Drone on O Sermon Eternal

My pal the Undergroundpewster called yesterday and updated me on how things were going on Sunday mornings. This inspired the following parody.

1. Drone on Sermon eternal
the time for sleep has come;
henceforth on Sunday mornings
our eyelids are our home.
We pray for preparation
and strength from heaven above;
but thou Sermon eternal
has made our faces long.

2. Drone on Sermon eternal
till thoughts and cares cease,
and holiness shall whisper
the sweet amen of peace.
Despite the pulpit's creaking,
and patience put to test,
the Word of God shall enter
our souls in quiet rest.

3. Drone on Sermons eternal
forgotten through the years;
Our eyes awake to the morning
when your words disappear.
We see the cross before us,
We follow its Holy Light;
T'were not for sermons eternal,
we'd miss its precious sight.

Apologies to Ernest W. Shurtleff, 1862-1917

(ref ) Hymn 580. Lead On, O King Eternal

Text: Ernest W. Shurtleff, 1862-1917
Music: Henry T. Smart, 1813-1879
Tune: LANCASHIRE, Meter: 76.76 D

Look What They've Done to Your Psalm

My old friend the Undergroundpewster is griping again about the lectionary committee cutting up the scriptures. This time the Psalm for last Sunday was sliced and diced. This inspired me to do the same to an old song.

(Apologies to Melanie)

Look what they've done to your Psalm, Lord
Look what they've done to your Psalm
Well it's the only thing we could get half right
And they've gutted it till its wrong, Lord
Look what they've done to your Psalm

Look what they've done to my faith, Lord
Look what they've done to my faith
Well they picked it like a chicken bone
And they think I'm half gone, Lord
Look what they've done to my faith.

Wish I could find a good church to live in
Wish I could find a good church
Well, if I could find a real good church
I'd never have to come and hear Lord
just what they do to your Psalms.

La la la...
Look what they've done to your Psalm

But maybe it'll all be all right, Lord
Maybe it'll all be OK
Well, if the people start buying tears
I'll be rich some day, Lord
Look what they've done to your Psalm.

Ils ont changé ton Psaume, Père
Ils ont changé ton Psaume
C'est la seule chose que je peux faire
Et çe n'est pas bon, Père
Ils ont changé ton Psaume

Look what they've done to your Psalm, Lord
Look what they've done to your Psalm, Lord
Well they cut it up in a p.c. fit
And turned it upside down, Lord
Look what they've done to your Psalm.

Ils ont changé ton Psaume, Père...

Look what they've done to your Psalm, Lord
Look what they've done to your Psalm
Well it's the only thing we could get half right
And they've gutted it till its wrong, Lord
Look what they've done to your Psalm.

The Present Paradigm of a Perfect Presiding Priestess

As the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church has been very much in the news recently because of accusations of errors in her resume and changes in her Wikipages, I had to put the finishing touches on this little ditty this week and post it for the pleasure of the passengers and crew of the SS TEC.

With apologies to G+S.

I am the present paradigm of a perfect Presiding Priestess,
My training was short, suspect, and dubious,
I know the AoC in England, and I quote the fights historical
From Bithynia to Niceae, in order categorical;

Breathe

I'm very well acquainted, too, with all aquatic elements,
I understand oceans, the Atlantics and Pacifics,
About bivalvian habits I'm teeming with statistics,
With many cheerful smiles though I'm unsure of specifics.

Breathe

I'm very good revising Numbers and verses from Leviticus;
I know the canon laws for clergy gone schismaticus:
In short, in matters aquatical, heretical, litiginous,
I am the present paradigm of a perfect Presiding Priestess.

Breathe

I know our mythic history, of gardens, arks and Noah's sons;
I've heard of Paul, but I'd rather study Bishop Robinson,
I read in Ecclesiasticus of the son of Onias,
In canons I can read peculiarities parabolous;

Breathe

I know the croaking chorus from the House of Bishops listserv,
And I can hum a fugue for you if your ear has the nerve,
I can separate the Spong from the Borg and the Crossan,
And whistle all the airs from that infernal nonsense GAFCON.

Breathe

I can write a pleasant note in unintelligible Episcospeak,
While telling you the details of bovine emmisions that'll really reek:
In short, in matters aquatical, heretical, litiginous,
I am the present paradigm of a perfect Presiding Priestess.

Breathe

When I explain away what is meant by "pornea" and its penalties,
When I can tell at sight a homophobe and a Pharisee,
When I can smell the departure of a parish or a diocese,
And when I know precisely what is meant by "Androgynes",

Breathe

When I have learnt what progress has been made in sexuality,
I quote the sexual alphabet better than a novice in a nunnery—
In short, since I'm on tops in sexual Theology,
You'll wonder when the Presiding Priestess will ever sit upon the See.

