The Heretics of St. Possenti

by Rolf Nelson

  “I work twice the hours and earn four times the money my wife does, and I’m tired of being accused of malingering if I do anything less than half the housework.”

  “I’m tired of having to explain government and corporate corruption to my kids and still try to say this is the greatest nation on Earth simply because elsewhere it is worse. I’m tired of seeing all the plastered-on smiles and ‘look-on-the-bright-side’ sorts who are only able to do so because they do their damnedest to remain ignorant of what’s going on around them. I’m tired of everything.

  “I’m tired of seeing my friends get hit by their wives or girlfriends and not be able to do anything about it. If he hits back, she calls the cops, and he loses everything, and she knows it. If he calls the cops, he gets laughed at.

  “It’s not any one gi-normous thing. It’s the endless stream of little decisions and things I have to do for others that grind. Like sandpaper that just keeps rubbing away anything that reaches out and looks like it is making progress, cutting it down, keeping it short lived.

  “I’ve taken three pay-cut job shuffles for every pay raise I’ve seen in the last five years, and I’ve seen half my co-workers outsourced or replaced with H-1Bs.

  “When I take a vacation day from work, it gets used up on home repairs, or my wife demands I take care of things for her so she can go out with ‘the girls’ or a school event I just ‘have to attend’ because I have a ‘free day.’

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got a lot to be thankful for: a decent house, a job that pays the bills, and a healthy kid who is above-average smart. But the world is going to Hell in a handbasket around me, nobody else wants to admit the obvious and act accordingly, and I’m getting too damn tired to keep swimming against the tide trying to keep not just my own head above water but that of everyone around me. I can read the writing on the wall, and when my number comes up at work, my wife will leave with junior because she can get more in benefits that way as a single parent tapping my wallet for alimony, and there are not a lot of jobs around in my field unless I take a major pay cut and learn to speak with an Indian or Bulgarian accent.”

  He took a sip of his beer. During the whole monologue he had barely raised his eyes or head, just lifting them for a moment to make sure his audience was still engaged. He spoke with a monotone that carried a great weariness and very deeply repressed emotion. No one point in the litany was more important than any other, much like no particular link in a chain is most important. He looked like a once-strong man near the end of his rope, but still holding on with his failing strength as best as he could; he knew no other way to act. He quiet words encapsulated so much of the zeitgeist Cranberry had heard for a week in one speech that he wasn’t sure what to say for a minute.

  “Not to sound flippant, but that was somewhat more than a mere gripe or grumble,” Thomas said. The man looked up, and Thomas smiled gently back. “I know it won’t help you much, but you are not alone.” Cranberry pointed with his chin as he looked around the room, back at the man across from him. “Many of them—too many, in truth—are in the same boat. The current is sweeping you all along together.” He indicated his clerical collar. “I have long term answers no one here finds particularly useful, but I’m looking for ways to help the here and now, too. One never knows when things will show up. If I think of anything, and I see you again, I’ll let you know. Drop in any time. Or leave a contact.” He pointed to the paper and pen.

  The stranger looked back across at him. “Not going to preach?” Thomas shook his head. “Why not?”

  “For one, I promised the owner I wouldn’t, but he said listening can’t hurt. So… I am here to give folks a shoulder to lean on for a moment, a place to vent, a brief pit stop to unload a few weights on someone who won’t just hand heavier weights back. Here to help get them through another day or two. Perhaps something will come up tomorrow. Perhaps not. Well, something you believe in anyway. I already know He’s there. But it sounds like you are the one who needs something you can believe in.”

  The man continued to sit for another minute, silently sipping his beer. At last he said, “How do you keep faith when things go wrong in your life?”

  “Trying to understand God’s plan for any given person on any particular day is a fool’s game. I think ‘I have it better than Job’ and just do my best to ‘keep on keepin’ on’, as some of the good men here like to say. I trust that what is wrong will work itself out, while I keep doing what I can to help where I can. Like this.” He waved at the sign on the table. “Here I try to help in this little corner of the planet.” He looked acutely at the man across the tiny table. “This does not mean I have to like what I see or approve of everything I witness. Or even understand it.”

