"I just don't know what we are going to do," said the bishop. He shifted in his seat, adjusting his regal, gold-embroidered tie-dye robes, one of the symbols of his office. "The church is under threat from the heretics on one hand, and we need to curb the power of the local nobility on the other. The situation is dire."

The bishop's advisor nodded in agreement, although privately he thought the bishop was overstating matters. But it was wise to let the old man ramble a bit. As his formal title suggested, "His Most Placid and Mellow Supremely High Hipness The Bishop" was a man of power and consequence, overseeing hundreds of smaller congregations. And he looked the part, too. His tie-died robes were complemented by a thick, luxurious mane of dreadlocks -- another symbol of his power and office. Better to just nod and let the old man ramble on.
 
"Why, St. Lennon and St. Hendrix must be rolling in their graves," the bishop continued, gesturing at the diamond-encrusted icons of the two holy men above the cathedral's massive marble alter. Twin lava-lamps flickered solemnly below the sacred images. "Sure we've taken in more gold and silver in recent years than ever before. In some ways, the church is stronger than it's ever been. But the heretics..."

The advisor winced inwardly. Of course the heretics, with their dangerous falshoods, were a problem. But when the bishop got going on this topic, he tended to keep going.

"...don't even believe in war," The bishop was saying. "They are claiming that the original hippies never would have blessed the Emperor's troops before battle! Can you imagine the hypocrisy? Scripture is quite clear on this point...of course peace and love are at the core of hippie-hood, but how can they deny the role of hippies as mighty warriors? Did not the great saints of Yes praise the "starship troopers, flying high above?" And they claim the church is too materialistic! Did not the great St. Jagger describe himself as "a man of wealth and taste?"

The advisor had heard it all before, of course, but there was no stopping the bishop when he got to ranting.

"What we need is another great cruisade against the heretics. I was in the first cruisade as a boy, you know." The bishop's voice turned reflective. "Our victory over the barbarians was fantastic. If you could have seen the psychedelic war-paint on our chariots, the peace-sign banner snapping in the breeze...the sight of a lifetime, my boy. The sight of a lifetime."

The advisor waited quietly. Perhaps the rant was over. "Tomorrow is a long day, your Hipness. The Feast of St. Jerry Garcia always takes a lot out of you."

"Yes yes," said the bishiop wearily. "The great unwashed multitudes pack the cathedral for that one. Well, I suppose you're right. Maybe I'd better head to bed. Peace and love."

"Peace and love," replied the advisor, greatful to be headed to bed. "Would you like to wear your Golden Birkenstocks or merely the silver ones for the ritual?"

"Gold," he answered promptly. "What better way to celebrate the Glory of the Hippie than with all the opulence and splendor we can muster?" The bishop looked around at the massive cathedral. "We wouldnt want the ancient saints to think we were skimping on them. After all, it's our task to carry forth the message of peace and love to the world. Surely the original hippies would have little time for a bishop that couldn't get every detail right."