FAITH OF OUR RELATIVES (revisited)

In light of that hideous text titled A Living Faith that has been replacing Faith of Our Fathers in every frickin' hymnal that GIA has published since 1997 (to date: RitualSong, Catholic Community Hymnal, Gather Comprehensive Second Edition, and the forthcoming Worship Fourth Edition and God only knows what next), and the thread on my Facebook wall which has gone off to this very topic...

This parody text is one composed by the late Jay Ricketts back in 1998, back when a few of us on the Yahoo! group Contemporary Catholic Music were taking part in a game called "Trash the Hymn". Some of these were quite good. I'm considering putting the whole collection on a .pdf and linking it.

Anyhoo, without further ado, Faith of Our Relatives, by Jay Ricketts (+2008)
Enjoy!
Peace,
BMP

1. Faith of our uncles, aunties too, / each Christmas and Easter they come find a pew
She lost her rosary under the bed / He's got his bible out in the shed
(leveling the legs on his workbench)

Faith of our relatives, lukewarm faith / We might just improve this song to death

2. Faith of our cousins and cousinettes / They haven't seen a Sunday mass yet
Weddings and funerals, a baptism or two / But Sundays they golf, or stay home and get stewed

Faith of our relatives, lightweight faith / We might just improve this song to death

3. Faith of our in-laws, why, only last June / They headed for Sunday mass, at noon
Their first mass in years, but then on a hunch / Drove past the church so they wouldn't miss brunch

Faith of our relatives, marginal faith / We just improved this song to death

A Tribute to Anglo-Catholics

Found this out on another blog. It was originally written for the Church of The Advent, Beacon Hill, Boston. I understand that most times the first verse is chopped and the reference to Mrs. Gardner is removed and altered to make it more universal among the Anglo-Catholics.

Enjoy!

~nb



Tune: AURELIA

The Advent's one foundation
Is pilings in a swamp;
Each week the sexton checks them
To make sure they're still dahmp;
For if dry rot should set in,
These hallowed walls would fall;
And soon there would be condos
Where once stood Moseley Hall.

Our church is mighty spikey
with smells and bells and chants,
And Palestrina Masses
that vex the Protestants.
O happy ones and holy
who fall upon their knees
for solemn Benediction
and mid-week Rosaries.

Though with a scornful wonder
men see our clergy, dressed
In rich brocaded vestments
as slowly they process;
Yet saints their watch are keeping
lest souls be set alight
Not by the Holy Spirit,
but incense taking flight.

Now we on earth have union
with Lambeth, not with Rome,
Although the wags and cynics
may question our true home;
But folk masses and bingo
can't possibly depose
The works of Byrd and Tallis,
or Cranmer's stately prose.

(Here shall the organist modulate)

So let the organ thunder,
sound fanfares "en chamade";
Rejoice, for we are treading
where Mrs. Gardner trod;
Let peals ring from the spire,
sing descants to high C,
Just don't let your elation
disrupt the liturgy.