My troll caught up with me on my day off. He had to, obviously. Rule of three, right. That’s how these things work. In folklore, in comedy, in advertising. One. Two. Three. He came first to assault my character. He came again to challenge my doctrine. Now he was back a third time to question my faith as I was buying groceries. Standing there in the produce department, as I picked out onions and peppers, I saw him coming to me.
“You are common, but you have nothing of the common love in your heart – being of one accord, one mind. You are divided in yourself. There is no eternity in your heart.”
“Hey, Gunner. What do you think of these tomatoes? They’re not red. They’re pink and pale. Probably mealy too. Winter produce is so…”
“What will little Satans like you do if loosed upon the world? Adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lewdness, idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations…”
“Emulations?” I scoffed. “What are you…?” But he rolled on with his list of condemnations. I had my shopping list; he had his.
“Wrath, strife, sedition, and heresies. That’s your thing. Heresies.”
“Here? You want to do this here? Now? In the supermarket?”
“Sure. Why not now? Are you afraid? Now is the judgment of this world and the prince of this world shall be cast down. You should be afraid.”
“Okay. Okay. But come with me and keep your voice down.” I put the tomato back and moved on towards the baked goods. “I need bread,” I told him.
“Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God. That’s your real problem. You don’t live by the word of God.”
“Oh, come on, dude,” I said as I picked up a loaf of sourdough. “I read the Bible every day. Or nearly so.”
“Yeah. Yeah,” he said as he followed me towards the meat department. “You read it. But you wrest it. Unstable and unlearned. You twist it, distort it out of true. You read it but you don’t believe it. You won’t accept the verbal plenary inspiration that makes it true. Inerrant. Infallible. Authoritative. God breathed, without mistake or contradiction.”
I chuckled and pointed to the lamb shank behind the glass of the refrigerated shelves. “Behold the Passover lamb. How were the Israelites to prepare it?”
“What?” He recoiled.
“Were they to roast it or boil it? Exodus or Deuteronomy? They don’t agree.”
“No. Not like that. You’re not going to get me with those proof texts, with those alleged contradictions. You pick and chose the parts you like because you think it’s easier that way. But the whole word is inspired. God breathed. It cannot fail.”
“God breathed, you say?” I turned my cart down the canned good aisle. I would finish my shopping. “What about Adam? He was inspired. Literally God breathed. But he failed. Yeah? I don’t think inspiration means what you think it means.”
Just then Gunner reached out and stopped my hand as I was selecting cans of kidney beans. “Who inspires these perversions in you? You’re going to have to learn the lesson. Leave the Bible alone. Get better and get saved.” The flickering fluorescent lights cast on again off again shadows across his face
“I don’t wrest the scripture, Gunner.” I said as I placed the beans into my cart. “But I do wrestle with it. Like Jacob wrestling through the night. And like Jacob, it’s broken me. Left me limping.”
“You limp because you’re broken. Because you’re so lame.”
“Lame as I am, I leap for joy in God,” I said. “And that is the miracle.”
Gunner stood there, unmoved and blocking my path through the aisle.
“We can continue if you want,” I said. “But I still have several things on my list. Do you mind?”
He pursed his lips tight and shoved my cart – not hard, but away. He said nothing more. Just walked down the aisle and out of the store. I returned to my list – getting cheese and milk, and a few other things.
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