ACI On the Case

From the newly renamed: Anglican Communion Essaying Institution

The Reverend Canon Professor Christine Shite
(a.k.a. Geoffrey Boycott)
The Reverend Dr. Anthea Turner
(Home Beautician)
The Reverend Dr. A. Frame Reader
(sponsored by The Best a Man Can Get)
Davina McCall, Esq.
(Million Pound Drip)

Just as the spying centre was known as 'The Circus', so coming up is 'The Zoo' - otherwise known as The Dublin gathering of Primates. Is it a Primates Meeting when there will be more visitors than G'rillas in the cage?

The reasons for these monkeys to come or stay away are pro and con equally many, and con and pro and equally money. We hold a range of views ourselves, but we are unanimous and even you money mush in our hope that the Global South g'rillas can agree so there.

But then, who gives a shit? Moreover, opinions of others are irrelevant: it will be the case that the major bunch of banana bashers of the Communion will not be there at the Meeting. Do these munchers of the yellowy-white fruit with the removable peel represent their Anglican provinces or do they not? To say it is only ten nobodies, or more, or less, or that they represent no one, is only to show how debased The Zoo has become, for what was once the very basic life of life, of the Communion, as what could once be a tape measure of fellowship in charity and mission, is but no more. Gosh, surely one missing g'rilla is regrettable.

Reasonable people are in short supply. Nevertheless, on the basis that we are reasonable, this is a tragic development and a public scandal, but we have become accustomed to her face and could burst into sorrowful song.

But let's pin the blame where it really exists. Find the guilty one! Reasonable people have one perspective that is particularly dystopiacic in its implications or even imp like in its machinations. It's him, isn't it: the Archbishop of Anglicanism, Rowanov Treetri, and then in some episodes comes that font of all evil, the Presiding Bishop, Our Unfair Lady, and both are conniving and manipulative, even heretical, and thus The Zoo is a sham. A sham, we tell you.

We can agree with this, or, for that matter, its opposite: and if we can and cannot then no wonder others are confused. You should be confused, or at least fused into being conned. Manifold or money fuelled is the evidence to draw this conclusion or that, indeed, any other conclusion including by our otherwise opponents and otherwise partisans in our parlous season of Zoo visiting.

It is not that people have seized up or sized up this or that G'rilla in this mist or that way missed that is so disturbing. What is the truly serious area of concern is this, ahem: the claim that, ahem, given the character of that master of disguises, the Archbishop of England no less, there is nothing that can be done about the Meeting. The Archbishop is held or indeed not held to be an immovable force, an impregnable object and so unable have his whiskers plucked that he is beyond challenge. The guy is like the very Bishop of Rome, the one person we wished him to have become via some Covenant prior to that now long diluted into the parched earth. A Council of the Church, if we are right, or not, in holding that the Primates’ Meeting is such, is not, really, a Council, and - to make it plain - cannot be, according to this view, of the Zoo. The will of the G'rillas as Primates cannot, must not, but just possible may be, capable of expression or a tweak of impression. Get them brushes out G'rillas! Ah but the iron hand of the Archbishop of England grips his big Pound Shop brush, and no one can grab his hairy extension. His brush is secure and gripped vice-like: beyond the reach of fellow G'rillas who have dinky things that come in packs of ten at the Pound Shop, and the hairs soon fall out. If Hilary or Mary or June were to appear in Dublin as the Athanasius of the West, or the Arius or the East, or the Arse of the North, then in the very nature of the painting set and easel he would have to be defeated and sent packing and leave the canvas behind.

We know that no one gives a shit any more: it matters whether or not ten, one, twenty, four, two, seventeen, who knows, were or were not to appear, or indeed were not or were to not appear as our befuddled iron man Archbishop would express it if at The Zoo. If the Primates Meeting is not really a Council of the Church; and if the Archbishop of England, like a tank, has the power to defeat any one calling themselves fellow Bishops, whose actual leadership and authority in the Provinces is not in question like his is, then it must or perhaps may not be renamed a lawn for tanks. Forget that, no, for this would be only The Archbishop of England Meeting.

So we at the Anglican Communion Essaying Institution have a suggestion: why doesn't he go to Dublin's fair shitty to meet only himself? Sit in a room with two chairs, and keep popping his bum from one chair to the other in an instant dialogue with himself? Or, to save money, he could use two computers and set up Skype. He could talk to himself looking at himself and do it twice at the same time, just for a difference of opinion.

And if this is the true state of affairs, will the Primates thus agree to t'is, so he can just write down what he says to himself, subject to the broadband Internet connection being reliable in cash-strapped Dublin?

Perhaps one does not need to be in Dublin in a couple of weeks to answer this question, but an answer must be found all the same.

We could all do this sort of t'ing a ling, but perhaps the answer is not to create a parallel structure, although it could be, leaving aside whether it can succeed, whether it gathers conservative G'rillas when the dust settles and the bananas are handed out. For, although it could, that would not solve the problem of how to have a Council of the Church called ‘The Primates’ Meeting’, or one where the Primates did their job (if they are not actually part of the great unwashed unemployed, which is a thought worthy of a thought. After all, what do G'rillas do?).

No, or yes: it would merely defer and avoid the matter, and so leave it unresolved, to be resolved by some indaba daba doo like as if the G'rillas were on The Flintstones appearing instead of Dino. What we need is a pokey stick, for the Primates’ Meeting must be that place where the integrity of the Instrument is worked through. Where's your bottom!

So if you don't go to Dublin, don't be surprised if Dublin doesn't take place! They can used Skype too (Over the Sea to Skype) so that the G'rillas as individual leaders and as a body can propose and resolve how they will gather and do their work, or perhaps not propose or decide the matter, or indeed propose or decide how they will not gather and not do their work, if there is any work to do. Physical attendance may or may not be necessary at the month's end or next month's beginning and it is not going to happen anyway. But it remains the case, unopened or padlocked, or chained to the wrist, that the composition can play Accustomed to Her Face, and the good working of the Primates as a Meeting, as a Council, or The Zoo, must or must not be addressed by the Primates. How will they do this or fail to make it happen?

It's time that that the Archbishop of England was put into a comfortable box with airholes and special stereophonic speakers. He does have certain rights and responsibilities in respect of the Instrument called the pokey stick. But in the box he would be unable to see where the stick was poking, depending on whether or not he could align his eye to one hole for sight purposes given human rights concerns. What is disturbing is the apparent concession made by no one we know that his power is infinite, more infinite than even the Holy Trinity itself (illustrated left)! It is so shocking we don't know who said this. One need not attribute to him any nefarious or indeed Naff Arius actions at all to acknowledge that such a view of his role could be intolerable or perhaps become tolerable to the good working of the G'rillas as a Body of Primates.

If this is the problem, and perhaps it is not, then let us hear from the Primates now how they are prepared to address it, unless they cannot give a shit either. Anything more would be very pleasant and anything less is just a counsel of despair (but not Council of Despair!) and a not very sure way to watch the Communion slide deeper into dysfunction and distrust, or this function and this trust, as when some says, "Hello and welcome, dis am de Dublin Zoo."

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