How to resign as head of your church

Mostly on this blog we content ourselves with giving advice on "How to be a good pope" - and you can see the results! However, the Catholic Church can learn something from the Anglicans (apart from useful advice on how to take over other people's church property, how to mess around with the Bible, and how to ordain lesbians). So let's see what we can learn from the dignified resignation of Justin Welby, sometimes called the Archbishop of Canterbury.

"I confess that one of us has sinned. Not me, of course."

It could not happen in the Catholic Church, but suppose you, as head of your church/ ecclesial community/ cult/ coven were revealed to have have protected people guilty of sex crimes. One day the outcry will be too great, and you won't have popesplainers imamsplainers primatesplainers to protect you. So you stand up and make a speech.

Here are some useful tips on how to do this. They can also be useful if you go into the confessional.

* Tell weak jokes. This is always a good move. "I say, I say, I say, Father. I've just killed my parents. Go gently with me, as I am an orphan."

Pause for laughter. Not a sausage. Oh well, carry on.

* Don't take any blame. "I regret, Father, than some grievous sins have been committed by members of the church to which I belong." Don't add "It was me, in fact."

* Another tasteless joke. "They say that heads must roll. Let me tell you a joke about the archbishop whose head was used as a football. You'll laugh, I know you will!"

* Finally, make yourself out to be a martyr. "It was inevitable that someone should suffer for these sins, and it had to be me. Now all I have left is a fat pension and a book deal for my memoirs."

The bishopess of London cannot stop giggling.

How to conduct a trial for schism

This is another in our long-running series on "How to be a good Pope", which is read regularly by Pope Francis and his likely successors, Cardinals Cupich, Roche and Fernández (surely, Sarah, Burke and Müller ?) for useful advice.

In fact, if you think YOU may be the next pope but three, it's probably a good move to keep up to date with this series.

All good friends, really!

Some time in your papacy you may find someone who disagrees violently with you - even though you are the Holy Father and infallible in everything you say. Even half-remembered chats to Scalfari (RIP) and ex-aeroplana pronouncements on long flights are infallible. As is calling homosexuals "Massimo Faggiolis" (my Italian is not great but I think this means "Big Beans", which is a well-known term of abuse).

Luckily, the Catholic Church has a remedy for dissidents, an extrajudicial criminal trial for schism.

"Extrajudicial" is an interesting word. I think it means "sentence first, verdict afterwards", as the Queen of Hearts (also infallible) says in "Alice in Wonderland". It certainly doesn't mean a nice public trial, with you and your adversary - let's call him Archbishop Vinegar, so that nobody will think I'm talking about a real person - getting into the witness box and being insulted by men in silly wigs (or whatever the equivalent of the English system is).

"Just answer the question, Mr Francis."

Vinegar's accusations are many and varied. Some of the most hurtful are that you pull the wings off butterflies and kick lovable fluffy kittens. Good grief, if a pope can't do that, then who can?

Of course you do have many real skeletons in your cupboard, some of which Vinegar has managed to find. Others are well-known to any knowledgeable Catholic - your fondness for protecting unsavoury characters such as that dreadful painter Marko the Ripper, for example. No chance of his being subject to an extrajudicial criminal trial! He knows too much...

Anyway, after Vinegar's trial, or rather, before it, comes the sentence. You have checked with your advisers, and we no longer use the rack or the iron maiden - well, except at the wildest of Cardinal Cocoa's drug orgies - and all you can really do is excommunicate him. What an anti-climax!

Archbishop Vinegar will not be expecting this either.

---

Nothing to do with the above (or is it?), but the AI program Copilot kindly produced a picture of the famous Annibale Bugsbunni, to whom we all owe so much. It would be a pity not to use it here.

What's up, Holy Father?

How to confuse the Catholic Church

Yes, another instalment of our long-running series on "How to be a good pope", designed for those readers who, by kenotic de-centering, respecting the protagonism of the Spirit, and finding a new way of being Church, have managed to make it to the top job in the new listening Church!

The story so far. After ten years, you sense that your days of Peronist dictatorship are coming to an end. All that remains is to nominate your successor - Touchy-Feely, Fat Arthur, or perhaps Pa-Oh Lin, the inscrutable Chinaman - and you can expire peacefully to cries of "Make him a saint!"

Santo Subito!

But all is not well. Obviously little Ivory, C.N.N. Lambchop and "Where Potato Is" Mike are too polite to mention it, but there is some unrest among the faithful. What can you have done that could possibly upset Catholics? Was it your naughty story Amorous Letitia? Could it be your devotion to Pachamama? Surely not your treatment of the Church in China? Or was it Trads Cussed (memo: get Arthur out of the cake shop and send him off to close down more TLMs)? Or is it your protection of dirty old Rapenik? Then again, surely nobody could object to your attempts to starve a certain American cardinal into submission?

It's all a big mystery, but you know your conscience is clear. So how can we confuse the Church today?

"I do wish he wouldn't stand so close."