  “So…”

  “Take a card if you’d like to have a more formal chat. For now, I’m just here listening. I will be happy to listen as long as you’d like to vent, or to think out loud, looking for your own solutions by giving voice to your problems. It may not be immediately rewarding to me, but it will be very educational.”

  The man frowned, looking thoughtful. “I’m Desmond.”

  “Good to meet you, Desmond. Thomas Cranberry.” The handshake was firm.

  “Know anything about the tech industry?”

  “A bit. I listen to my parishioners, so I have to keep up a bit.”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “I’m very good at not passing on personal information. Though this would need to be considered professional counseling or a confessional meeting for it to be legally inadmissible.”

  Desmond thought a minute and then leaned forward. “I’ve got to tell someone, I guess. Let me tell you about how things work right now at Xylem PharmaGen Services.”

  The next hour was as depressing and disturbing as it was enlightening.

  Linguistic Weeds

  The police cannot protect the citizen at this stage of our development, and they cannot even protect themselves in many cases. It is up to the private citizen to protect himself and his family, and this is not only acceptable, but mandatory.

  —Col. Jeff Cooper

  Thomas leaned back, tired. He found the full-contact Red Man suit practice exhilarating but exhausting. Just moving explosively, starting to move from motionless and getting to full speed and moving around was tiring. But it profoundly tickled a part deep in his brain that he had heretofore barely been aware of. Now he was keenly aware of it and exploring it as never before.

  John and Mickey were running a beginning self-defense class with a dozen other students, and they were frequently using him as the “average person demonstration model” for various maneuvers. After two hours of it, he was beat. He had not just been physically been beaten upon; he was worn out, tuckered, spent, pooped, done in. He was past breathing hard, but felt drained, as if he simply couldn’t move.

  John handed him a freshly refilled water bottle. Thomas mustered the strength to lift a hand and then downed most of it at a single long pull before letting his arm drop limply to his side so he could resume breathing deeply, making sure he fully exhaled as he’d so recently been taught. He never realized how important breathing correctly was and thought he’d been doing it right his whole life. It was eye opening to realize that he could be a much better speaker by learning to control his air intake with basic martial arts techniques.

  It may have been his imagination, but it seemed like the two teachers were making him do a whole lot more high-speed work than anyone else.

  After they had sent the rest of the students on their way, Mickey chuckled, seeing the priest’s closed-eye expression. “It takes it out of you, doesn’t it?”

  “Hmmmm… Yes,” was Cranberry’s eventual languid reply.

  “That’s why I like guns. Much lower stress. I’m sure if guns were around in Jesus’s day, he would have approved.”

  That got a bit more of a rise. “Not likely.”

  “Oh, you don’t think so?”

  “Of course not.
”

  “So he would not want the weak to stand up to the strong? He was a total pacifist?” Mickey queried, a sly smile on his face.

  “Undoubtedly. Live by the sword; die by the sword. He would condemn them.”

  “Sloppy thinking, Padre. I expected better.”

  The priest turned his head slightly to face Mickey. “Excuse me?”

  “His disciples were packing heat at the Last Supper.”

  “Of course they weren’t!”

  “Well, the pre-gunpowder equivalent, any-who. Swords. Gladium. And the Big Guy seemed more than just okay with it.”

  “No, they were…” Thomas paused.

  “Peter cut off the ear of the priest’s slave. Remember? Likely going for a big horizontal head-chop, but Malchus ducked the blade as he rocked his head over sideways.” He made very brief motions to indicate the likely draw and slash action of Peter and the guard’s responding dodge. “Theatrical, but not a very effective use of a short sword. It’s a stabbing weapon. Peter may have been excitable, but he wasn’t much of a soldier.”

  Bishop Cranberry had never considered the actual mechanics of how Peter would take someone’s ear off with a sword of the era. Trust a guy like Mickey to think about the practical details. “But he told him to put it away!”

