Agnes Hatfield was a virgin of the highest order; with both her biological and spiritual hymens intact, she longed only for the fiery phallus of God to fill her core. She imagined God’s member as the pillar of fire which led the Israelites by night through the Egyptian desert--8100 cubits high, with the density of a Pharaoh and a temperature that made the sun an ice cube. One night during Complin, on her knees and filled with thoughts of God, the candle by her bedside grew in wisdom and in stature and spoke to her, saying, Agnes, get thee on thy bed and raise thy petticoats; I shall fill thee with manifold Tongues of Fire. And Agnes, being pious, obeyed, and the night unfolded according to the candle's counsel. The substance of her desire was Thomas Cranmer, brought into the world in great pain and peril in 1489.
His text reached forward to an age of English domination and vernacular democracy, reached backward to the cadences of faith, down to the roots of human imperfection, it reached up to the destroying flames of God. Such is the spirit and substance of all holiness. We honor the saint today for this is the day of his first conjugal relation with his muse on the windowsill of the Second Turret of the King’s Guard and the dictation of The Order for Copulation; the Council of I elevated him to sainthood on May 22 1980. Let us honor the saint today with our souls and flesh.
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