Allah Azeem – Another Troll Conversation

    It was my day off, but I woke up early anyway. I wanted to sleep late but my body said, ‘no.’ I had a number of errands to run and chores to do around the house anyway, so an early start wasn’t really a problem. I just wanted that one day to sleep… But God has made the night as a cover, and made sleep for resting, and the day for rising.¹ So I was up and working when I saw him again – my semi-regular troll, Gunner.

    I heard him first, actually. I was in the kitchen making coffee when I heard the screech and skid of a vehicle outside, followed immediately by the slamming of a door, and aggressive horn honking. Then, him shouting, “Carter! Carter! What is this? Carter!”

    I closed the water reservoir on the coffee pot and pushed the button to start the brew and then went out the front door to see him.

    “Good morning, Gunner. It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

    Gunner pointed at the window of my house. “What is this?” he demanded.

    “Not even a ‘hello’ today, Gunner? No greeting? No salutation? Just demands?”

    “I saw it as I was driving by your place last night and it pissed me off. I had to come back today to talk to you about it. I want to know why you’ve got that Mohammedan filth in your window and what I have to do to get you to take it down.”

    He was referring to the sign I made and put up in my window yesterday. It says:

الله عظيم

    “Tell me, Gunner, what do you think it says.”

    “I don’t read heathen,” he snorted.

    “I don’t really know Arabic, either,” I told him. “But I asked my friend, Rizwan, to help with it. It says Allah azeem.”

    “So, you’re a Muslim, now?”

    “Well, now, Gunner, you’ve made two faulty assumptions, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet. Why don’t you come inside?”

    It was cool inside, out of the sun. Another thing I appreciate about my days off. And I could smell the coffee. The pot was gurgling and just about finished. Gunner followed me into the kitchen, and we sat down at the table together.

    “You’ve made two faulty assumptions, Gunner. The first being that anything written in Arabic is Muslim. Arabic is a language, not a religion. And Arabic Christians have been affirming Allah azeem – ‘God is magnificent,’ since the day of Pentecost.”

    “What are you talking about, Carter?”

    “Parthians, Medes, Elamites, et cetera et cetera, Jews and proselytes – Cretans and Arabs… they were there when Peter gave the gospel in the upper room.”

    “But…” He started to object but I stood up from the table and opened the cupboard. Pulled out a pair of coffee mugs. “You take sugar with yours, right?”

    Coffee poured and sugar stirred, I continued. “Your second mistake, your second assumption is that everything Muslim should be hated or feared.”

    “Carter, you know as well as I do that Muslims hate Christians. It’s in their Quran that they have to hate and kill Christians.”

    “Is it?”

    He set down his coffee and glared at me.

    “I’m going to share something, Gunner, but first, when the Quran is recited, listen to it attentively and be silent, so you may be shown mercy.²”

    “But…”

    “Silent,” I reminded him. “The Quran says that the Believers – Jews, Christians… whoever truly believes in God and the Last Day and does good will have their reward with their Lord. And there will be no fear for them, nor will they grieve.³"

    I paused, waiting for his reaction. “Silent, right?” he sneered. I nodded for him to speak. “So, like I said, you’ve gone Muslim.”

    “No. Not at all” I said. “I’m still a Christian. Still a Methodist and not a monster. But I have read the Quran a couple of times, and I try to appreciate it.”

    “But the terrorists…”

    “Yes. The violent will use whatever text proves useful to their violence. The hateful make every book a weapon. It’s the same with the Jew, the Muslim, the Christian, the Buddhist, the Sikh.”

    “But the jihadists…”

    “The Quran says that whoever takes a life – it will be as if they killed all of humanity. And whoever saves a life, it will be as if they saved all of humanity.⁴ - which is very similar to something from the Jewish tradition - Whoever saves a single life is considered to have saved an entire world.⁵”

    He started to say something, but I said, “Your coffee’s getting cold.” We sipped from our mugs in silence for a few minutes.

    “All you liberals want is Sharia law and the death of America. Sharia and Islamism are incompatible with America.”

    “By the wind scattering dust, and the clouds loaded with rain, and the ships gliding with ease, and the angels administering by God’s commands⁶ – what is Sharia law, Gunner? Give me some examples.”

    “The hand-cutting hudud punishments. Punishments for adultery. Punishments for blasphemy. Punishments for apostasy. Your pal, Rizwan, will tell you all about it.”

