From Our Church Mag – August 2014

Passion for fashion

Colin is wearing a tie dyed t shirt with a CND logo emblazoned across the front. This is co-rodinated with purple bell bottomed loon pants, just the sort of outfit today’s trendy, modern vicar needs for maintaining his street credibility when making the church attractive to the next generation of disaffected youngsters, man. The trousers are super tight for a sleek profile, but be careful when you bend over, Colin. You don’t want to air your credentials. To compensate for the absence of pockets, there’s a matching shoulder bag to keep your hammer and stakes in and the whole ensemble is finished off with a flower behind the ear.

Our next model is Mark. Mark has gone for the dining al fresco look, combining cool, practical shorts with a safari jacket and bush hat that’s equally at home on the savannah or for hiding in the parish office when the diocesan secretary comes a knocking for the family purse. This stylish outfit comes in plain khaki or camouflage and it can withstand poison blow darts from as close as fifty paces. Throw another springbok on the Barbie, Mark.

Lastly, Julian has opted for the formal frock and skull cap in eye catching maroon. The reflective lined minicape is reversible for night time visibility and it has ample space on it to carry sponsorship messages, name and cassock number during youth club cup games. Come on you reds.

You may be forgiven for thinking that the above was like the commentary once heard at fashion shows and you’d be right. Yes, our dear old synod has been up to its tricks again. Those wacky guys and gals at CofE Central think it’s a jolly wheeze to let the clergy to adopt casual dress for services. And why not?

Imagine traditionalists like Disgusted of Purley firing off missives of complaint to the broadsheets, viz….

Sir,

I wish to protest in the strongest possible terms about the clergy strutting their stuff on the catwalk when they should be visiting sick widows and giving orphans a clip round the ear. We Anglicans do not strut our stuff. My grandfather did not strut his stuff, my father did not strut his stuff and nor do I, don’cher know? I didn’t die in two world wars giving the Kaiser what for so that seventy years later the old padres are turned into a cacophony of peacocks. Dear Binky Kitchener would turn in his grave if he could see them, so he would. Harrumph!

Yours faithfully,

Brigadier General Farquhson-Howitzer (Retd.)

I remember the furore over women priests, but we have them now and I don’t think the predicted internal falling out happened. There shouldn’t be a schism over this either. Before long, people will forget what the fuss was about and will come to accept dress down Friday (except it’ll be dress down Sunday) just as blithely as they accept shorts for men in the office.

What else has the synod been up to?

Oh yes, women bishops. Apparently we’ll be having those too from 2015. I can’t say the news images have shown a plethora of tweed clad colonels frothing at the mouth. Indeed, our own archbish in chief, Marcus Welby MD, is all for them.

But beware, fellers. Once you let the gals in, there will be all sorts of unforeseen consequences. Rosé wine at communion will be one of the first things they introduce, then it’ll be chintzy curtains and cushions in the manse and stockings drying in the bathroom. As for the archdeacon’s secret stash of single malts and fine Havanas, they’ll sniff those out in no time. Next time you lads fancy a crafty noggin before vespers there will only be Babycham and a box of After Eights.

Mark my words, the fall of the last male bastion of refuge from the female race will make the fall of Rome look like the chimpanzees’ tea party. You have been warned.

I’m Ben Jericho. Does my bum look big in this?

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