In walks Cardinal Touchy-Feely, blows you a kiss (this time you have taken care to keep behind a solid table), and makes a suggestion. "Tell them that priests can bless burglars," he suggests, "but only if they leave their masks, striped pullovers and bags marked SWAG at the door of the church. The burglars, I mean, not the priests."

"They already can," you reply, puzzled. "What difference will it make?"

"I've come for a blessing, Father. Because I've got another job planned."

"Can't you the the headlines in America Rag, the National Catholic Fishwrap and the even more secular press? "POPE FRED SAYS THAT BURGLARY IS OK", "NEW CATHOLIC TEACHING ON THEFT", "TEN COMMANDMENTS? THROW THEM OUT!" "WHO IS THIS SAINT PAUL ANYWAY?" "GERMAN BISHOPS VOTE TO ORDAIN BURGLARS", "FATHER MARTIN JAMES SJ SAYS 'COME INTO THE CLOSET AND HELP YOURSELVES!'"

Of course! Nobody is going to talk about anything else from now on. As you draft your new letter "Fiddling the Supplies" (an homage to Cardinal Becciu), you reflect that Touchy-Feely will make a great Pope Fred II.

Nobody expects the Argentine Inquisition

Nobody expects the Argentine Inquisition! Our main weapon is kissing... kissing and healing... two main weapons. And a fanatical devotion to the Pope. Three main weapons. Oh, and adultery. I'll come in again.

You are charged with the crime of quoting Monty Python yet again.

Consider this post as another item in our long-running series "How to be a good pope" - designed for those who went to a conclave and were elected to the top job by an overwhelming 120 votes (this slightly surprised you, as there were only 115 cardinal-electors, but then your mates in the St Gallstone Mafia weren't taking any chances!)

Remember the Supreme Sacred Congregation of the Roman and Universal Inquisition? Well, it's now called the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, which doesn't sound nearly as impressive. And it needs a new boss. The first chap to run the show was Antonio Ghislieri, who later became Pope Pius V and a saint, so you must be very careful to choose a successor of equal merit.

St Pius V - not known for writing books about kissing.

Anyway, you seem to have found the ideal candidate. You already have a track record of brilliant appointments to dicasteries - the Catholic World is lost in wonder at the exploits of Arthur "Two-dinners" Rogue in the Divine Worship office - and your old pal Archbishop Victor, alias "Touchy-feely", looks like a worthy successor to Pope St Pius V.

A quick look at his CV shows that he wrote a book called Kiss me quick, baby. A guide to healing. We're hoping that this will be made into a blockbuster film, with Austen Ivereigh in the role of the great healer. Moreover, Touch-feely helped ghost-write your own bestselling Amorous Letitia, the story of a libertine who was welcomed back into the church and (I never got that far, but I'm guessing) ended up as a Jesuit priest. This sort of thing is guaranteed to annoy the rigid backwardist indietrists who are making life so difficult for you.

Now, Touchy-Feely, how do you plan to "sex up" Catholic teaching?

Good. You've made another brilliant appointment. Box ticked.

What's next on the agenda? Oh yes, sending the boys round to beat up Bishop Strickland, who's been stepping out of line by giving a moral lead. No problem...

How to conduct a papal funeral

Today we have another instalment in our long-running series "How to be a good pope", providing useful advice to those readers (Hi, Blase! Hi, Arthur! Hi, Luis!) who have already booked a fitting with Gammarelli ("Pope Suits For All Sizes").

The story so far: your predecessor, Pope Benjamin, took the advice of the St Gallbladder Mafia, and resigned his office (for after Cardinal Comic Murphy-O'Blimey put a horse's head in his bed, and Cardinal Godless Dandruff enquired about fitting him for concrete boots, he felt it was time to call it a day).

Of course, some argue that he had resigned the Munus but not the Ministerium because he said the wrong words for resignation: these traddy Latin terms mean that he could still be pope. Of course you don't accept this, especially since the St Gallbladder chaps have given up trying to threaten him and gone back to money-laundering financial speculation instead. Now he is believed to have died - but maybe his last words were invalid and he is not really dead? What a mess.

Eccles: get on with the advice. We haven't got all day. Pietro.

"All-purpose funeral homily. Do not read this bit out. Oops!"

Well, one thing you have to do at Pope Benjamin's funeral is to preach a homily. Now, this will be difficult, as your usual homilies consist of a stream of insults. Not today, please! Avoid words like "rigid" and "backwardist", whatever you thought of your predecessor - in any case, you have spent the last ten years reversing all the changes he made. So keep your homily totally bland, the sort that can be given for anyone who dies - you're not very good at profound theological statements, anyway. At the end you may end with "And so we say farewell to [fill in name here]" and everyone will be pleased.

Here comes trouble...