    “Rizwan’s a Christian. Episcopalian.”

    “So, another liberal, like you.”

    “Doesn’t the Bible demand death by stoning for adultery, for idolatry, for blasphemy?”

    Gunner set his coffee cup down and said, “Just like you, Carter, to twist the scripture to defend the Muslim.”

    I didn’t say anything. I’d already said enough.

    “You’re still just one of those so-called Christians who cause trouble and pervert the gospel of Christ. But anyone who preaches another gospel, a different gospel is accursed. I’m just here as a reminder of the danger you’re working upon yourself, Carter. You’ve departed from the faith and given heed to seducing spirits and doctrines of devils. False teacher. Damnable heresy. Spoiled by vain philosophies and the traditions of men.”

    He stopped and looked me in the eye. “What do you have to say to that, Carter? You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you? Are you going to quote from the Quran again?”

    I sighed, breathing through the annoyance and the exclamation. I rubbed my forehead. “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be, Gunner.”

    He stood up from the table and stared down at me. “Why should it be easy, Carter?” Then he walked off, banged the front door open and went outside. I heard his truck peel out from the driveway seconds after.

    I stood up from the table, went to the front door and closed it. Then I went back to the kitchen to wash his coffee cup and refill my own. “Be gracious,” I said to myself. “Enjoin what is right and turn away from those who act ignorantly.⁷”

An Imaginary Conversation with a Real Troll (the first of the series) 
I Will Not Fight the Argument (the second)
Supermarket Wrestling (third conversation)
Do You Even Pray (the troll returns)
All Means All (A fifth conversation)
The Doctrine that Cannot Be Challenged (sixth conversation)
Toward Sodom - (a halfhearted seventh conversation)
Millions of Years of Death (the eighth conversation)
Truth with Untruth (the ninth conversation)
Bulls, Dogs, and Villains (the tenth conversation)
The Righteous Forsaken (the eleventh conversation)
A Sabbath Garden (conversation number twelve)
Doesn't Doctrine Mean Anything to You? (conversation thirteen)
Real Christian Men, Real Christian Marriage (conversation fourteen)
 

1Surah Al-Furqân 25:47

2Surah Al-A’râf 7:204

3Surah Al-Baqarah 2:62

4Surah Al-Mâ’idah 5:32

5J. Sanhedrin 4:9:1

6Surah Az-Zâriyât 51:1

7Surah Al-A’râf 7:199 

First Level Documents

    Initiate search protocol:
    Translate and log variable data – sort by date (approximate) and/or subject.
        Variable mood. Variable weather.

    Please enter your personal ten-digit security code now.
    Computer beeps confirmation.

    System verifies coded pathway. Engage.
    View: local news: pentagon threats.
    View: secret information – first level documents

    Interpol documents (digital transfer from Denmark, from UK) indicate a history of domestic violence. Trying to leave chaotic and dangerous situations -Noted: Lack of intervention. Noted: Lack of response. Thirteen minutes of inactivity*unexplained.

    Sort: War
    Sort: Death
    Sort: Sorrow/Tears *exception-tears of joy.

    Exterior night and interior darkness. A web of branches over uneven ground. The world falls silent. Darker as it moves deeper out of sight. A tingle of electricity in the beating EKG monitor.

    Vaulted walls open. Chambers open. The wall, the rumbling floor are spinning.
    Cleared access – second degree secrets. American assassinations (cash exchanged)

    View: Local News. Police reports
    Null.
    View: Local News. Police investigation.
    Null and void.

    Clear path. Closed loop process.
    What a man knows in secret cannot be used.

The Parables of Jesus – Old Treasures and New (Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52)

    We’ve probably all heard the definition of a parable – that it’s “an earthly story with a heavenly meaning.” And it’s true enough. It’s a definition that works – mostly. Sorta’. But it’s thin. It’s an incomplete description of the form of teaching that Jesus used. The stories that he told, the parables of Jesus have endured. They’ve been told and retold. Adapted and readapted. Interpreted and reinterpreted for two thousand, some odd years now. These parables have power and resist the simple simplification.

