No more master bedrooms in Toronto

The diversity and inclusion committee of Toronto’s real estate board has outlawed the term “master bedroom” because it is either racist, sexist or slavish. Or possible all three. From now on the m***** bedroom will be known as the “primary bedroom.” That is until someone realises that “primary” implies something else is “secondary”, not to mention that most despised of all categories: tertiary. No-one wants to be third; “primary” is not inclusive at all.

As we are all being constantly reminded, Canadian organisations are riddled with systemic racism, none more so than the Anglican Church of Canada: it has the effrontery to advertise – yes, actually advertise – a Master of Divinity degree program. Has the church no shame?

From here:

The Toronto Regional Real Estate Board’s president Lisa Patel says it will use the word “primary” in place of “master,” when referencing the main or principal bedrooms in homes in the coming months.

The word “master” is often seen as a reference to racism, sexism and slavery.

Patel says in an email that the change in terminology will apply to any entries in its MLS system, on TRREB.ca and on its Webforms platform, where realtors share forms with clients.

TRREB’s board of directors approved the change following a recommendation made by its diversity and inclusion committee.

And we think we will escape the wrath of God with a vaccine

And we think we will escape the wrath of God with a vaccine that uses cells grown from an aborted baby’s kidney to test its efficacy (Pfizer and Moderna) or in its production (AstraZeneca. Janssen uses cells grown from a baby’s iris). The following is happening in Canada. Now.
God help us.
From here:
As a sonographer, I had the unfortunate experience of having to assist in a D&E “uterine evacuation” procedure………
Upon my arrival, I was told to place the ultrasound probe on the mother’s pelvis and scan during the entire procedure. Not knowing what was actually happening, I was stunned as I watched the doctor thrust a catheter into the amniotic sac. I watched the fetus dodge the catheter and try to hide in the top (fundus) of her mother’s uterus to get away. (Yes, the pregnancy was far enough along that I could see gender). Then, to my horror, I watched as he inserted a forceps clamp and grabbed her tiny leg. She writhed around in pain trying to break free but there was nowhere for her to go.
Then the doctor pulled hard until her leg ripped away from her body. She recoiled and violently writhed around in pain and curled herself into a tight ball. But it was no use, the clamp grabbed her arm and she struggled to pull away, a little less because she was dying, as he pulled her arm off of her body. (It was hard to see by this time because I had tears rolling down my cheeks). The child again curled herself into a tight ball but again the device grabbed her other leg and it was ripped from her body. By now, her heartbeat had slowed significantly but she was still alive (they didn’t inject anything).
Then the clamp grabbed her last limb and ripped it off. She wiggled and writhed around and then her heart finally stopped beating. That is when I announced that there was no more cardiac activity. The nurse and scrub tech in the room gasped, realizing for the first time that this was happening to a fetus that was still alive

The rise of the vaccine selfie

Before all this started, I used to travel a lot and enjoyed photographing the places I visited. I was both amused and irritated (yes, I can be both simultaneously) at travellers who suffered from the compulsion of inserting themselves between their camera and what was often a spectacular view. No matter how good looking or vain the person, the effect was always to diminish not enhance the scene. I believe this is known as a selfie, the contemporary tribute to shameless narcissism.

As I like to remind my grandchildren, things are not getting better, they are getting worse: to confirm it, we now have the vaccine selfie. People are photographing themselves being injected with a COVID-19 vaccine. The preferred pose is to have the needle buried in a bare arm while the candidate smiles knowingly at the camera. What is this all about? Is it the next step in advanced virtue signalling? Is it a primitive superstition, an appeasement to pagan pandemic gods to convince them to pass over the vaccinated when the next variant sweeps the country? A type of masonic rite like rolling up your left trouser leg to welcome the initiate into the ranks of the immune?

I have no idea, but here is a good example: a vaguely familiar grossly overweight fellow who cares so much about his health that he is being Pfizered so he can go unimpeded into McDonalds for another cheeseburger.

For those who think I have lost all sense of proportion, take a look at this: CNN is complaining that their competitors have failed to display their vaccine selfies.

We are the COVID Borg: resistance is futile

I added this to my prior post about the COVID-19 vaccine but I thought it was interesting enough to warrant its own post:

About 6 hours after receiving the Pfizer vaccine my wife had an allergic reaction to it in the form of a rash around her wrists. After a brief consultation with her family doctor, she will be seeing a specialist in allergies to decide whether it is safe to have the second injection. Allergic reactions to the vaccine are quite rare, so my wife posted the image below on Facebook.

The “COVID-19 vaccines go through many tests for safety and effectiveness before they are approved” remark was placed there by Facebook – an AI bot, probably.