  “Yes. Luke 22:38. And that point is very significant.”

  “What? Well, I mean, of course it is significant. And it undercuts your whole argument.”

  “Nope. Not even with a good pun involved. Quite the opposite.”

  “Sure it does.”

  Mickey shook his head. “Note He doesn’t say ‘get rid of it entirely.’ He knew they were armed. In Luke 22:36 he tells them each to buy a sword and to sell their shirts if they have to. They showed they had two swords in 22:38. At illi dixerunt Domine ecce gladii duo. Satis est, he replied. It is sufficient, in English. He just told him to put it away for now.”

  “Exactly. He said to put them away.”

  “Context, Rev. Context. Let’s walk through it together.”

  “There is no need for you to patronize me. I’m quite familiar with the Gospels.”

  “Not my intention to talk down to you. Just want to make sure we are on the same page. Look at the tactical context of the quotes, sort the literal from the metaphorical, and maybe make a Venn diagram the overlap. We can’t look at the numbered lines of text like bullet-point lists, but in full paragraphs and context.”

  “‘Live by the sword; die by it’. I find that unambiguous.”

  Mickey shrugged. “Yeah, Matthew 26:52 gets misused a lot, translated or not. Context. Living by it, meaning resorting to it all the time as a first choice. He’s saying you can’t solve every problem with violence, and this was one of those times. You can’t use it for vengeance, or with criminal intent, or in the heat of passion. But does it say ‘live by’ or ‘take up’?”

  “Maybe,” Cranberry grudgingly admitted. “But for all those who take up the sword shall perish by the sword does not leave much wiggle room.”

  “At least you are back from the common vernacular, which surprised me. Even though the less literal version is likely a better rendition than the more formal and familiar translations. Must be listening to your parishioners too much. You’re forgetting what came before.”

  “Which was… what, exactly?”

  “Like I said, let’s walk through it. Cause before effect, action within context. What’s first?”

  “First? In what?”

  “Last.”

  “Come again?”

  “Last. That night, the last supper.”

  “Oh. They took a room. Upstairs.”

  “Right. They get a room. They have a Passover meal together. He talks of betrayal and about how well he’s led them. Then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, bam! Luke 22:36. ‘He that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise a wallet; and he that hath none, let him sell his cloak, and buy a sword.’”

  “Well, yes, he knows they will be traveling to Galilee and knows there are likely to be criminals and wild animals.”

  “No, no!” Finnegan chided. “A strange time to bring it up if that were the only reason or even the main reason. Really strange. No lead up about dangers of the road or anything. No. He’s commanding them to make sure they are armed, like right now. You don’t tell a man to go buy something even if he has to sell the cloak off his back to raise the money unless it’s urgent. Immediate, like really soon, that very night. He knew Judas and the priests were coming, and he knew they’d be armed. They came with knives, swords, clubs, and numbers. A regular rent-a-riot. Many important things are only mentioned in one of the Gospels. The Old Testament can’t even have consistency between the two creation stories, but the weapons carried by the men coming to seize him are mentioned in three. Luke 22:52, Matthew 26:55, and Mark 14:48. How many other things are mentioned so explicitly in three or more books, with identical quotes that allow you to develop an accurate time line?”

  Thomas disagreed. “There are many similar events and sayings. Events are frequently quoted or mentioned in two or more of the books.”

  “But even when Jesus healed the paralytic—a rather important event—one says the guy was on a bed, one a stretcher, the third a pallet. At least two of those words are not right. Yeah, they are close, but not verbatim like the other three.”

  Thomas frowned, seeing the point, but not ready to concede it completely.

  “So the Big Cheese knows a world of worldly hurt is rolling his way. But he wants to make sure that the disciples are free to go; he even says so in John 18:8 that if the priests are seeking him, ‘Let these go their way’. He tells the apostles to prepare and think about weapons: he’s God. He already knows what they have. But he tells them to be sure they are armed, so they will think about it, right?”

  “That sounds reasonable. I suppose,” Thomas admitted reluctantly.