Later in the service, the faithful will wish to receive Communion. Some rigid troublemakers will want to receive on the tongue while kneeling, but this will not go down well with all the priests present. The solution is to provide a range of priests etc. of different flavours - some rigid priests, some less traditional ones, some dressed as clowns, some holding balloons, and of course a few extraordinary ministers (they don't have to be very extraordinary, the usual vestments of tee-shirts, jeans and trainers will be fine). Then the congregation can make its own choices.

Finally, one disadvantage of a papal funeral is that you cannot exclude cardinals, even the ones you are avoiding. The last time that Cardinal Tao of China turned up you managed to avoid him by hiding in a broom cupboard, and so he couldn't complain to you about China's policy of rebranding members of the secret police as Catholic bishops. This time it's not going to be so easy. Cardinal Tao has been taking lessons in the game of hide-and-seek, and will certainly find you if you hide under the bed or in a cupboard. Does the Vatican have a "Pope's Hole" where persecuted popes can hide? If not, you'll have to meet him.

Now, gentlemen, I want a clean fight.

Or you could release some photoshopped pictures to make it look as though you met him? No, people will see through that. Make it a short meeting, in a sacred place, so that he cannot practise the ancient martial arts of Chop Suey or Foo Yung on you. Your own Papa-Slappa may be good for enough for young female pilgrims, but will never defeat a cardinal with a black belt!

As for what you say to him... keep it short. Pretend you have an urgent appointment with two cardinals who want to ask you a few Dubia. This may even be true, but if it is, I can't help you.

How to get rid of a turbulent priest

Probably several of my readers will one day become pope (Hi, Blase! Hi, Arthur! Hi, Tina!) and will need me to advise them on how to behave. Today's topic is the vexed one of getting rid of a priest you don't like. These days, popes don't often poison priests - in fact Francis has been a model non-poisoner - and the most common solution is simple laicisation. But of course we don't laicise everyone who offends.

For example, Cardinal Cocaine, who wears a lampshade on his head and knows all about "gay" orgies can't really be said to be a problem!

Not a problem.

Likewise, Father Jimbo SJ, who can't take a cup of tea without relating it to LGBT issues, and whose Biblical teaching is best described as "imaginative", is to be welcomed into the Vatican and asked for his advice! Then there's Archbishop Paggles, who stars in homoerotic murals, doesn't really understand what a Pontifical Academy for Not Bumping People off is supposed to do, and seems to be in all sorts of other troubles. He's safe. Even Fr Rumpy, who won a prize for the worst ecclesial art ever seen, who has trouble keeping his vestments on, and who solves his problems by absolving the people he has sinned with, only gets a brief slap on the wrist from the CDF.

Rumpy's masterpiece - a drunken man surrounded by custard pies.

But what's the point of being pope if you can't sack a few people? Aha! I have it! There's this Pavanne chap of "Priests Against Murder", who is admittedly rather eccentric in his methods. Worst of all he is very very very pro-life! Emma Bonehead isn't at all happy! Mariana Mozzarella has complained!

Sack him! But do it in a Jesuit way - i.e., don't say exactly why you're sacking him. Mutter something about blasphemous communications (Uncle Wilt has explained to you that backing Donald Trump is a hideous blasphemy) and accuse him of disobeying his bishop (a catch-all, as sometimes you have to choose between God and your bishop).

Public Enemy Number One.

You are, of course, a merciful pope (as well as a humble one), so you won't be sending the Swiss Guard round to do a Thomas Becket on him. Well, not this week. Thank Heavens that the art of removing turbulent priests has evolved since the days of Henry II, and you can simply cast him into outer darkness!

How to write your own Dubia

This is the latest in our "How to be a good Pope" series, principally intended for those of our readers who one day will get a nudge in the ribs and a cheerful cry of "You did it, Mussolini! Go out and dictate!" Yes, apparently friends call you Mussolini, but you have never understood why.

The story so far: after eight years, you have decided to kick your predecessor Pope Benedictus in the teeth by scribbling off an apostolic letter "Trads are Cussed" which will severely restrict the out-of-date rigid Latin Mass on the grounds that it is divisive because it doesn't stop every ten minutes to say how wonderful Vatican II was. In fact most of the bishops ignored TC, probably because they knew you had made up the results of the questionnaire on which you based it.

Nevertheless, a lot of people are very cross about "Trads Cussed", and even your attack poodles such as top biographer Jane Austen Ivereigh (author of "Pride and Prejudice - a biography of Pope Fred") aren't managing to win the argument. What is to be done?

Cardinal Sally has left the Congregation of Divine Worship, and, using a theological principle known as "Buggins's Turn", you have given the job to Uncle Arthur Roach, his former deputy, even though he's obviously a complete goon. But how to proceed? You can't just write a sequel - Trads Cussed 2 - as people will just think you were too feeble to get it right first time.

"Shall I send a DVD to all TLM parishes?" asks Uncle Arthur. "That's what we did in Leeds."

