The Holy Bible

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I got my first Bible in 1969, three weeks before the first moon landing, in exchange for two books of S&H Green Stamps. I still have it. It's a big black-bound King James red-letter edition, with large print and lots of maps in the back.

 

 

The Bible fascinated me, and still does. It was the biggest and most convoluted puzzle in the world, and the prize for solving it was eternal bliss. I didn't really know much about the rules – in those days, I went only occasionally to the local church, which espoused a very general kind of God-loves-you Protestantism – but I gathered this much:

 

 

• It is very important to read the Bible. All of it. In seventeenth-century English.

  
  

• Memorizing it is good too.

  
  

• Things that seem contradictory (like the Gospel timelines of Jesus' life), or obviously fictional (like the stories of Jonah and Job), or just plain pointless (like the list of Jesus' ancestors in the Gospel of Matthew, down to Joseph – except that Jesus isn't Joseph's son, right?), are all part of some huge jigsaw puzzle. You can work it out if you try. A few people have managed it. A few people have gone completely crazy trying to work it out. Again, the prize for doing this is eternal bliss.

 

• So get cracking!

 

 

I took all this very seriously, and as a result, I know the Bible pretty well. I know who Maher-Shalal-Hash-Baz was, and Keren-Happuch, and Shear-Jashub. I know the longest book of the Bible, and the shortest. I have suffered through Paul's interminably pompous epistles, and smiled through Zechariah's wonderful apocalypse, in which the bells of the horses are engraved with the words HOLINESS UNTO THE LORD. I know the book of the Bible that ends with a punchline, and the one that ends with the word “curse.”

 

 

I have flickered in and out of faith, of various kinds. I was an indifferent pseudo-Protestant for a while, and then a Catholic convert, and then a former Catholic. As of this writing, I am a sad unwashed pagan. I have shamed my Catholic baptism.

 

 

I still go back from time to time, however. I keep multiple Bibles at home, and two at work, just for reference.

 

 

The Bible, at its best, is lyrical and terrible and beautiful and very sad:

 

 

“The voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field: The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the LORD bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass. . . . O Zion, that bringest good tidings, get thee up into the high mountain; O Jerusalem, that bringest good tidings, lift up thy voice with strength; lift it up, be not afraid; say unto the cities of Judah, Behold your God! Behold, the Lord GOD will come with strong hand, and his arm shall rule for him: behold, his reward is with him, and his work before him.”

 

 

I wish it were true. It would be lovely if it were.

 

 

I'm glad it's not true. I'd be utterly doomed if it were.

 

 

But this much is true (as I can tell you from personal experience): the grass withereth, the flower fadeth.

 

 

Amen, brothers and sisters.

 

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Rick Perry: Call him! Call him louder!

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You know I am seldom political - here, in this blog, anyway. I would hate to alienate anyone, especially you, my dear reader, whom I have wooed so carefully with my natural sweetness and Mark Twainish common sense. And if you are a dirty conservative, well, I forgive you, and will look the other way discreetly while you see the error of your ways.

 

 

I will also forgive you for your error if you are religious. In my lifetime I have tried very hard to be religious, in several ways (both Protestant and Catholic). I have failed. It's just too difficult to believe in ridiculous things; I don't care to expend the energy anymore. As I've said elsewhere: if Christianity were more colorful and entertaining (like Hinduism, for example), I'd be tempted, just for the sake of aesthetics, to suspend my disbelief and jump into the worship business. But the Christian god is not a million laughs: he is sometimes well-meaning, but he is often an unholy bore and a prig, and he serves (sadly enough) as a ventriloquist's dummy for every bigot and charlatan who comes along. The bigots and charlatans all look into their hearts, and pray, and what do you know? God always agrees with them! No matter what! No wonder they love their prayer breakfasts. God always confirms their prejudices! What do you think about that?

 

 

Anyway: sorry. I'm ranting, aren't I?

 

 

I have been bemused lately by the snake-oil-salesman posturing of new Presidential candidate Rick Perry. He says outrageous things for the sake of outrageousness; he seems to think he's still running for governor of Texas, where you can say things like “Let's secede from the union!”, or “Ben Bernanke is a traitor!” (Ben Bernanke! Of the dark eyes and kissably soft beard!), and get away with it. See, Rick, the cautious use of words is often considered an asset in a president.

 

 

Also: this is the Rick Perry who has held two big prayer vigils since the first of the year. One was to end the Texas drought. The other was to remedy the current fiscal crisis.

 

 

Neither one worked.  

 

 

Can we find some Biblical precedent for this?  Oh, most certainly we can.  I got lots of gold stars for memorizing Bible verses, back in the nineteenth century.

 

 

From the First Book of Kings, chapter 18 (King James version):

 

 

• 26  And they took the bullock which was given them, and they dressed it, and called on the name of Ba'al from morning even until noon, saying, O Ba'al, hear us. But there was no voice, nor any that answered. And they leaped upon the altar which was made.

• 27  And it came to pass at noon, that Eli'jah mocked them, and said, Cry aloud: for he is a god; either he is talking, or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth, and must be awaked.

• 28  And they cried aloud, and cut themselves after their manner with knives and lancets, till the blood gushed out upon them.

• 29  And it came to pass, when midday was past, and they prophesied until the time of the offering of the eveningsacrifice, that there was neither voice, nor any to answer, nor any that regarded.

   

 

 

For those of you who didn't grow up with the KJV: in this passage, Elijah has called upon Jehovah to punish Israel with a drought. The priests of Ba'al try to pray it away. Nothing happens. Elijah mocks them, since – obviously – if their god were real, their prayers would be effective.

 

 

Get it?

 

 

Get it?

 

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