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Hypothetical Arms in the Milky Way, Courtesy National Geographic

Bishop Robinson

Chorus:
And here’s to you, Bishop Robinson,
Jesus loves you more than you will know.
God bless you, please, Bishop Robinson.
Heaven holds a place for you today,
Hey, hey, hey

We’d like to know a bit about your sexuality
We’d like to help you learn be our guest.
Look around you, all you see are sympathetic eyes,
Stroll around at Lambeth, just don’t force us in a mess.

Go back in the hiding place where no one ever knows.
Stay there in the closet with the rest.
Just a little service to our Anglican affair.
Most of all, please, hide it from the press.

Koo-koo-ka-choo, Bishop Robinson,
Jesus loves you more than you will know.
God bless you, please, Bishop Robinson.
Heaven holds a place for those who pray,
Hey, hey, hey

Sitting on a sofa on a Sunday afternoon
Don’t think about your marriage or your fate.
Try to laugh, and not shout about it,
Now you’ve got to choose
Every way you look at this you lose.

Where have you gone, Jesus, Lamb of God
Your children turn their lonely eyes to you.
What’s that you say, Bishop Robinson.
The Holy Spirit guides and comforts you.
Woo woo woo. Woo woo woo.

adaptation from Simon and Garfunkel’s Mrs. Robinson; picture courtesy of New Hampshire Episcopal Diocese

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Joan of Arc

I know this now. Every man gives his life for what he believes. Every woman gives her life for what she believes. Sometimes people believe in little or nothing yet they give their lives to that little or nothing. One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. And then it is gone. But to sacrifice what you are and live without belief, that's more terrible than dying.--

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Beannacht

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

John O'Donohue, Echoes of Memory