But then you have an idea! About five years ago, four cardinals sent you a list of five "Dubia" with the idea of clarifying your previous apostolic exhortation "Amorous Letitia", all about the life and times of a woman of easy virtue who sorted out her problems by "discernment" and "accompaniment". Of course you never got round to answering them, because the St Wormwood Mafia who appointed you said it was better not to.

But you get the idea? Let's make up some Dubia and answers, which do not actually clarify "Trads Cussed" but turn the screw a few more notches. Uncle Arthur, although a jolly chap especially when he's full of cake, doesn't quite understand the idea, and his first few suggestions were:

Dubium: Are we pleased that Cardinal Burke is well again? NEGATIVE.
Dubium: Should Uncle Arthur be made a cardinal? AFFIRMATIVE.
Dubium: More tea, Fred? NEGATIVE.

Amazingly, there really is a Dubia Roach. See Wikipedia.

Actually, life is a bit embarrassing for you at the moment, as you accidentally praised the New Ways Ministry, which has already been condemned by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. You are expecting Ladaria's Spanish Inquisition to drop in any minute.

"Oh, hello. My main weapon is fear. Fear and surprise. Two main weapons."

Also, people started laughing at you when you came up with the slogan "No more Mr Nice Guy!". Still, when it's translated into Latin it will replace your papal motto "Miserando atque eligendo" ("lowly but chosen") as a more accurate description of your rule.

So you knuckle down and make up some more Dubia. Things like "Should Catholics be excommunicated if they tell others that a TLM is going on? YES - KILL KILL KILL - I'm sorry, I mean - AFFIRMATIVE." Or "Are priests allowed to use the same missal twice in one day? NO - SERVE THE BLIGHTERS RIGHT - I mean - NEGATIVE." It doesn't matter how silly the questions are (none that a real Catholic would ask, although maybe your ultramontanist friends at the "Where Pacha Is" blog would be crazy enough), the answers should sting. Never mind that last time "Trads Cussed" was criticised by Kim Jong-un for going too far - it's time to go further!

And if anyone mentions Dubia, you don't need to change the subject any longer.

Beatitudes for popes

Since Pope Francis has kindly produced eight modern non-rigid Vatican-II compatible platitudes beatitudes for bishops (yes, really), we felt it would be helpful to produce a similar set for the use of popes. It may be regarded as the latest in our "How to be a good pope" series.

1. Blessed is the pope who makes poverty and sharing his lifestyle: this could include spending his humble wealth on financing lewd films, or perhaps speculating in the property market. For with his witness he is building the kingdom of Heaven, or at least some very nice apartment blocks.

For sale. One infallible owner. Cash only.

2. Blessed is the pope who does not fear to water his face with tears, or if he cannot manage this, at least does not fear to scowl a lot. His face will mirror the sorrows of the people, which may mysteriously seem much worse these days.

3. Blessed is the pope who considers his ministry a service and not a power, who serves his flock by stamping out old-fashioned forms of Catholic worship. He will inhabit the land promised to the meek (having first kicked out the meek).

4. Blessed is the pope who does not close himself in the palaces of government, who welcomes visitors with Dubia to ask, or those with severe reservations about the state of the Church in distant oriental countries. For he will become a Zen master. [Is this what you meant to say? A. Spadaro.]

Welcoming the pilgrim.

5. Blessed is the pope who has a heart for the misery of the world, who is not scandalized by the sin and fragility of those such as Uncle Ted who helped him get the job. For he too may need some powerful friends one day.

6. Blessed is the pope who wards off duplicity of heart, who avoids every ambiguous dynamic. Although for a Jesuit this may be impossible, so let's leave this one until later.

7. Blessed is the pope who works for peace, who accompanies the paths of reconciliation, who welcomes new religions, especially pagan ones. For Mother Earth will bless him as her son.

"Pachamama will be along later."

8. Blessed is the pope who for the sake of modernism does not fear to go against the tide, inventing new doctrines. For he knows that the Catholic Church must take a U-turn and go in a new direction every few years.

From the Sermon in the Plane.

How to receive papal guests

Yes, it's another one in our series "How to be a good pope", containing top tips for those readers who may end up with the big job without having a clue how to do it. There are no training courses available, not even Youtube videos, so future popes tend to come here for advice.

As a pope you will naturally receive visitors wishing to benefit from your wisdom, to give you a piece of their mind, or simply to get a bit of free publicity (thinking of you, Austen, Greta, Fr Jimbo...) Let's have a few case studies.

Tip 1: Do not scream "heretic" and call for the Inquisition.

The Anglican bishop of Norwich, Graham Usher, drops in, bearing sumptuous gifts, namely a jar of honey (formerly the property of Richard Dawkins) and a bee facemask (no, this is not something to protect bees from Covid-19). Now, this is the bishop in whose cathedral there was a helter-skelter two years ago and a plastic dinosaur skeleton this year. What can his Lordship possibly want? Is he going to advise you to set up a helter-skelter in the Sistine Chapel, or a dinosaur skeleton in St Peter's Basilica (a nasty jibe against the priests who used to be allowed to offer Masses there)? Or is it simply that he expects you to liven up the tombs of the saints by surrounding them with beehives?