Now, what my wife posted was a simple fact, one, it seems, that goes against the tide. I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but it’s hard not to see a conspiracy when empirically derived and verifiable facts provoke little notes designed to cast doubt on their veracity. Our current propaganda machine and group gullibility would have been the envy of Joseph Goebbels.

The plague, the vaccine, and first Communion

I’ve been putting off writing this for some time because the thoughts percolating through my synapses had not settled into a coherent pattern. I may still change my mind on all this, but here goes.

This morning I accompanied my wife for her first injection of the Pfizer vaccine at our local hospital. I can’t bring myself to call it a shot or the preferred UK euphemism a jab; nor do I have much stomach for the equally irritating tendency for referring to getting the vaccine into our arms.

That is because the vaccine is messenger RNA that is injected into your circulatory system to later insert itself into your cells to persuade them to produce a spike protein that is present on the COVID-19 virus. Your immune system will react to attack the spike protein so that your body will know how to fight the virus should you become infected. Astonishing as it might be, the vaccine goes much further than your arm.

The vaccination process at the hospital was very well regimented. I was given a piece of yellow paper with “support person” written on it and I sat with my wife as she was given the injection.

The nurse asked if I had received a shot.

“No”, I said.

“Oh, why” she replied.

“I have a whole catalogue of reasons if you are really interested in hearing about them”, I said.

To my surprise she said, “yes”. My wife visibly shuddered.

I gave the nurse a condensed version of the following:

First of all, most of the current vaccines depend in varying degrees on the HEK-293 cell line. In Pfizer’s case (and Moderna’s) the cell line was used to test the vaccine. AstraZeneca used the cell line for production of their vaccines. The HEK-293 cell line was initially derived from the kidney of a baby aborted in the Netherlands in 1973. There is some speculation that the baby may have been a miscarriage, but the consensus seems to be she was aborted. Once killed, evacuated and dissected, her body parts were sold or donated to laboratories, one of which was the lucky recipient of her kidneys. From a kidney, the HEK-293 cell line was grown. The Janssen vaccine uses a cell line that originated from the retina of an 18 week old baby aborted in 1985. I can’t quite decide which I find more odious.

“I feel uneasy about benefitting from cells grown from the kidney of an unborn baby murdered in 1973”, I told the nurse. She stared at me blankly.

Now, one may argue that, even though abortion is evil, surely it is ethically justified to turn the evil to good in the form of a vaccine? The Roman Catholic Church argues that. Perhaps, but then you could apply the same argument to Dr. Mengele’s experiments on twins, couldn’t you? The Anglican Church, whose prophetic voice usually cannot be made to shut up no matter how annoying it sounds, is silent on the issue. Or you may want to point out that other vaccines which I have received also benefitted from the same cell line, to which I would respond: had I known at the time, I wouldn’t have taken them, either.

Secondly, messenger RNA vaccines have never been used before. Even though trials have shown the vaccines to be relatively safe so far, their long-term effects are still unknown. In fact, they are still in a Phase 3 trial status until April 2023. That is normal enough: what is unusual is that the test subjects are the entire human race.

“I have worked on technology most of my life”, I told the nurse. “For new technology, we operated on the principle that ‘if it can go wrong, it will’. Messenger RNA vaccines are new technology”.

The nurse stared at me blankly. Then she looked at my wife as she took the needle out her arm and said, “So there is conflict in the family.”

Let me pause here and note that it is interesting that the usual view today is that having a different opinion about something means there is “conflict”.

“No”, I said, “we each have made our own decisions and respect each other’s views: there is no conflict”. I almost added, “this is a family, not the Anglican Communion”, but I didn’t.

What does this have to do with the title, you may be wondering. Well, the vaccine seems to have taken on all the characteristics of a secular sacrament. The reverence and excitement we might once have experienced at our Confirmation and first Communion have largely evaporated. We are all, by nature, still religious creatures though, so we have an innate compulsion to revere something. What better than the salvific effects of a COVID vaccine. When we are injected with the mRNA elixir of life, we join a new community of the Newly Vaccinated – my neighbours now greet me with “we got our shot yesterday, did you get yours yet” and are eager to welcome me into the safe hallowed halls of the Immune. Instead of a new Bible, the newly vaccinated are presented with a certificate – soon to be digitised, I suspect – and an appointment for their Second Communion – sorry, Vaccination.

As I said, at the outset, I may voluntarily change my mind about all this. Or be forced to by governmental or ecclesiastical ostracism. In the meantime, I have some yellow stars ready to be sewn on to my clothes.

