Before the others,
Righteous in his fervor,
convicting his views as proper in spite of
Authority teaching wisdom.
"It doesn't contradict itself!"
he declares heated like tempests.
The black Book crossed as titled, sits
quietly undisturbed in his right hand.
"I've read it and it"
"Doesn't"
"Contradict itself!"
"But it does," her calm, collected
voice speaks slowly.
"No!"
"He is never wrong, and"
"This is His word, His law!"
The Book wavers in the air,
voiceless before its subjects.
Her patience resolved to simplicity
before the storm of obsessed
believers.
"But He did not write it."
"And it wasn't written by one."
"Man wrote it, and therein"
"Lies the contradictions."
Blustering back to his seat,
Book in hand, placed before the temper,
the student brings forth his
Yellow Sword to fight, and find
the truth of statements written,
His faith bruised by Her.
(This was inspired by an account retold to me of a student in a comparative religions class)
Yay! I love! L-O-V-E. Love.
ReplyDeletePicture it. My Theology class. Freshman year of undergrad. (Which ABSOLUTELY could have been one of those train wreck reality shows)
This was me. Well . . . I had a bit more cursing. And some heckling.
Okay. I guess I was actually closer to being Statler & Waldorf - those old muppets that sit in the balcony and gripe.
Except Front Range never gave me a balcony.
Ah. Good times.