Through the Lavender Looking-Glass

The Bishop and the Diocrat

The Son was shining on AmChurch,/ Shining ever new;/ He did His very best to keep/ Her teachings straight and true--/ And this was odd, because it was,/ Well, after Vatican II./

Satan glowered sulkily,/ Because he thought the Son/ Should leave him to his Rainbow Sash/ When all was said and done--/ "It's very rude of him," he said,/ "To come and spoil my fun!"/

The Bishop and the Diocrat/ Convened their support group;/ They gaily rubbed their hands at each/ New youth to join their troop./ ”If more young men would only come,”/ We’d really have a coup!”/ ”O winsome lads, come walk with us!”/ The Bishop did beseech./ ”A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,/ Liberation’s within reach./ Very soon you’ll know the score;/ Our rites to you we’ll teach.”/

The eldest youth just looked at him,/ But not a word he said:/ A furrow darkened his fair brow,/ He shook his noble head--/ Which meant to say he did not choose/ To leave his Faith stone dead./

But one young man stepped forward, for/ The sound of talk so sweet/ Had stirred his heart’s one true desire:/ To learn at Father’s feet--/ And this was odd, because, you know,/ Everything was so discrete./

Four other boys soon followed him,/ And yet another four;/ And thick and fast they came at last,/ Their teachers to adore--/ Scarce knowing they’d be baptized to/ A lifestyle of hardcore./

The Bishop and the Diocrat/ Walked on a mile or so,/ And then they rested on a rock/ But not the Rock we know./ And all the young men gathered there/ And waited row by row./

”The time has come,” the Bishop said,/ ”To talk of many things:/ Of bars--safe sex--and Dignity—/ Of love—on eagle’s wings--/ Why hell’s not really boiling hot,/ And sin no longer stings.”/

"But wait a bit," the young men cried,/ ”We don’t know about all that,/ For most of us are innocent;/ We’ve never worn that hat!”/ ”No hurry!” said the Diocrat./ And no one smelled a rat./

“Unleavened bread,” the Bishop said,/ ”Is what we chiefly need:/ ”A cupful of the fruited vine,/ Before we do the deed--/ Now if you’re ready, young men dear,/ Shall we begin our creed?”/

“What creed is this?” the youth inquired,/ For something was askew./ ”We’ve just received the Eucharist--/ How ‘bout a prayer or two?”/ ”Embodiment is good,” the Bishop said./ ”Do you admire the view?”/

“Sexuality’s a sacrament!/ Without it there’s no spice!”/ The Diocrat said nothing but/ ”Some say that it’s a vice:/ It’s good that you are so unspoiled--/ The better to entice!”/

“There is no shame,” the Bishop said,/ ”To learn our little shtick,/ Innocence will never do/ When you want to turn a trick!”/ The Diocrat said nothing but/ ”The air is getting thick!”/

“Oh weep for us,” the Bishop said:/ ”For just between us guys,/ The world must never know about/ The rites that we’ve devised.”/ With sobs and tears he sorted out/ The boys that he would prize…/ ”O ladies,” said the Diocrat,/ ”It’s time to end our fun!/ Shall we resume our normal lives?”/ But answer came there none--/ And this was scarcely odd, because/ They’d corrupted every one./