Ahoy, me hearty lubbers readin' this here blog! I be Captain Malcolm Creed o' the vessel Apostate Bane, 'unter of 'eretics and dissenters where'er they be skulkin'. Like bilge rats nestin' in yer grub, they be bad fer morale, deservin' a long walk on a short plank, if ye get me drift an' all.
Now it seems thar be plenty o' blaggard backstabbers seekin' ta hoist their own colors up the mizzenmast, an' steer Jesus' Good Ship (aye, thar be a good Commodore in Jesus, arrrr! A worthy sea dog be He!) into dangerous waters and uncharted seas. But any pirate worth 'is weight in gold doubloons knows ye follow charts that be true and routes that be sure.
Now ye might be askin' yerself, "How'd a wenchin', pillagin', groggin', pirate start livin' a life cleaner than a rightly swabbed quarterdeck?" Arrrr, I tell ye how, so shut yer bungholes and lissen close-like. Fer years I sailed the Seven Seas livin' on the account, boardin' ships and plunderin' their 'olds. I've keelhauled me share of scurvy dogs, an' fed many a fish. I spent me loot at many a port, got drunker than entire crews, and caboodled me share of buxom beauties. Aye, of that I be mighty 'shamed. I most like sailed 'round the world a dozen times over, as if pursued by Davy Jones hisself, aimin' to drag me down to his cold black locker. Aye, chased I be, but not by 'im. It was Jesus Christ who dogged me sails and tracked me wake, til one day, I fell to me knees and prayed "Arrrr, Lord Jesus, ye win. The chase be over. I give up me life of sackin' and carousin', and trade me watery grog for ye fine rich wine." Next time I dropped me anchor, I collared a priest, an' he forgave all me sins; aye, smartly he did. Arrrr, that be truth, else I spit in yer deadlights an' stick me pegleg up yer....er, booty.
Now I serve Jesus Christ, layin' down me cutlass but still fightin' the fight. No more stealin' treasure and hoardin' it in buried chests - now I share His treasure with all me buckos. Arrr, an' I defend the Good Ship from those who aim t' sink Her, or run Her aground. Me spyglass be trained rightly on a scurvy lot, a dissenters' ship named The NC'ARRRRR. It be a motley crew, with poxed 'earts and words fouler than bilgewater. Aye, they think they be cunning, but they be addled as if sloggin' mugs o' brine.
Arrrr, this here day, me bosun shewed me this message writ by their bony claws and sent adrift upon the briny deep, an' it backs me words, fifty pieces 'o eight if it don't:
That was bad enough. Then, Dr. Carol Egner, a laywoman and a gynecologist who was incensed by this injustice, wrote a letter supporting Akers to the Cincinnati Inquirer. Her pastor read the letter, and had the gall to demand that she write another letter retracting her position. When she rightly refused, he banished her from her volunteer teaching position with a 6th grade religion class at Our Lady of Lourdes Parish.
What is it that these men fear? Exposing children to the gospel ideal of gender equality? Open discussion of an issue of great importance in our church? The thought of actually sharing ministry equally with women?
The issue of women’s ordination seems to have produced a new level of clerical emotion in the last year. Perhaps -- because of the clergy shortage, the theological indefensibility of this discriminatory position, and the widespread acceptance of women in other denominations -- this is the issue on which they feel most vulnerable.
Begad, this saucy wench be speakin' like a Jack Tar marooned on a sand bar! Any pirate able to 'old his grub in a temptest knows that the Gospel is 'bout repentance an' salvation, not "gender equality"! Arrrr, me thinks she fears the good archbishop speaks true, an' she knows it in 'er bones. She prattles like shark-bait - 'stead of joinin' the 'ard-working hands in a battle, she calls fer a truce, or worse, makes up 'er own plan. When ye go aft when the Lord says go fore, ye end up gettin' scuppered! Arrrr, that be truth, else I make ye kiss the gunner's daughter!
The NC'ARRRR is makin' full sail, so I must 'elp me crew keep tack. I be writin' agin, if Jesus wills. For a knock-kneed land lubber, LarrrrrrrryD be a fine bucko - aye, we be mates in Jesus. Arrrrr, fair winds to ye!!