Now, if he'd just make a move on the ordination of women, sexual orientation and same-sex marriage, the Roman Catholic Church might really be onto a winner here; Lord knows they need it.
I'm inclined to agree with those few and highly respected biblical scholars, that perhaps St Paul was a teeny weenie bit of a misogynist. Perhaps the poor chap was given a hard time by his ex, it does happen.
Well here's a personal story of Catholicism, that wouldn’t be out of place in a Dan Brown The Da Vinci Code movie, however, this isn't fictional; Pope Benedict, you may want to look away at this point.
From the age of fourteen to seventeen, I found myself in and out of various junior seminaries; I'd received the calling and embraced the vocation, to dedicate my life in service to God. I must have been eleven years old when things first began to percolate.
'Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man;' St Francis Xavier; and boy how those Catholic Orders fought over who'd get me.
However, serendipity had other plans, as I happened upon a band of rag, tag and bobtail Christians, living by faith alone. Meantime, I was expected to study and pen-push for some seven years in order to attain my faith. Now there's an oxymoron I thought, how does one study to attain a personal faith, surely you either have it or you don't, it's not a tangible thing, it's not quantifiable, you can't buy two get one free.
'Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.' Hebrews 11:1
I jumped ship and signed up to this motley crew, much to the dismay of family, relations and the local parish, who'd been raising the funds to send me away. Years later, I discovered my parents had put a Private Detective on my case, thinking l'd gone completely bonkers and fallen in with bad company. He reported back quite the contrary; I think they may have been slightly disappointed.
For the next ten years I was to live in various communes around the world, spreading the 'Good News' from a soapbox or wherever, often with a guitar and a song; no change there then.
So intense was my conviction, that I didn't masturbated for nearly two years, no, not even a sly one on the side. I was seventeen for goodness sake, I should have been wanking for England, nay, the world; my peers certainly were.
But, nothing and nobody was going to distract, come between, nor sap the energy and single-mindedness I needed for the cause, that of preaching the Gospel to the world. Strangely enough I didn't even miss it.
Editors note: Frances has since made up for all those years of abstinence.
Nine years on and ever so gradually, I'd become disenchanted. No more that searing hot flame, it had begun to flicker, inspiration was on the wane, this was not what I'd signed up for. My personal faith and conviction however, were still intact and just as strong; I guess it's not dissimilar to a love affair that's gone bad?
This wasn’t helped at all by the increasingly odd, silly, stifling and questionable doctrines that were creeping in and had begun to take root, things were steadily going pear-shaped, all was not well in the garden.
We'd gone from Jesus’ band of merry men and women, to a cumbersome, dictatorial organisation driven by quotas and performance goals, where some were more equal than others and certainly more privileged.
To be fair, now twenty-six years old and nearly ten years since I'd first joined, my own needs, wants, desires and values had shifted massively. I hung in there for another year, alack, things didn't get any better but rather, became even more petty.
If I hadn't resigned they'd probably have asked me to leave anyway, descent in the ranks and all that jazz.
Contrary to urban myth, I was never shackled (more's the pity) nor prevented from leaving the group, though it didn't stop them trying to lay a great big, fat, smelly guilt trip on me (thanks, but we raised Catholics carry our own built-in guilt trip; wanking anyone, it's hell for me then...again). I'd left of my own free will, my connection with the main-man healthy and intact.
Sadly, this was not the case for some, who'd left beneath a dark and thunderous cloud of doubt and self-condemnation.
What I'm reading in bed...
How to Fish: Chris Yates
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