  “So they do a quick show of hands or whatever. Maybe even ran out and made a quick purchase with no waiting period or sword registration forms in triplicate. It doesn’t say where the weapons came from. Then in Luke 22:38 ‘Lord, behold here are two swords.’ And the reply is Satis est. It is sufficient. He doesn’t really need an army to fight as he could call down legions of angels–”

  “–Matthew 26:53–”

  “–Exactly. He’s got a purpose in mind. He needs his men looking like they won’t be taken without a fight.”

  “Hmmmm. I am not entirely sure where you’re taking this, Mickey.”

  “So he knows they are armed. The Apostles now know they will soon need weapons—his demand was urgent—but not what for. At the very least they will need to show it and demonstrate resolve. Then what?”

  “They go to the garden–”

  “–Where he tells them to not enter into temptation.”

  “Luke 22:40. Yes. So?”

  “Mark 33:25, too. But temptation to what? Temptation to use too much force in defending him, perhaps? He’s reminding them they would be wise to do his bidding, and Peter is a hothead. Healing an ear is one thing. Raising the dead is another…. That might screw up HIS context.” Finnegan chuckled while Cranberry’s brow furrowed in thought. “Then the bad guys show up. Not soldiers, but a well-armed rabble led by priests. The Apostles are uncertain. They don’t like the look of the mob. So they ask for instructions.”

  “Right. Luke 22:49, ‘Shall we strike with the sword?’”

  “Think about that a moment. ‘Shall we strike with the sword?’ We. Plural. More than one. Two at least were deemed enough in the circumstance, so Peter and another—ever wonder which one?—are packing heat in the garden, facing a mob. Then, before he can reply, Simon-Peter clears leather and lops off an ear. Zing! The rabble following the priests and officers know Jesus’s supporters are serious. But then Jesus calls Malchus to come forward and heals him. He then tells Peter—think about that. If he heals Malchus first and then talks to Peter, it means the Apostle with an attitude is still brandishing bloody iro
n… or maybe bronze. It doesn’t say what sort of sword he has—in Matthew 26:52 ‘Put up again thy sword into its place: for all that take the sword shall perish by the sword.’”

  “As I said, Mickey, it is abundantly clear.”

  “Is it? He’s God. He can’t be wrong.”

  “Of course not!”

  “Peter was crucified.”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “We just saw Peter take up the sword and perform a high-speed ear-ectomy. But he didn’t die with the sword. Or by the sword. So it must be metaphorical or an inadequate translation.”

  “And how can such a clear-cut thing be mistranslated?”

  “Simple. Participles and the aorist aspect.”

  “What? I… don’t recall anything about the aorist in Latin.”

  “Because there isn’t.”

  Cranberry frowned and shook his head slightly. “I am not following you. Again.”

  “The original is in Greek, right?” Thomas nodded. “I assume you are familiar with the ideas of past tense, present tense, and future tense?”

  “Yes, quite: he did, he is doing, he will do.”

  “Precisely, and good example. Don’t forget there is also: might have done, may be doing, might do, does all the time, sometime sort of does, and variations and shades of meaning of that sort. Does the phrase ‘he does’ mean that he is doing it right at that moment or that he does it regularly but maybe not at that exact moment? Or both, or either, depending on context? Not all languages have those either; others have more or less nuance. Active versus passive mode, completed versus ongoing, etc.

  “Looking at the participle in the original Greek, οι λαβοντες μαχαιραν, it is in an active mode present participle. It is not in the aorist aspect. The aorist is a sort of storytelling aspect, like a tense, that doesn’t imply future events, or incomplete action, or ongoing events or situation. Present and past-imperfect versus the perfect. If the guy on the corner stands up and preaches one sermon to people walking by, that doesn’t make him a preacher; it just makes him a guy who preached once. If I wanted to say that in Greek, I’d likely use the aorist aspect to report about it. If you preach on the street corner every lunch hour and will likely keep doing it until you die, you are a preacher even if you are not ordained or doing it at that moment because you preach regularly. That would not use the aorist.