As such, and I say this with all sincerity, I apologize to everyone for the divisions that the Catholic Church has created throughout history by insisting that God had somehow made the Church some kind of unique font of eternal truth. Of course, that is complete poppycock, and we never should have believed it. Fortunately, through me the Spirit has finally decided to say ‘Enough is enough, convert to Islam and be done with all of these petty delusions and divisions!’”
When asked how Catholics would take the apparent contradiction in the concept that the Holy Spirit could possibly tell a Pope to direct that Catholics convert to Islam, thereby denying the existence of the Holy Spirit and the divinity of Christ, the Pope became visibly angry and yelled at the reporter in question: “You see, that is just like you! You are one of those people, people of false consciousness, antithetical to the God of Surprises, the God of Revolution, the God of the People of God, who leads the People ever-forward in the way the People see fit for their own times, but always with preference for the poor. People like you insist on some kind of monolithic unchangeable Faith revealed by Jesus once and forever, and then you defend Jesus’s divine personhood and such concepts with petty little legalisms and some kind of wealthy, Western, imperialist, logic. But, just as liberty must be surrendered to achieve freedom, the Eucharist must be sacrificed to achieve Communion. I have to tell you, I generally do not judge anyone, or any kind of conduct, but I can’t stand the sight of you people.
By defending the existence of the Spirit and the divinity of Christ in this way you are like the Roman soldiers who nailed Jesus to the cross and brutalized him with whip and spear. You should be ashamed of yourselves and the disrespect you show Christ.” Revealing, perhaps, his sometimes less than perfect command of the English language, he went on to state that “I really do wish that people like you would just shrivel up and unperson, rather than stand in my way, I mean the way of the Spirit. I tell you now, there is a burning pit at the Omega point waiting for you and your kind.”
As the plane began its descent, the Bishop of Rome, or Mufti Franko, as he declared he wants to be called from now on, puffed vigorously on one of the Montecristo cigars recently brought to Rome by Raoul Castro. His private doctor, and his personal medic, both of whom were taken on the trip to see to his medical needs, looked on in impotent dismay as plumes of dark papal smoke billowed about. Only two healthcare professionals accompanied him on this particular trip so that he could minimize his carbon footprint and because more than two could be construed as being overly extravagant given the worldwide inability of the poor to obtain any meaningful healthcare treatment.
“Listen,” he said, turning on a nearby fan to disperse the smoke, about which he had suddenly become self-conscious—he had banned the use of air conditioning on this flight—“in the spirit and history of many of my Latin American Jesuit brothers, I am all for dialogue; I will listen to and talk with everyone,” he said, “Everyone who agrees with me is welcome to say whatever they wish. But I am tired of all of this divisiveness brought into the debate by people who disagree with me. Those who insist on ‘Tradition,’ ‘The Bible,’ and ‘morality’ really get under my skin, and I am done with you people. As if a little scandal were not good for the Church every Sunday! A little unrepentant adultery makes one feel alive! It makes a mess! It brightens up our mother Gaia’s noosphere. So, even though I may have issues with this whole Successor to Peter, thing, and its duties and responsibilities, you ‘Traditional’ types have no such issues, and you had better listen to me and convert without question, or you will be anathema, I am telling you now!” He paused for a second for effect and in order to catch his breath. “Anathema!” he reiterated. By now his face had become flushed and the index finger on his right hand was shaking so vigorously that his vestments slipped towards the elbow, revealing a tattoo of Che Guevara crucified on a hammer and sickle, with the curve of the sickle representing Golgotha and the hammer being the Franciscan Tau upon which Che was nailed.
In preparation for the doors opening, Mufti Franko wrapped two blood-stained and heavy sheep skins around his shoulders, and stood up, yelling: “Also, there will be no more of this ‘Blessed Virgin’ and ‘Jesus’ stuff as long as I am Mufti. There is only God, and none has the right to be worshipped but Allah. Jesus’ mother is not some kind of messenger girl. Allah can speak for Himself.” As if realizing that he had lost his composure somewhat, he gestured to one of his flight attendants to give him a tissue with which he promptly wiped the spittle from his face.
Taking a somewhat more gentle tone, he went on: “After years in Argentina supervising huge numbers of Catholics in their departure from the Church in favour of Evangelical Protestantism, I came to realize that those people never really had a clue about Catholicism to begin with! As such, I…I mean the Spirit…came up with the idea of looking like them, smelling like them, and acting like, all non-threatening and humble and stuff, in order to have them follow me and fix our broken, overcrowded, planet and otherwise achieve some kind of social justice in this world. My God, why do you think I stayed in the priesthood all these years! Isn’t that a noble enough goal for you people?!! What better way to achieve some kind of world peace than reaching out to these sheep on the margins and having them, and everyone, convert to Islam?”
As the plane doors opened, he was once again asked by an incredulous reporter whether he truly thought that the idea of conversion to Islam was absolutely necessary. “Of course,” he replied somewhat hotly, “After all, the Lord demands unity from Mankind, and there is simply no way Muslims are converting to Christianity en masse. They actually believe their religion.”
When the Pope, all dressed in white but for the blood dripping from his sheepskins, descended the staircase, he found himself in the ruins of a large city that was littered with corpses. Afflicted with pain and sorrow, he realized the gravity of the situation and began praying for the souls of the bodies that surrounded him. “Penance, Penance, Penance,” cried an angel that appeared in the sky standing next to the Blessed Virgin. “I guess I was wrong,” was all the Holy Father could muster before a band of ISIS terrorists approached him and he was decapitated.