Stephen Sangirardi
Bard715@aol.com
Deacon Demented
 
   The Aspirants for the Diaconate were told to go to the Large Theology Room, and I was one of those who went. Adjacent to Large Theology stood the Small Theology Room, but being men who sought ordination we showed the proper obedience and filed into the Large and not the Small. Truthfully, I was surprised Dunwoodie had accepted me up to this point. After all, on my Medical form I was asked if I dribbled immediately after the act of urination, to which I responded, No, but occasionally after an orgasm my urine has been known to fork in two like the Tgris-Euphrates River! Those were my exact words, courtesy of the future Deacon Demented. More about that later. If nothing else I did provide them with a Biblical allusion. I wanted the Diaconate Board to know up front that I was a man who recognized the legitimacy of his penis. I also wanted them to know that I was iconoclastic to boot, and not some clone of collectve Chrisitanity. Other absurd questions, at least to me, appeared on the questionaire, and I was vitriolic wherever I deemed it necessary. Then, on a different application, I was asked to give my most important reason for wanting to beome a deacon. I simply wrote that I was tired of stifling my yawns each time one of the priests (or deacons ) in my priest uttered yet another azure sermon, which made me feel, of all people, like Albert Camus. Therefore, I yearned to preach myself and fulminate from the pulpit and hopefully plant a few seeds that would bear fruit in the future. In short, I wanted the congregation to think for a change. All this and more I wrote on my various apps. I even appeared less than pious when I was interviewed in March by two holy deacons just prior to undergoing their battery of tests. I had argued that Thomas a Kempis should have canonized as a saint by now after some five hundred years. One of the deacons countered by saying that, unlike bonified saints, Thomas a Kempis’ body reeked after death. I then said that it was a pity that a Kempis hadn’t died in formaldehyde. Both deacons then cleared their semiotic throats at my expense, and that was that. So, here I was in Large Theology, on a warm May Monday night, an Aspirant along with the other candidates but no doubt the least pious of the lot. It all went to prove that the Catholic Church must have really been desperate if they were willing to recriut the likes of me, a Lutheran through and through who always believed that religion should be taught with a wink instead of the customary sledgehammer. Continue reading Deacon Demented