Have a quick photo opportunity, and send him packing. Keep the honey, though, and wear the mask at your next papal audience to frighten the pilgrims.

Tip 1 (bis): Do not scream "heretic" and call for the Inquisition.

The Wicked Witch of the West is your next visitor. Another one seeking a photo opportunity, and perhaps a papal endorsement of her activities. You instantly find common ground with her - you both hate the Big Bad Orange Man - and you get on like a house on fire. Unfortunately you can't accede to her wishes that you donate a few million dollars to Planned Parenthood - Vatican finances are a bit rocky at the moment - but she has your blessing.

You hear later that she attended a Mass in Rome and was booed out. Well, that's been happening to you quite a lot recently, especially since you declared war on the entire pre-1960s Catholic Church - so you can sympathise.

And now some visitors you definitely don't want to welcome.

Tip 2: Set the papal poodles (Antonio and Austen) on unwanted guests..

Cardinal Tao has arrived all the way from China, and wants an audience with you. There is absolutely nothing in this for you - no photo opportunity, just a 30-minute lecture on why it is a bad idea to let a totalitarian dictatorship run the Catholic Church in China. Pretend you're out. Pretend you're ill. Don't bother to pretend, just lock the doors.

Tip 2 (bis): Set the papal poodles (Antonio and Austen) on unwanted guests..

Finally, one of those irritating Dubia cardinals is still trying to get in to see you. It's been nearly five years since four of them wrote a letter asking you to clarify Catholic teaching by answering five simple Yes/No questions. As a Jesuit, clarifying teaching would be unprecedented behaviour, and make you very unpopular with the Superior, Arturo Sausage. Clear off, Ray.

Which reminds me...

According to Wikipedia, the gentleman above is called a Dubia Roach. The name may remind you that there's a great fan of yours at the Congregation for Divine Worship who is looking for a red hat in an extra large fitting. Indeed, he recently said "the post-Vatican II missal of Paul VI is the 'richest' the Church has ever produced." Come on, invite him round for tea (order lots of cinnabons) and give him what he wants!

How to be a shy pope

We have already seen several pieces on "How to be a good pope", designed especially for those readers who may one day be slapped in the face and told "Hey, you've been elected pope! Come on, sober up, get this white coat on, and step out onto the balcony!"

But you may say, "I am too shy to be pope." There are certainly precedents for this.

The problems of a shy pope.

One very notable shy pope was John-Paul I, who refused to do anything that might draw attention to himself. No interfering with forms of worship, no heretical encyclicals, not even a spot of idol-worship. Indeed, he was so shy that he decided that the best thing to do was to die quickly.

Now we don't recommend this route. Let's say that you are elected at the age of 76 (if you are from the Philippines and good at liturgical dancing you may make it sooner), so you probably have about 20 years more to get through. You may, if very shy, retire early and spend your declining years in prayer and beer-drinking, but let's suppose you have at least 10 years of active popery.

One way to deal with shyness, but don't do it too often.

No banging on the table, then! Although you may shyly slap the occasional pilgrim. But that doesn't mean you can't, shyly, make changes of your own. For example, say that you want to forbid the Lord's Prayer, as being something that irritates you. Explain timidly that it is divisive - schismatic, if you like - and certainly against the Spirit of Vatican II. Leave it to the bishops to prevent use of the Lord's Prayer: then the faithful will blame THEM and not YOU. Oh, but I forgot - do praise that predecessor of yours who first allowed use of the Lord's Prayer - probably, St Peter in this case - but explain that it was time to "review" its use.

To take another example. Suppose that you have a passion for the Mexican God Huitzilopochtli, the recipient of many human sacrifices from the Aztecs. Then you can be photographed absent-mindedly attending such a human sacrifice (perhaps as part of a synod): by now some stooge will have written a biography of you, Fred - the shy pope, and he can be relied upon to explain to the faithful that the Huitzilopochtli statues actually represent a Catholic saint - let's say, St Joseph - and that the tearaway Austrian who threw some into the Tiber was definitely a fascist.

"He's very shy you know. Too humble to complain about this."

One final example. It is part of the job description for a pope that he should churn out the odd encyclical or apostolic exhortation. You may not be very good at this, and will no doubt include the odd dozen errors - heresies, that sort of thing. Some cheeky cardinals are likely to notice and send you Dubia (a Latin word meaning "Are you crazy?") It would be very embarrassing for a shy pope to get into a theological debate, but all you have to do is ignore them. Again your closest pals will explain how wicked the cheeky cardinals are... not proper Catholics you know... responsible for climate change... not sympathetic to Fr Martin James your LGBT friend... Meanwhile, you sit shyly in the corner reading a novel.

How to be a good pope: gaslighting the faithful

This piece, like all the "good pope" articles, is designed for those who may one day find a Mafia boss in dark glasses come up to them and say "Congratulations! You're now infallible! Go out there and make them a doctrine they can't refuse!"

