MORE DRY ICE, VICAR?

Widow Twanky

It's nothing but religion, religion, religion these days. Everybody's talking about it, be they faithful or infidel, mono- or pantheistic, trad or new age, speaking with quiet dignity or mad as a box of fervent biscuits. Tom Cruise and John Travolta along with their Scientologist brethren believe we all originate from the planet Zog. The American primaries are fronting a Mormon, a Methodist, a Christian with a Moslem name, and a Southern Baptist. And the Archbishop of Canterbury appears to be a closet Moslem Fundamentalist. Even Gorilla Bananas is taking an unhealthy interest in nuns and pornography this week.



But it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. The building trade is booming thanks to the contracts for mosques, temples, basilicas and converting Anglican churches into restaurants. The Neasden Hindu temple completed in 1995 is the largest outside India, and Our Lady of Peace at Yamassoukro in Cote d'Ivoire, erected by the late potentate Houphouet-Boigny in his home village in 1990, is modelled on St Peter's in Rome and is said to be the largest church in the world.


The Church of England professes to be neither Protestant nor Catholic, which leaves it wallowing in a welter of indecision. Many famous harrumphers left the Church of England over women priests - and some of them were women! (Anne Widdecombe, the Duchess of Kent). I approve of female priests, who must be better qualified than men to offer succour and guidance to the flock, if only by virtue of having nice comfy bosoms to lean on. Now the Archbish seems to think the Church can advise the government on legal matters. I think his boss should have a word in his mitre, and tell him to zip it. I mean, Her Maj is the actual Head of the Church and she doesn't stick her nose into ecclesiastical matters, does she?

Being a deeply spiritual person of Celtic extraction, I puzzle over the concepts of sin, redemption, forgiveness and absolution. My own Irish-Scots-American Catholic grandfather, I am sorry to say, saw the confessional as a sort of car-wash, where he could have his sins removed within the hour and start again by opening time. Islam is even better – thanks to one magic word “Insh'allah”, it’s never your fault to start with. “Allah made me do it, Miss!” - brilliant! The Hebrews, on the other hand, have no escape-hatch, and have to carry their sins around with them their whole life. The Buddhists and Hindus have perhaps the healthiest attitude to sin: if you commit a sin, you get demoted appropriately in the next life, coming back as anything from a person of a lower caste to a cockroach. A slightly more effective deterrent than three Hail Marys. And perhaps an explanation of why there are so many cockroaches in New York.

What the CofE seems to have overlooked is the need for religion to be entertaining. Pope John Paul II’s funeral proved that Rome can still put on a hell of a show. If you’ll pardon the expression. Even the Hare Krishnas put a smile on the face of high street shoppers on a Saturday afternoon. Going to church in Africa is like going to a dance, without the beer (but with plenty of spirit!). In Ghana I saw churches like the one in the Blues Brothers with James Brown as the preacher, and if I was ever going to have a road to Damascus experience, it would have been on the road to Accra. And by the way, if I did believe in God, which I’m not saying I do and I’m not saying I don’t, I would also believe in Satan. Fair do’s, like. You can’t have one without t’other.

You’ve only got to watch Songs of Praise on a Sunday to see that 50-odd people droning “The Lord is my Shepherd” is not going to make Satan put down his pitchfork and turn the thermostat down. Hymns should be rousing, uplifting, and if you can't pass out dramatically, you should at least be able to shout on the last word. The Anglican church need look no further than the Christmas panto for inspiration: goodies, baddies, scary bits, funny bits, men dressed up as women -- well, they've got those, but they need the demon king bursting out of a trapdoor with a bang and a flash, and a bit of audience participation along the lines of "Et in spirito tuo" or "He's behind you!".

A fine but disturbing film about Catholicism and redemption, also involving nuns and pornography as it happens, as well as New York and reincarnated cockroaches, is Abel Ferrara's "Bad Lieutenant" starring Harvey Keitel, shown here repenting heartily for about four and a half minutes. Brace yourself, Doris. (No it's not the rude bit).

SALE * SALE * SALE * SALE * SALE

I nearly missed the Vatican's special offer: a free indulgence if you pray at a church dedicated to Our Lady of Lourdes by 11th February. Hurry, hurry, everything must go!