The God of astrology. In the consensus present, on a disc/turtle cosmology that moves so rapidly that the relative positions of the stars alter from week to week, it has been pointed out that astrology stands little chance of entrenching itself and has not been able to break out of being a highly specialised niche subject.
Therefore, in a last-ditch attempt to retain something other than Small God status, Wilf himself writes several astrology columns, including the year ahead's predictions for the Discworld Almanack...
As the sacred texts go: Lo, he comes with three stars on his brow, and on his hand nine daggers, which is a good trick, and about him spin five orbs; his left foot resteth upon a lion and his right foot upon a crocodile, so it's a bit tricky getting him in the door. Around his head gleameth the rayed bolts of the sun, and in his hand- the other hand, not the one with the daggers- is the crescent moon, and his waist is engirdled with stars. His voice is as the sound of trumpets, which is useful in the machine room. He hands over his predictions, has a cup of tea and pushes off.