Monday, June 20, 2005
(3:23 PM) | Brad:
In the Spirit of Testimony
Once upon a time there was a young man, he with the mad hair, unobtrusively plain face and anonymously banal wardrobe. Seminary had treated him well, he with the golden valedictorian cord adorning his graduation robe. Trained in the ways of religion, and liberally funded by those with the most fervent of faith, who considered him a favorite son of the fold, he was, one might say, blessed. And yet, he quixotically begged to any who might listen: 'You there, you with the faith that runs as deep as your pockets, you must believe for me. I'm no longer sure I do.' Blessed he may be, he with familial friends and a Pharisaic bank account, this studious young man was very unhappy.His generation was called, by purple-hazed rebels with jobs and sparkle-bright smiles, the apathetic generation, a tag its constituents, they were told, always had time to resist. 'You're all wrong,' this unhappy, blessed man concluded. 'Mine, and so many of theirs, my peers, is the question of sincerity.' To be sincerely hypocritical, this was his aim: to religiously embrace, with tears of praise in his heart and on his lips a passionate irreligiosity; to pursue, with a mystic's vision and a saint's prayer, the path of theological misunderstanding. His lot, he who wished to live a questionable sincerity, he felt was to pinch from the priestly purse the pauper's penny, and to think of nothing but the happy injustice of it all.
And thus he lived sincerely, consciously oblivious to the consequences of his actions. He said what everybody wished to hear so that he might live in such a way that nobody could believe. His life, in turn, was as unbelievable as his faith. Lovely words, the sacred fiction of a sincere young man's holy lie, this will be the death of him.
