually been cursed. I am both sadder and wiser than I was; wiser because of the things that happened to me and my family and sadder because of the bizarre things that continue to happen in the world.
Briefly, my one and only husband went into hospital for minor surgery and ended up spending seven weeks there, including two bouts in Intensive Care, and has come out needing dialysis. A few weeks into this trauma son, daughter-in-law and granddaughters came home and announced that next year they were planning to live with us full time. (Clearly they no longer trust us to live on our own.) So builders have moved in to turn an old people’s house into a multi generation home.
The builders will be with us until November and at the moment the only rooms habitable are the kitchen, the sitting room and our bedroom. Sometimes we have no water and sometimes we have no electricity but Nigel and Mark have been well trained. When they make tea for themselves they also make tea for whoever else is around at the time. Oh, yes, and, during one of the Intensive Care episodes, I took delivery of an eight week old puppy, encouraged and cheered on by my husband’s nurses. Nigel and Mark are also good at puppy-sitting and mopping up after her.
For much of my time, during those long weeks, I sat beside the bed, lost in admiration for the skill, devotion and dedication of the staff from consultants to porters. Professor Ted Baker, chief inspector of hospitals in England has just announced that the NHS is no longer fit for purpose. Whoever that statement applies to it’s not Welsh health care staff.
Here’s one of the things that has made me sad.
The Archbishop of Canterbury faced with a difficult question during a radio interview
Have you ever seen anyone more dejected and despairing. The funny thing is, I don’t think I ever felt that hopeless and helpless even when I was sitting in ITU with my husband drifting between life and death.
Perhaps there was a good reason for that. I was surrounded by people who were dedicated to their jobs, devoted to their patients and prepared to work long, unsocial hours (including Sundays). I bet Justin Welby wishes he could rely on such loyal, single minded support.
And what had caused the Archbishop’s angst and misery? A question in his LBC radio interview about a 6 year old boy in a dress!
For a start shouldn’t he have expected that question or something similar? Shouldn’t he have prepared a sound theological answer? After all, he is still the titular head of the whole Anglican Communion.
He says he doesn’t have a problem with a boy wearing a dress. Of course not. A little 6 year old can wear anything he likes; batman, superman, fairy twinkle toes.
Unfortunately, he didn’t make it clear that the boy in the dress isn’t the problem. The problem is transgenderism, which has taken off as the latest weapon of the “let’s smash the family” brigade.
A class of five and six years olds shouldn’t be made uncomfortable, puzzled and concerned by the selfish actions of a befuddled child, his parents and his teachers.
My sympathy is with all those parents who chose to send their children to a Church of England school in the hopes they would be taught the basic tenets of the Anglican faith. They have been let down, not least by the Archbishop of Canterbury.
I sent this picture to my son who used to live in Worcester. When he first moved there he’d been trawling local churches and not finding what he wanted. He complained that they were too happy-clappy, with little substance or so “high” he found them more alien than his wife’s Roman Catholic church. I used to try and persuade him to attend the Cathedral as being a ‘safe’ place, where you knew what you would get, service wise. Not any more.
His reaction to the picture—“Mum! What on earth were they thinking of?”—made me realise that there is very little thought in the Anglican church these days, or anywhere else come to that. It is all about feelings.
What a terrifying road to be on.
Who, in that great and ancient cathedral, felt that dressing up a man to look like a stick of asparagus would tell anyone in the congregation anything at all about God? You know—the God of the Bible. The Creator. The Almighty. Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. That God!
Did the Treasurer feel it would be money well spent producing that daft charade? Did the Dean not pause to wonder, just for a moment, whether some of the less well informed people in the congregation might be confused about the relevance of a stick of asparagus to the Death and Resurrection. Perhaps his sermon “explained” the connection but I bet that what people remembered afterwards was the daft charade and not the message.
There can be only one answer. No one was thinking clearly or intelligently. It was all froth and bubble and superficial nonsense put on by people who have lost the plot.
When people in positions of apparent power and authority begin to stop thinking and rely on “feelings” it can only get worse. Much worse.
The above photo is not the one I thought I would post here but presumably this child, too, will be the subject of mutilation sooner or later. The photo I was originally going to post I saw on the blog “Catholicism Pure and Simple.”
It was a photo of a sixteen year old girl, sitting, naked to the waist, showing the scars left when her breasts were removed to make her a boy. He was trying to look defiant but there was a sad, lost look in his eyes. I have hesitated for several weeks, because I found it so distressing, and when I went searching for it this morning I couldn’t find it. Possibly it has been taken down for ‘data protection’ reasons and I think on the whole I’m glad.
Don’t bother to ask what on earth were the people thinking who allowed this to happen. They had the feeling it was a good thing to mutilate a 16 year old girl. Presumably her parents felt it was a good idea. Did she not have grandparents? Surely a wiser generation would have had the sense and courage to say ‘Hang on a minute. Let’s not rush into this? At least, wait until she’s 18 and can make such a drastic decision for herself.’
Sadly, in this day and age, sensible thought is too often shouted down as homophobia or a hate crime. If you feel it in your head it must be right.
And what about the doctor who carried out the abominable surgery? Or what was going on in the head of the psychiatrist who assured the surgeon that this teenager was of sound mind and knew exactly what she was about? They too must have been caught up and whirled around in the great Transgender FeelFest.
We are hearing a lot about FGM these days. Female Genital Mutilation. Quite right, too. Such practises have no place in our civilized society. However, I can’t honestly see much difference between the two mutilations. Both are bound to lead to dreadful problems, both physical and psychological, yet one is treated with the horror it deserves and the other seems to be lauded as a great advance in human awareness.
Surprising? Not really. Not in a world where one week a great cathedral uses the symbol of Christ on the Cross and a couple of weeks later parades a man dressed up as a stick of asparagus.
Some inadequate producer for BBC Radio 4 thought it would be a good idea to devote 23.46 minutes to a 10 year old girl who believes she is a non-binary individual who would prefer to be more of a boy. He or she was wrong. Ten minutes of the interview was interesting; one had to admire the child’s vocabulary, self-confidence and loquacity, but then it became boring and repetitive.
Girls wanting to be boys is nothing new. Many girls have always wanted to be boys. Enid Blyton knew this, which is why George was the most popular character in The Famous Five books. Malcolm Saville created Peter, short for Petronella. The wonderful thing about all those children’s books of the 40s and 50s was that they allowed girls to be and do things which seemed impossible in real life. Those were the days! There was no preaching in those books, no messages, no secret agenda—just page-turning story telling. Parents were always absent for some good reason, giving the children freedom and independence, but looking back I realise that parental influence and school discipline were always there in the background, which stopped these stories turning into The Lord of the Flies.
I was lucky enough to go to a single sex school so we all got to play the drums and the trumpet and take as many boys parts in plays as we wished. My daughter, in a mixed school, was once Cinderella but I got to be Peter Pan. We also had crushes on staff or other girls—and finally grew up.
There were two comments that worried me in the interview with Leo and his mother (and his younger brother who kept saying ‘she’ and having to apologise) . There was a reference to a transgender cousin and Mother mentioned the possibility of hormone treatment. Am I alone in thinking hormone treatment for pre-puberty children is akin to child abuse?