One very necessary skill for a pope is gaslighting, which Wiipedia defines as follow:

Gaslighting is a colloquialism for a specific type of manipulation where the manipulator is successful in having the target (a person or a group of people) question their own reality, memory or perceptions. There is often a power dynamic in gaslighting where the target is vulnerable because they are fearful of losses associated with challenging the manipulator.

Light the gaslight! We have a new pope!

We can give some useful advice here from Pope Francis, seven times voted "Best Pope since Benedict XVI" and one who knows all the tricks.

Suppose that you want to keep the faithful on their toes by causing a schism. That way they can be so busy squabbling amongst themselves that they won't have time to notice anything dodgy that's going on in the Vatican. At present you have various forms of Mass, mostly "vernacular", which means that, apart from the usual stuff, you are blessed in that once in a week Fr Radovan Karadžić comes in to offer a mass for the Bosnian Serb community. Also once a month Bishop Lang-Toal permits a traditional Latin Mass at 6 a.m. in a totally inaccessible church.

"Our TLM worshippers are definitely falling off."

So you send out a questionnaire to bishops: Complete the following in less than ten words: "I think the TLM is evil because..." First prize, a cardinal's hat.

Whatever answers you get, you feel justified in saying "Right, chaps, no more TLM unless you get a permit signed in your bishop's blood*."

*Clever, eh? The more reptilian bishops don't have much blood, so they will refuse!

Many people will be angry and blame you for attacking the traditional form of worship (but LGBT Masses and Clown Masses are still permitted, of course). This is where you turn things round and apply your Holy GasMaster skills. "The traditionalists are schismatic. They are criticising me. ME!!! Am I not Peter? Where Peter is, the Church is. If I say (as Peter did) 'I do not know this Man,' should not the faithful agree with me?" So the blame goes onto the trads and you can get your own way, feeling that you were in the right after all.

The same considerations apply to the Franciscan Friars of the Immaculate, the Sovereign Order of Malta, and many other nasty groups. You took control of them, they were angry, so you HAD to take control of them!

You noticed that Albie Boeselager had disgraced himself, so I'm sacking you.

Some gaslighting is more subtle. You accidentally put some heretical statements in your Amorous Letitia Exhortation, and four cardinals questioned them. Classical gaslighting would involve calling them heretics, blame them for causing a schism, etc. But a true Holy GasMaster will simply ignore their Dubia, and leave it to his faithful attack poodles to throw the mud. Cardinal Biretta occasionally wears impressive robes - so he is not as humble as you are! You can make life difficult for him.

A final example: you hold a disastrous Inca Synod, in which you allow the pagan idol PatchyMomma to be celebrated. Your chief attack-poodle, Austen Ivory-Tower, author of Pope Fred, the New Messiah, immediately decides that this is a representation of the Virgin Mary, and the sub-poodles spread this theory far and wide.

Winner of the "Looks nothing like the Virgin Mary" competition.

However, most people agreed that this was a pagan idol, not welcome anywhere near a Christian service, and a small group even polluted the Tiber by throwing in several PatchyMommas. Again, as Holy GasMaster you can blame them, getting your historically less-informed poodles to describe the assailants as "fascists", just as Moses was described when he destroyed the golden calf. You yourself are above such bickering, although you take great care not to be seen with any other pagan idols. So you win yet again.

How can a pope make friends?

Yes, it's another one in our "How to be a good pope" series, directed to those readers who are suddenly pushed out onto the papal balcony and told "You've got the job. Now go out and be spiritually nourishing."

It's a lonely job being a pope. No more nights out in the pub with the lads. An endless round of visits, audiences, church services... irritating people wishing to be introduced to you so that they can publicise the latest instalment of their fawning biography, Pope Fred - the greatest saint since St Augustine of Ivereigh? World leaders that you don't like...

Always smile to welcome visitors, even if you don't like them.

It's said that students at university spend the first week making new friends and the next three years trying to get rid of them. In your case you got the job because of the influence of the St Wormwood Mafia, and as a result you have people like Cardinals Casper, Dandruff, Morphine-O'Corblimey, etc. all thinking that you owe them something. But you would prefer to choose your own friends, rather than members of a power-crazed pressure group.

When you started your new job there were plenty of people prepared to give you a chance: the whole Catholic Church in fact, at least for the first hour or two. However, you have a knack for causing annoyance to people, either by invading Malta, writing odd documents such as Amorous Letitia, accusing people of being "rigid", or simply building up your collection of Pachamama idols. Cardinal Bulke refuses to come to dinner, Cardinal Sally gives you penetrating glances, and even Cardinal Müllet points at you and taps his head significantly.

The answer is to take the Christian attitude. Make friends of people whom everyone else regards as beyond the pale. If possible, promote them to jobs way beyond their level of competence.

"Father Jimbo. They tell me you're beyond the pale. Welcome!"