Gasp!

For my theologic knowledge, though I speak it quite authentically,
Has only been spoken since the beginning of the century;
But still, of things aquatical, heretical, litiginous,
I am the present paradigm of a perfect Presiding Priestess!

(I was reluctant to add the breath marks because I know that someone out there can sing it all in one breath, and I just can't wait to see the YouTube clip of them doing it.)

Where Have All the Baptisms Gone?

The Undergroundpewster's report of a 31% drop in baptisms of children in the Episcopal church posed that question which made an old Pete Seeger song come to mind. Once again, I had to change a few of the words.

Where have all the baptisms gone, long time passing?
Where have all the baptisms gone, long time ago?
Where have all the baptisms gone?
Other Churches elsewhere.
Oh, when will we ever learn?
Oh, when will we ever learn?

Where have all the children gone, long time passing?
Where have all the children gone, long time ago?
Where have all the children gone?
Gone for churches elsewhere.
Oh, when will we ever learn?
Oh, when will we ever learn?

Where have all the parents gone, long time passing?
Where have all the parents gone, long time ago?
Where have all the parents gone?
Gone for Jesus elsewhere
Oh, when will we ever learn?
Oh, when will we ever learn?

Where have all the conservatives gone, long time passing?
Where have all the conservatives, long time ago?
Where have all the conservatives gone?
Gone to graveyards, everyone.
Oh, when will we ever learn?
Oh, when will we ever learn?

Where have all the graveyards gone, long time passing?
Where have all the graveyards gone, long time ago?
Where have all the graveyards gone?
Gone to flowers, everyone.
Oh, when will we ever learn?
Oh, when will we ever learn?

The Covenantal, from the fictional film "The Gay Blessee"

It appears that "covenant" is the latest word to be Shanghaied by those in command of the process to normalize and make sacred same sex relationships. These relationships are being called "covenantal" if they pledge to be life long and monogamous and thus worthy to be considered blessed by the Church.

Here is a little parody based on "The Continental" (1934-lyrics by Herb Magidson) from that appropriately named film "The Gay Divorcee" starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

Funny thing, I only had to change three words.

I call it, "The Covenantal."

Beautiful feelin,
Dangerous doctrine

It's something daring, the Covenantal
A way of dancing that's really ultra new
It's very subtle, the Covenantal
Because it does what you want it to do

It has a passion, the Covenantal
An invitation to moonlight and romance
It's quite the fashion, the Covenantal
Because you tell of your love while you dance

Your lips whisper so tenderly
His eyes answer your song

Two bodies swaying, the Covenantal,
And you are saying just what you're thinking of
So, keep on dancing the Covenantal
For it's a song of romance and of love

You kiss while you're dancing
It's covenantal, oh oh oh, it's covenantal
You sing while you're dancing
Your voice is gentle, oh oh oh, and sentimental

You'll know before the dance is through
That you're in love with him and he's in love with you

You'll find while you're dancing
That there's a rhythm in your heart and soul,
A certain rhythm that you can't control
And you will do the Covenantal all the time

Beautiful feelin
Dangerous doctrine
Beautiful feelin
Dangerous doctrine

They Call The Blog Pariah

Pity the Undergroundpewster who signals all rejected hateful comments over to my flagship for analysis. It seems that there exist some deeply disturbed individuals who see the Undergroundpewster as a Pariah.



Pariah: (from Encarta)

1. outcast: somebody who is despised and avoided


2. somebody rejected from caste: in South Asia, somebody who has defied a social law and has therefore been rejected by a caste


[Early 17th century. < Tamil paṟaiyan "drummer" < paṟai "festival drum"; because hereditary drummers were outside the caste system]

With apologies to Lerner and Loewe

Pariah
Pariah
They call the blog Pariah

Away out here they got a name
For rain and wind and fire
The rain is Tess, the fire Joe,
And they call the blog Pariah

Pariah blows the sermons around
And sends the priests a’flyin’
Pariah makes the pulpit sound
Like folks were up there dying

Pariah
Pariah
They call the blog Pariah

Before I knew Pariah’s name
And heard her wail and whinin’
I had a pew and it had me
And the sun was always shinin’

But then one day I left my pew
I left it far behind me
And now I’m sound, and get around
Where God can better find me

Pariah
Pariah
They call the blog Pariah

Out here they got a name for rain
For wind and fire only
But you’re never lost nor all alone
But there ain’t no word folks can use
To make you feel lonely

He's always there
That brilliant star to guide me
Pariah's not the love I need
I have my Lord beside me

Pariah
Pariah
They call the blog Pariah

Pariah
Pariah!
blog your love to me