Monday, November 01, 2010

Speechless

Riveted with horror...

The man in the black frock is the Abbot Primate of the Benedictine Order.

You can thank Chris Gillibrand for today's little NewChurch kick in the head.



~

11 comments:

Duncan said...

WHAAAAT?!?
And it's not even good rock. Noticed one of the songs was 'Highway to Hell'. Yes, I guess that pretty much sums it up. O Tempora! O Mores!

BillyHW said...

When you become Empress of the World, Hilary, could you please ban Christian rock and shoot anyone who resists? Thx.

Hilary Jane Margaret White said...

No worries, William.

nazareth priest said...

No, say it isn't so!!
Sweet loving Baby Jesus!
I'm eclipsed (I have to go drink now!)...
heaven help us!

Anonymous said...

I wonder how he compares to Rembert Weakland?

-Soledad

Paulinus said...

Weakland was only ever a roadie (for Cradle of Filth IIRC)

Jon said...

With a name like Notker Wolf, he was obviously born to rock.

It's clear the poor boy (at 70)just can't help himself.

Anonymous said...

Hilary,

Are you aware that the Benedictines already cultivated quite worldly songs in the early Middle Ages, as is clear from the Carmina Burana, with their 131 love songs and 40 drinking songs?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carmina_Burana


I am the abbot of Cockaigne
and my assembly is one of drinkers,
and I wish to be in the order of Decius,
and whoever searches me out at the tavern in the morning,
after Vespers he will leave naked,
and thus stripped of his clothes he will call out:

(Baritone and male chorus)
Woe! Woe!
what have you done, vilest Fate?
the joys of my life
you have taken all away!


Ego sum abbas Cucaniensis
et consilium meum est cum bibulis,
et in secta Decii voluntas mea est,
et qui mane me quesierit in taberna,
post vesperam nudus egredietur,
et sic denudatus veste clamabit:

Wafna, wafna!
quid fecisti sors turpassi
Nostre vite gaudia
abstulisti omnia!


(When we are in the tavern)
When we are in the tavern,
we do not think how we will go to dust,
but we hurry to gamble,
which always makes us sweat.
What happens in the tavern,
where money is host,
you may well ask,
and hear what I say.

Some gamble, some drink,
some behave loosely.
But of those who gamble,
some are stripped bare,
some win their clothes here,
some are dressed in sacks.
Here no-one fears death,
but they throw the dice in the name of Bacchus.

First of all it is to the wine-merchant
then the libertines drink,
third for the living,
fourth for all Christians,
fifth for the faithful departed,
sixth for the loose sisters,
seven for the soldiers in the woods,


Eighth for the errant brethren,
nine for the dispersed monks,
ten for the seamen,
eleven for the squabblers,
twelve for the penitent,
thirteen for the wayfarers.
To the Pope as to the king
they all drink without restraint.

How about an Orwell's Picnic Benedictine Beer Bash?

-Josemaria

Fr. T. said...

Just when you thought it was safe to go back to Church!

Fr. T. said...

It left us all speechless...for a bit.

HJW said...

Yes, and I can imagine what happened after that...