Of course when one is inside an Anglican Church and two or three or more are gathered there is always bound to be some congregational singing and Jubilation was no exception. At the halfway point the four soloists led the audience in an enthusiastic rendition of Always Look on the Bright Side of Life from Spamalot.
Always Look on the Bright Side of Life is a Monty Python song that had its origins not in Spamalot, but in the film Life of Brian. In spite of Monty Python’s denial that the film mocked Christ and his crucifixion, it seems to me pretty obvious that it did. While I don’t think such mockery should be banned, I do think it is an odd choice of song to be sung in a supposedly Christian cathedral – even in a Diocese of New Westminster cathedral.
One Britain’s most respected Anglican theologians (who respects Anglican theologians these days? Answer: other Anglican theologians) has decided that Monty Python’s Life of Brian is not blasphemous but a tribute to Jesus, thus confirming what most of us already know: it really is blasphemous – funny, perhaps but still blasphemous.
It was once denounced as blasphemous and an insult to Christians, but Monday one of Britain’s most respected theologians insisted that Monty Python’s Life of Brian is in fact a “remarkable tribute to the life of Jesus”.
The Rev. Prof. Richard Burridge, Dean of King’s College London, said that Christians who called for the satire to be banned after its release in 1979 were “embarrassingly” ill-informed and missed a major opportunity to promote the Christian message.
[…..]
He added: “They were satirizing closed minds, they were satirizing fundamentalism and persecution of others and at the same time saying the one person who rises above all this was Jesus … and I think that the Church missed that.”
Satirising fundamentalism is de rigueur for Anglican theologians – I suspect there is a non-optional course on it in seminary – but only Christian fundamentalism. Neither Anglican theologians – a congenitally poltroonish bunch at the best of times – nor Monty Python have the temerity to mock Islamic fundamentalism:
During his Monty Python days he poked fun at everyone from the Establishment to Christianity.
But thanks to the threat of ‘heavily armed’ fanatics, Michael Palin has admitted there is one comedy taboo he is too scared to break- Islam.
There was a time when spam didn’t denote unwanted email from vendors of products designed to enlarge parts of the anatomy not usually discussed in polite company.
Just as now, I don’t remember spam ever being rationed – I’m not sure why – but I do recall enjoying it fried.
From here:
How the US cemented its worldwide influence with Spam.
[T]he flagship of American influence in my own life was Spam, the bright-pink pork luncheon meat that was a staple of the British working-class diet for several decades.
It’s still going strong in many markets around the world – including the United States – and although the odd concession has been made to changing times (it’s less fatty and salty than it used to be) it’s still essentially the same as it always was.
I came to know it in the early 1960s, in the days before the invention of obesity. In common with millions of other British families we used to slice it, coat it in batter and then deep-fry it, thus producing that miracle of British culinary ingenuity known as the spam fritter.
So when the time came to find a way to round off my three years as the BBC’s North America correspondent, it seemed somehow fitting to head not for the bright lights of New York or Chicago but for the less showy charms of Austin, Minnesota, home of the Hormel Food Company. Spam Central, in short.
It would be fair to say that Austin, like a lot of cities in the northern Mid West, is not flattered by the grim, flat light of early winter. But the Spam Museum, which is its main tourist attraction, is a riot of cheery colour.
Inside you are treated to the services of a “Spambassador” (I said it was colourful, not subtle) and you enjoy a movie presentation that draws heavily on the musical work of a group of ladies called the Spamettes.
And it turns out that it’s not fanciful at all to see Spam as a symbol of the spread of American influence.
Our Spambassador Chris George tells us that the product was already popular in the United States in the 1930s – the first radio jingle, in fact, is a kind of ode to Spam set to the tune of My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean.