Here is a brief postscript to the above:

About 6 hours after receiving the Pfizer vaccine my wife had an allergic reaction to it in the form of a rash around her wrists. After a brief consultation with her family doctor, she will be seeing a specialist in allergies to decide whether it is safe to have the second injection. Allergic reactions are quite rare, so my wife posted the image below on Facebook.

The “COVID-19 vaccines go through many tests for safety and effectiveness before they are approved” remark was placed there by Facebook – an AI bot, probably.

Now, what my wife posted was a simple fact, one, it seems, that goes against the tide. I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but it’s hard not to see a conspiracy when empirically derived and verifiable facts provoke little notes designed to cast doubt on their veracity. Our current propaganda machine and group gullibility would have been the envy of Joseph Goebbels.

O Risen Lord

A song I wrote for Easter Sunday:

O Risen Lord                                  David Jenkins
The Son of God was hung upon a tree
to bear our sin; he died for you and me.
In pain and darkness, all our debt he paid:
a precious gift, to all who ask he gives.
Chorus
O risen Lord, ascend now to your throne, all of creation is yours.
O King of Kings, Redeemer of this world, all honour belongs to you now.

They nailed his hands, a spear pierced his side;
A crown of thorns was thrust upon his head.
As darkness fell his Father forsook him;
His cry was heard through heaven and through hell.

On the third day the stone was rolled away;
The tomb was empty, an angel standing there.
Folded grave clothes where the body lay,
Jesus, the Christ has risen from the dead.

(c) 2021 David Jenkins

A bishop a professor and a layman walk into a chatroom

I recently had this exchange with Bishop Peter Carrell, bishop of Christchurch New Zealand and Polynesia, on twitter. I thought some of you might find it interesting. To be clear, I like Peter Carrell even though I largely disagree with him. There aren’t many bishops who would bother with this.

It all started with this cartoon retweeted by the bishop:

To which I replied, and he replied etc. (sorry about the duplicate bits – that’s twitter):

What does all this mean? We appear to be speaking two different languages. Or perhaps we are using the same words to mean different things. Or we live on different planets. Either way, the gulf between us appears to be as broad as the one mentioned in Luke 16:26.

What Love is This?

A song I wrote for Lent:

What Love is this                                                      David Jenkins
To come from glory to this world of sin and suffering;
To die upon the cross of shame, to give your life for me:
Oh what love is this whose power can hold the planets in their course.
Oh what love is this that’s strong enough to break upon the cross.
What love is this, oh what love.

To live a life of sacrifice, a King without your crown;
To be punished by the world that through your word was born:
Oh what love is this whose agony will put an end to pain.
Oh what love is this whose blood pours out in suffering for our gain.
What love is this, oh what love.

To know the end before your birth, still you chose to come;
Divinity to live as man: the Father’s only Son.
Oh what love is this that’s overcome the tyranny of sin.
Oh what love is this that broke death’s bonds to free you the third day.
What love is this, oh what love.
© 2003 David Jenkins

Bishops battling racism

Bishop Jenny Andison is the Diversity Officer for the Diocese of Toronto – I’m certain there was fierce competition for this position – and, as such, has been given the job of purging racism from the empty pews of the diocesan sanctuaries. As Bishop Kevin Robinson points out, “what about the storm of systemic racism that continues to beat down on our Church and society” What about it indeed. No doubt during the heyday of South African apartheid, racism was as a gossamer web floating on a light summer breeze compared to the remorseless pummeling we are currently experiencing in Canada.

Jenny Andison to the rescue:

In December, Bishop Jenny Andison, the diocese’s Diversity Officer, announced that the diocese would be embarking on anti-racism and anti-bias training for all clergy and staff in the diocese. “We are starting this journey” she says, “so we can build up capacity in the Church to begin to dismantle the barriers that are preventing us from reaching all people with the good news of Jesus Christ.”

[….]

The training will address issues of racism and bias at both a parish level and at the structural level of the diocese. It will help promote gender, racial, sexual and ability diversity and inclusion in parishes and in the leadership of the diocese. It will do so using an intersectional lens and biblically inspired approaches.

If you have time, whip out your intersectional lens to view Bishop Anna Greenwood-Lee’s opinion on the subject. Personally, I am very grateful to Bishop Anna for her tireless efforts to make me laugh until I cry. No systemic dismantling for this bishop; she is dismantling systematic racism instead:

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Carbon Wednesday

This Ash Wednesday, Green Anglicans are beginning Lent by smearing carbon on their foreheads in order to find out what their carbon footprint is. The answer, of course, is: a littler higher than it would have been if you hadn’t set fire to palm leaves and plastered the carbon residue on your head.

For the non- green Anglicans among us, here is a song: