The dragon kept braying: 'No wine in heaven!', so it had to go.
I
am correcting a Christian friend of mine on the question of
parties in heaven. She is female, deeply-spiritual
and angelic - which seems to be part of the problem rather than
the solution here: it must be that angelic side of her that
unimaginatively, not to say: foolishly, and unorthodoxly
dismisses a
cup of outstanding – well,
heavenly, to be precise – red ('he
meant it spiritually') and Jesus' incentive for us to make it to the
other side, and starts giving me some Cathartic
baloney that 'well, some kind of resurrected bodies – yes,but
they won't be bodies really, because senses are naughty'... At that
all the God-imagined, God-willed, God-invented, God-made, God-given
and God-sustained wine-appreciating equipment in me gives a mighty
holy groan and makes me cut her short. I announce to her that
she's a dangerous heretic (throwing in a pithy explanation*) and
refer her to a local bishop, subito.
Then,
while my God-imagined, God-willed, God-invented, God-made, God-given
and God-sustained wine-appreciating equipment is calming down, I
admit to myself that even though it is a little worrying to find a
fellow-pilgrim not quite knowing where they're going, I somehow enjoy
the notion of Christian damsels** in distress waiting for a youthful
(well, early 30s***) intellectually bold, not to say: ruthless,
Christian knight on a white philosophical horse, slaying her
fallacies.
And
I know it must be a weakness of sorts, but what can I do? After all,
I'm just a simple, intellectually ruthless Christian knight on a
white philosophical horse that is keen on rescuing damsels in
distress by slaying their fallacies, am I not?
*a
few installments of which have already been published here, the rest
to come soon, so to speak.
**she's
single, in her 60s.
***well,
early 4... OK, OK, mid-40s.
