Folks, let’s talk about something totally bananas that went down in London. Imagine you’re at a beautiful choir concert in a pretty church, soaking in the heavenly harmonies of ABBA… yes, ABBA… when suddenly, boom! Lights out.
A man in what appears to be a dressing gown storms on stage and demands: “You are in my house. You can leave it now. It’s over.”
Wait, what?
That bathrobed gentleman? The Bishop of Fulham, ladies and gentlemen. The Right Reverend Jonathan Baker, making what has to be the most dramatic stage invasion since Kanye interrupted Taylor.
Let’s get this straight: this wasn’t a rave, this wasn’t a Metallica concert, and it wasn’t some unsanctioned cult gathering. It was a choir singing in a church… a little celebration, a farewell performance for the choir director, and yes, it ran seven minutes late. That’s less time than it takes to microwave a baked potato.
But here comes the Bishop, robe flowing, mood ruined, yelling “You are in my house” like he’s some holy bouncer for Club Jesus.
House of God or Bishop’s BnB?
Let’s pause and ask the obvious: since when is St Andrew’s Church in Holborn the bishop’s personal pied-à-terre? The guy lives in the church, sure, but does that make it his house?
Churches are consecrated spaces, not crash pads. Not bachelor pads. Not airbnbs for cranky clergy. They belong to the community, to the faithful, and more importantly to God. Technically it is the great British public that allows the bishop to stay there. That’s why these places are tax-exempt, publicly supported, and open to choirs singing songs that literally bring people joy.
Does the Bishop pay rent? Do London taxpayers subsidise his little upstairs retreat while he stomps down to evict people like an ecclesiastical landlord from a 1980s sitcom? “No singing after 10pm or you’re all out!” Please.
The Real Racket
The Bishop can actually be heard saying to the 300 strong audience: “It’s gone past ten, and this is a terrible racket.”
You know what’s a racket? Not the choir. Not the minor schedule overrun. The racket is an out-of-touch, dressing-gown-wearing man of the cloth acting like a grumpy neighbour who calls the council when someone dares barbecue after dusk.
Seven minutes late. Seven. This man of God should know better. He should certainly be a kinder and more tolerant person for goodness sake!
The Psalms instruct us to “make a joyful noise unto the Lord,” not pull the plug like a diva bishop with an early bedtime.
The Final Blessing: Pub > Pulpit
Before his strop the Bishop apparently first pulled out the electrics but the choir kept singing. He turned off the amps, and the music rose a cappella, like an act of defiance wrapped in harmony. Now that is the spirit. People still left smiling. They went to the pub. And what did the bishop get? Booed off stage. Hooray.
There’s a lesson here. Be generous. Be gracious. Understand that community, music, and kindness are worth more than any self-important declaration of “my house.”
Because the minute you start confusing your title with ownership, you’re not leading. You’re squatting.
Amen.
Conservatives need to copy Reform and pledge to repeal the online safety act. A petition to repeal the online safety act has an Incredible 377,844 signatures and still rising. The police have more important crimes to solve that arresting people for tweets.