Promoting Fr Jimbo (as above) might be a step too far, although you can appoint him as an adviser, provided that you ignore his advice. Here's another example in which you can give a vote of confidence to a complete no-no.

Rhino Marx, the last of the famous brothers.

Cardinal Rhino is a special case, as he comes to you and says, "I'm a total failure, and I resign!" Well, he's right, but you can earn his everlasting devotion by giving him a big hug and saying, "Stay on, Rhino! At least you're not as bad as Nicholas Vincent of Westminster!"

Another new friend.

One final example. Cardinal Tubby of Noahsark (whom you made "eminent" as a little joke) has got himself into trouble by sending indiscreet tweets and mysteriously associating with actors. So what can you do to earn his undying worship? Promote him to the Supreme Tribunal of the Apostolic Signatura! This job comes with a papal knighty-knighthood, and he'll love that.

This way, you can guarantee that you are surrounded only by yes-men, but be warned! Some ingenious people may get to see you even if you having been avoiding them for years...

"Now about China..." Cardinal Tao wears an ingenious Spadaro-man disguise in order to get near you.

How to get rid of the Latin Mass

It's time for another in our long-running series on "How to be a good pope," which is proving unmissable reading for those cardinals itching to sit on the throne of St Peter.

The story so far: your predecessor, Pope Benedictus, who lives entirely on German beer and is therefore still alive at the age of 103, wrote a Motor Propeller, Summa Holiday (memo: check title) permitting the wider use of the traditional Latin Mass.

Translating some updates to the liturgy into Latin.

Now you always hated Latin at school, ever since Mr Pacelli gave you six of the best for mistranslating the Lord's Prayer. And there is evidence of widespread support for your views - why only yesterday you got a letter on the subject which said "old, unpopular, incomprehensible, really rather pointless, better alternatives available." Admittedly they were talking about you, but it's the thought that counts.

So the time has come to repeal Summa Holiday. You were waiting for Benedictus to die, but you saw him out jogging this morning, and you are wondering whether he might even outlive you. So you have written your own Motor Propeller. In Italian of course, as it would be shooting yourself in the foot if you used Latin. Anyway, your F- grade in Latin is still a sore point.

Still, to make it look official, you have given it a Latin title.

The cover page of your Motor Propeller.

Romanes Eunt Domus is - your advisers assure you - an idiomatic way of saying "No more Latin", and will make the public realise you are serious.

The first thing to do is to give a press conference to which none of the press is invited, just a bunch of chatty Italian bishops. That way, your plans can leak out unofficially (as your mate Arthur Sousa points out, "If it ain't on a tape-recorder, it never happened, and that goes for the New Testament too.")

Now ask a few dead-beat journalists to make up reasons why the Traditional Latin Mass needs suppressing. They will say it is:

* fascist, alt-right, Trumpist, racist;
* homophobic, transphobic, claustrophobic;
* expected to cause climate change: it has already killed off 
all Rome's polar bears;
* beloved of Burke, Sarah, Müller, Pell, and  all the other 
loonies who used to be your friends;

and so on. Then you can go ahead with it. One top tip is to replace Cardinal Sarah at the Congregation of Divine Worship with his deputy, bluff Yorkshireman Friar (Arthur) Tuck. You've never been able to understand a word he says, but you're fairly sure that he hates Latin ("ee, tha's a poncey southern language!") so he will help you implement Romanes Eunt Domus, and take the blame if it all goes wrong. Make him a cardinal so that you can keep an eye on him.

When I become Pope, my first encyclical will be called On Ilkla Moor Baht' at.

Quod erat demonstrandum!

---

Addendum, one day later. Uncle Arthur got the job, and here he is beginning his revision of the liturgy.

How to revive a dead Apostolic Exhortation

This is the latest instalment in our series "How to be a good pope", intended mainly for those who one day expect to be sleeping with the Keys to Heaven under their pillow, and giving out red hats to all their best mates. (To judge by the number of hits this blog gets, only people expecting the very top job will actually read this.)

Now, one thing that popes do is to write encyclicals and apostolic exhortations. Most of these are destined to gather dust in the Vatican library, and most of your cardinals will be borrowing copies of How to hide your drug habit and Money-laundering for beginners rather than one of Pope Leo XIII's 88 encyclicals (yes, really), and he was an Agatha Christie compared with you.

"I feel another encyclical coming on..."

So you decide to have a special year to celebrate your writings, and maybe clock up some more royalties. You are just over halfway through a year of celebration of "O SOLE MIO", your encyclical about the environment, and after an initial rash of jokes about plastic straws and Greta Thunberg, the world simply refused to take note, and went back to thinking about God instead.

They're not getting away with that! Even before the O SOLE MIO year of admiration is over, hit them with a new year (in fact fifteen months) dedicated to your other masterpiece AMOROUS LASCIVIA. In order to get it past the censors, attach the name of a great saint who won't answer back - Joseph, perhaps, who was well known for saying very little.

