I confess that I sometimes doubt the existence of the Archbishop of Canterbury. You may think this perverse of me for, after all, there is a great accumulation of evidence for his existence.
He looks every inch an Archbishop. I mean, by the size of his cross and the spread of his grin, you can tell he is no rank and file clergyman. And the content of his speeches is so far up the Richter scale of inanity that any lingering doubts about his archi-episcopal credentials must be immediately dispelled.
I admit it is feeble of me to continue to doubt, but I cannot stop sceptical thoughts from entering my head. For example, if there really is a genuine Archbishop of Canterbury, why is the Church of England in such a mess?
And, when I see this Archbishop-like apparition opening and closing his mouth, why do i hear no concurrent theological sense? I am long past hoping that the Archbishop might be a competent theologian, but at least we might expect him to be of Sunday School standard? Alas, he is not even that. For example, he says today that the Paris massacres made him doubt God. But the youngest girl in Sunday School would have been able to tell him that the atrocities were not God’s fault and that the terrorists were entirely to blame for them.
The question of where God was in all that suffering would be readily answered by your average Confirmation candidate: “God was suffering with the victims.”
Given the massive religious incompetence of the Welby-like personage, when asked if I ever doubt the existence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, I have to say,
“Oh gosh, yes!”