[398 words]
A religion textbook from 2009. It falls open to an exact page when I take it off the shelf, and the
broken spine re-lives old habits. The press of the pencil in the page remains, arrows aimed at a
citation. The source is a web page, a theologian using a fickle medium as foundation for the
defense of his dogma. The foolish man built his house upon the sand, declares the song, and
echoes of Sunday School pull me from my book to the unyielding curve of a church bench.
Fiery sermons, gentle hymns, the congregation rising and falling, children shushed, and
generations are tied to the pews. If we set our house in order, base each action on the Greek or
Hebrew, perhaps we need not fear. As bodies fail, we may feel, but can never admit aloud:
“I’m afraid to face death. I’m afraid that there’s nothing on the other side.”
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus, oh for grace to trust him more.
Kyrie eleison. Kyrie, kyrie, kyrie.
Lamenting a fading faith, I turn back to the page. I read on past the mirage of a citation, and
mentally gird my loins to face the author’s writing. Lying between his words are my old college
notes. The author pushes on, unaware that their ideas may disappear, their argument replaced by
omission, a hole shaped like a dead server or an updated webpage.
Page after page of information, slowly reverting to an enormous 404: Not Found.
Questions go unanswered and I’m told to just rely on faith, told that I should shut up and
renounce my quest for concrete evidence. They say that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but
sureness. But then, the people in churches are so sure their God Hates Fags. I don’t want a
theology that isn’t sure all people are welcome, are accepted, are cared for.
Understanding, love, compassion, justice; values I am sure of, values that I don’t need to
vindicate. Does that theology exist?
Would you rather: enter heaven by denying your truth, or follow your personal ethics into Hell?
X is for Christos, man, god, teacher, but what teacher writes a lesson that can be twisted like
yarn, weaving and wrapping around words in my textbook until all meaning is lost in the tangle?
Zion, Zion, they’re marching upward to Zion, and I’m not sure if I should follow.
M.R. Lehman Wiens is a Pushcart-nominated writer and stay-at-home dad living in Minnesota. His work has previously appeared, or is upcoming in, F(r)iction, Short Édition, Consequence, The Wild Umbrella Literary Journal, and others. He can be found at lehmanwienswrites.com.