Ah, but you're saying, AMOROUS LASCIVIA went down very badly. Four cardinals spotted that it contradicts the previous 2000 years of Catholic teaching on marriage and the family, and sent in some Dubia. Two of them have since died, but the other two are beginning to suspect that you are never going to answer them - how faithless of them, in another twenty years or so you will have worked out which of the 32 possible combinations of YES and NO is the one least likely to embarrass you most reflecting Catholic teaching.

Sometimes, Dubia can be TOUGH.

Just ignore them and set up a website with lots of pictures of YOU doing family-type things - you know, smiling at children as if you liked the little beasts, blessing families, etc. Try to avoid the one featuring father, mother, father's previous wife, father's mistress, and mother's live-in lesbian lover, no matter what Fr James Martin says; also the one where the kids wouldn't smile and you hit them.

Now, you need a good programme of events to keep things going. Organize a "We love Amorous Lascivia" conference with distinguished speakers such as Austen Ivereigh and Massimo Faggioli. You may have to do it by ZOOM: some of the speakers will prefer this as they won't have to wear trousers. Next get those unsold AMOROUS LASCIVIA tee-shirts and coffee mugs from the cellar. Be imaginative!

There, that'll stop them worrying about the mess you got into with the Pachamama Synod!

How to scandalize the Catholic Church

Yes, it's another in our long-running series on "How to be a good pope," designed for those lucky readers who may one day have to decide whether to trade as Pius XIII, Benedict XVII, Francis II, or George-Ringo I.

Well, I say lucky. Some people are naturally suited to the position of pope, being holy, meek, pure in spirit, merciful, and an expert at dealing with cardinals who are dodgy financiers or drug-takers. Others, like yourself, got into the job by accident, when your flustered careers adviser ticked the box marked "PAPA" by mistake for "PORTERO" on the sheet of recommended jobs for you. You could have had a great life as a caretaker/janitor, sitting in the entrance to an office-block, smoking, reading the paper, and slapping intruders, but it was not to be. You ended up as Pope, and you only rarely get the chance to slap anyone.

"I love you very much." Well, everyone except Burke, Schneider, Sarah, Viganò... and Donald Trump.

Anyway, you're stuck with the job, and you have certain beliefs that can't really be described as "Catholic": Marxism is great, give communion to anyone who wants it, being divorced and remarried is just fine, abortion is nothing to be bothered about, everyone will go to Heaven (or more likely nobody will as you don't believe in it), this Pachamama cult sounds like fun, ...

So what do you do? You speak out. Not ex cathedra, since if you tried that be sure that your throne would act as a divine ejector-seat and you would disappear, never to be seen again. No, you can give interviews to 108-year-old journalists known for making things up from memory, you can fraternize with Marxists and abortionists - after all Jesus also met sinners, and perhaps He too used to slap them on the back and say "You're doing a grand job, carry on!" You can write encyclicals and apostolic exhortations, and people will just nod wisely and say "It's OK, it's just the Pope's personal opinion" and tap their heads significantly. It's rather disappointing really, you were hoping to hit the headlines worldwide.

But one day you get to release a video on which you're talking about homosexual relationships and all Hell breaks loose (if you'll pardon the expression).

At last! The publicity you've always wanted!

What's the problem with civil unions for homosexual couples, you wonder. One of your favourite Catholics, Joe Biden (who, like you, doesn't believe much of that Christianity stuff) actually "married" two men at his home in Delaware. Joe is a Good Catholic, but for you his main attraction is that he hates Donald Trump nearly as much as you do.

I forgot to mention that en route to becoming Pope you became a Jesuit: so you know the funny handshakes, and you were trained in the ancient Jesuit art of Mumbo Jumbo - saying things that can be intepreted in more than one way. Your friend and mentor Fr James Martin LGBTSJ gave you the Martin translation of the Bible. In it you found the following text, where all was made clear:

1. So Lot said, "O Lord, what can I do to stop you destroying the Cities of the Plain?"

2. And the Lord God answered, "Tell them to introduce a programme of civil partnerships in order to regularize their relationships."

3. And it was so.

The text goes on to say how Sodom and Gomorrah became known worldwide as a centre where gay couples could meet and practise Ignatian yoga.

Modelled on one of the gay bath-houses in the Cities of the Plain.

How did you get into this situation? Well, curiously, it was all Parolin's fault. He came to you, saying, "You know that dodgy deal we've got with China, where they are allowed to appoint their own bishops and torture all the Catholics? Well, we're about to renew it. How can we bury the news?"

"Hold my Boese Lager, Pietro, I think I know how to grab a few headlines..."

The rest is history. The Pope changes Catholic teaching. Jesus, the apostles, doctors of the Church, and 265 previous popes got it all wrong. "Can priests get into civil unions now? Asking for a friend, you understand," says Fr Jim.

Oh dear, don't you wish you were a simple janitor?

And now Alexander Tschugguel demands clarity - the one thing you must never ask of a Jesuit!