where the bodies are buried

By Diogenes ( articles ) | Dec 21, 2009

You're a promising young man. Your superiors are impressed with your performance, and you're promoted at an early age to a position of great responsibility. But once in that office, you start acting strange. Very strange. Rather than make a fuss, your bosses summon you to headquarters, where you live comfortably for almost 20 years. You have no reason to complain; the company gives you only token responsibilities, and you keep your rank and all the perquisites.

But you're restless. You join a cult. You do something specifically forbidden by company policy, and-- after pleading with you to reconsider-- your boss finally throws you out. Several months later you come back, say you're sorry, and are taken back on board-- under close supervision. You slip away from your keepers, however, and begin touring the world, telling everyone you meet that your old company is doing things wrong-- that, in fact, your old company has forsaken its mission, and you-- you alone-- are the true representative of that company. (Your new cult helps subsidize your crusade.) After a few years of this, your old company loses patience, and tells the world that you no longer represent them. 

What do you do? Why naturally, you demand a pension! That is, if you're Emmanuel Milingo, and the "company" is the Roman Catholic Church.

The poor man-- who was never terribly stable, and hasn't grown any more stable under Moonie influence-- has set out to reform the Catholic Church. He knows it's a risky business:

 

"The church twice executed those who came up with such intentions and I know where they are buried in Rome," Milingo said.

He thinks the Church is wrong-- which necessarily implies that the Church is not authoritative, which in turn necessarily implies that the Church is not what the Church claims to be. He claims the Church is oppressive, unjust, even murderous. Yet for some reason he wants to represent the Church. Or at least, failing that, he wants the money.