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Rowan's Nightmare

Rowan's Nightmare

A Satirical Essay

By David W. Virtue
www.virtueonline.org
November 25, 2010

Wake up, wake up, dearest, you're having a bad dream.

Oh God, where am I?

In bed with me, dear, sweating terribly. Now, what exactly were you dreaming about?

It was awful, my love. I had this dream wherein I kept seeing the face of Peter Akinola, the former Archbishop of Nigeria. He was yelling at me. We were in Dromantine, Ireland. Frank of the Flexible Wrist and Peter the Lionheart were going head to head over homosexuality. I was trying to mediate it and suddenly someone threw a cup of coffee at me.

That's just sweat, dearest. Do continue.

And then, they faded from view. Then I was addressing Synod, trying to put a good face on the Covenant, when all these e-mails started pouring in from the Mother's Union and Changing Attitude and some group calling themselves "No Anglican Covenant.com" signed by a bunch of Anglicans across the globe. Suddenly, I found myself weeping in front of everybody. I was so humiliated. You know how I hate to cry....

There, there dear, it was only a dream. You never cry, you are so big and strong and hairy, how could anyone know you have a soft side? When you wake up in the morning, you need to go into the chapel in the bowels of Lambeth Palace and soak yourself in the Church Fathers and contemplate your place in the church universal. You will feel much better then.

...and then it got worse. The face of Katharine Jefferts Schori suddenly appeared in front of me like the Ghost of Banquo. She kept yakking on and on about the baptismal covenant. Frankly, my love, I don't know what the blazes she was talking about. Nobody talks like that in the C of E. The woman frankly scares me, my love. She has so much money to toss around that I think sometimes she is trying to manipulate me. You don't think...

Of course not dearest, she would never do a thing like that. Why, just the other day, after you had delivered one of your mind-numbing convoluted sermons, I was chatting with the archbishops of Southern Africa and Mexico. They were ecstatic about all the millions they have received over the years from The Episcopal Church. They stated that it made all the difference in how they have voted over such issues as committed same-sex relationships, rites for gays and so much more, but then they insisted that how they voted had nothing to do with money. I believe them.

That is so reassuring, my love. But it didn't end. The next day, I got an e-mail from Peter Jensen in Sydney saying that eight of the most orthodox primates are not turning up next January in Dublin. They represent 80% of the whole Anglican Communion. Oh God, what am I going to do? You know how much I love shuttle diplomacy, and listening and listening and listening...and trying to find middle ground...sob. For a moment in my dream, I saw the figure of Philip Groves come and go and then Hegel appeared. He was smiling...and then he disappeared.

Well, dearest, the part about eight archbishops not turning up in Dublin is true. And let me tell you, my love, that's not a dream. That's a nightmare. I should have told you that you have an invitation to see the Queen tomorrow. It's a command really. No excuses. She wants to see you at Buckingham Palace, 9am sharp. Don't bring your miter and dress in mufti.

END

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