The Flying Buttress: What Inquisitors' Minds Want to Know

An archive for issues of The Flying Buttress newswire, whose purpose is to comment satirically on dissent within and relating to the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Cincinnati. Disclaimer: These publications are works of satirical fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental, but it all depends on what you mean by the word "is." May the Lord bless you and keep you!

Sunday, May 21, 2006

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./


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