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January 29, 2006

Abusive Sermon

"Good morning my flock." said the vicar.

He stood behind the pulpit, dressed in black. A gloominess filled the church as the mid-morning sun hid behind the clouds, and frost blanketed the graves.

"I am here today, to speak with you; to be eloquent; to convey, through my words, a truth. Listen to my rrrrolling tongue, my haughty accent; my whispers and pauses. Oh, oh, pay attention to my ... garrulous dialog. Hear me twitter and ramble like a bird given to alighting on this branch and that." His voice was booming and then all-of-a-sudden soft; continually changing.

"Sacrifice. What does that word mean? Anyone? ... Yes George, go ahead."

"Um, um, I think it means that we give up something for something better." said George.

The vicar responded, "Oh George, oh, oh, George. My heart doth sing in praise of your words George. Oh, I do feel this wondrous joy, this all compelling sweetness at your words. Oh yes, yes, the truth hath been spake. George is speaking in tongues, my beloved. No more shall I wander lonely as a lamb, for the lord hath brought us much wisdom in the form of good old George the carpenter ... But you're wrong George! You're wrong, wrong, wrong! ... 'We' cannot sacrifice anything. Only the Lord our Jesus Christ who is in heaven can sacrifice. He sacrificed for us all. And that, George, is why we are all so bloody happy!"

He turned his head. He was slowly surveying the congregation. Then he paused and snapped, "Margaret! Take your finger out of your nose. This is blasphemy! You shall be sent to hell where you will take the form of a dog and be compelled to perform endless auto-fellatio. And then, after a thousand years, you shall return to this earth as a turnip farmer in the Outer Hebrides, of all places, where your crop will fail for seven years in succession and you will be afflicted with all manner of venereal diseases."

He slammed his fist down onto the pulpit and then seemed to become suddenly calm. Margaret, who was only six, held tightly onto her mother's hand and shook in terror.

The vicar continued, "You know, I wasn't sure what I would speak about today. I sat before my large open hearth last night, whisky in hand, my mind blank. It seems that I have spoken about so many things here every Sunday for the past forty years. And then I started to think of Francis. Francis, when I came and payed a visit to your house last week, I was shocked by your behavior! You came to the door wearing an apron; an apron of all things! What kind of a Jezabel are you? Tempting me like the devil. Aprons drive a man wild; every woman knows this. And then you let me into your house. You just stood back and let me in." He started to breathe deeply, a look of confused disgust on his face.

"You poured me tea, and you smiled at me. Oh, you saucy, saucy thing. How could I possibly resist your temptations. I drank your blasted tea. I ate your sullied offering of mince pies. You tricked me. You used all of your wicked, wicked female witch-like powers to trick me. I hope you burn in hell."

Francis broke into loud sobbing. Her Husband, Jim, held her close to his chest and stroked her head.

"Black Sabbath! ... I switched on the television and changed the channel to MTV, my favorite. And there was Black Sabbath, or Black Shabbat, as they say in Hebrew. Speaking of Jews, what did they ever do for us anyway? ... hmm, I suppose they gave us Jesus. Anyway, I was pondering Black Sabbath and wondering if that was like our holy day. Perhaps, just as we take a break from do-gooding, these people take a break from their evil ways. And so I was wondering, is there anyone here for whom this is their black sabbath?" He looked around the church inquisitively. At the back of the nave, a hand was raised very slowly.

"Your name?" asked the vicar.

"Dark Angel." was all the came back.

Dark Angel sat slouched in the pew, his ankle length black coat spread open to reveal a black t-shirt and tight black leather trousers. His face was dusted white and around his eyes were large discs of black eyeliner.

The vicar responded, "Welcome Dark Angel. Let us all welcome this fine chap to our fellowship in the Lord. Come along, say hello."

A few of the more confident people turned half-way to look at him, and said a cursory hello. There was an uneasy shuffling of feet and some quiet mumbling.

"And what say you of sacrifice, Dark Angel?"

The response from Dark Angel came thick and fast, "F*** you mother f***er. You f***ing hypocritical f***-wit. I sacrifice chickens in the woods so that I don't have to put up with sh** like this."

"Oh dear." said the vicar slowly, calmly, and solemnly. He lowered his eyes to the pulpit. Inside a storm was brewing. He continued, "I'm affraid that we don't worship the virgin mother here, and we certainly don't deflower her. So listen here little boy: you take your f***ing skinny malnutritioned arse and get the f*** out of my Father's house before I come down there and give you jolly good hiding!" He was shouting, spittle flying from his lips.

Tears started to form in Dark Angel's eyes. There was a momentary pause before he dragged his towering frame up from the pew and lurched towards the door. Head down, he walked past his mother. She looked sorrowfully at him as he passed and reached out to touch his arm; he pulled it away, defiantly. And then he was gone.

The vicar came back to his sermon, "Now, where was I ... ah yes, homosexuals. I've been wanting to talk about homosexuals for while; gays as they're more commonly known. I want you all to know that I for one am absolutely against gays. I think that they shouldn't be allowed. I've devised a way of driving these sick individuals out of our community. I'd like us all to practice something. Turn to a partner, and greet them if you've not met before. Now, I want you to raise your middle finger, like they do in the movies; I think they called it 'giving the bird'. And now practice this: say with me, 'Up yours gay-boy!'. That's it. Come on, let's see you do it!"

The majority of the congregation was totally bemused. They didn't know whether to do it or not. Some were holding their fingers up at their neighbor and just couldn't say anything. The little kids were loving it, reapeating the line over and over. After a minute or so of this, Alf, a quiet middle-aged chap who liked to keep to himself, got up and quietly left. A sea of heads turned slowly to follow his path out of the church.

The vicar then coughed: a sign to come back to order. "And now, please will you pick up your hymnals and turn to page 138, and we shall all stand and sing Amazing Grace."

...And there was Black Sabbath, or Black Shabbat, as they say in Hebrew. Speaking of Jews, what did they ever do for us anyway? ... hmm, I suppose they gave us Jesus. Anyway, I was pondering...

"A brilliant moment, that. And yet again you, my friend, are a f***ing hysterical writer!" — Charley


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