    Jesus was deliberate in this. When the disciples asked him why he taught them with parables, he told them, “Because to you is granted to understand the mysteries of the kingdom of Heaven, but to them it is not granted. Anyone who has will be given more and will have more than enough; but anyone who has not will deprived even what he has. The reason I talk to them in parables is that they look without seeing, and listen without hearing or understanding. So in their case what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah is being fulfilled:

    Listen and listen, but never understand!
    Look and look, but never perceive!
    This people’s heart has grown coarse,
    their ears dulled, they have shut their eyes tight
    to avoid using their eyes to see, their ears to hear,
    their heart to understand,
    changing their ways and being healed by me.” 
    (Matthew 13:11-17 – New Jerusalem Bible)

    Last week our guest told us about the parable of the darnel, or the weeds. And she did a great job. Several of you told me how much you appreciated it. But she had it easy. She had one parable to talk about – and Jesus explained it for her. In our passage for today we’ve got what, six? Six parables to treat, and Jesus doesn’t really explain them – and the one he does explain, only gets more difficult with the explanation. So we’re going to have to be brisk as we move through these parables today.

    Mustard Seed (Matthew 13:31-32)

    Here Jesus exaggerates in two directions. 1) The mustard seed is not the smallest seed. It is small, yes, but there are technically smaller seeds and 2) the mustard plant, while it does grow tall – as much as ten feet tall, it’s not really the largest and birds don’t really nest in it. The story is an exaggeration to make us laugh. It’s an impossible fiction to teach us about the truly possible kingdom.

    I’ve know people who insist that the parables of Jesus are true. Absolutely true, not just figuratively true, that there was a specific, literal landowner whose enemy sowed his field with poisonous weeds, that there was a literal, historical prodigal son who wasted his portion of his father’s estate. They insist that the parables are not just stories. It’s all true because, if it’s not true historically how can it be true prophetically? They insist that there is no untruth in the Bible, that you can’t express truth with untruth. But these folks have radically misunderstood the genre of parable.

    These stories, yes. But not just stories. They are fictions, but they are not mere fictions; they are true. And the mustard seed isn’t the smallest and birds don’t nest in its branches – but the Kingdom of Heaven is like this – the smallest of seeds grows up and out, quickly sprouts, and transforms the world, bringing beauty, and color, and safety, and shelter. This is the Kingdom of Heaven.

    Yeast (Matthew 13:33)

    The Kingdom of Heaven is like the yeast that a woman mixes with two measures of flour till it is all risen. Some of you are bakers. You understand this picture. It doesn’t take much yeast to do the work.

    Now Jesus used yeast as an illustration a number of times – usually in a negative manner. “Beware the yeast of the Pharisees,” he told his disciples (Matt. 16 / Luke 12) But the yeast here is a blessing. It is the hidden, the small, spreading influence. It doesn’t take much.

    Treasure Field (Matthew 13:44)

    How did the treasure come to be in the field? Who did it belong to? We don’t have that information, but in another telling of this story, the hero would be a something of a villain, a cheat, a fraud, thief. His questionable actions to acquire the field with hidden treasure is more than a little shady.

    But the Kingdom of Heaven is here, nevertheless, hidden in a story about a treasure field. Someone finds it and is thrilled. Overjoyed at the discovery. Here is something that will radically change his life. Nothing will be the same after the discovery. He hides it again, goes back home, and with great joy, sells everything he owns so that he can possess this treasure field. The discovery changes everything.

    The Fine Pearl (Matthew 13:45)

    Here’s a similar story. We have a pearl merchant looking for fine pearls. In the previous story the discovery was accidental – the hero stumbled upon the hidden treasure. Here the search is deliberate. Purposeful. The merchant is crossing the globe, looking for fine pearls. He goes to the Persian Gulf. He goes to India, looking for the finest pearls. And when, at long last, he finds that one exquisite pearl, the pearl of great price, he sells all. He liquidates his holdings in order to purchase it. He sells everything to posses this one rare and beautiful thing.

    The Dragnet (Matthew 13:47-50)

    Again, the Kingdom of Heaven is like a dragnet thrown into the sea and hauled ashore – an image that his disciples would have appreciated. And when the net is brought out of the water, it is filled with all kinds of fish: Tilapia, Sardines, Saint Peter’s Fish, Eels, Catfish… And the fisherfolk begin sorting them, putting the good ones into baskets and throwing away the ones that are of no use.

    The fisherfolk sort them by the dietary laws laid out for them in Leviticus. Fish with scales and fins are acceptable to eat. Fish without scales and fins are not.

    Now one possible, simple explanation of the parable – one that might have occurred to his original audience is that this division is made along ethnic lines, separating Jews from Gentiles. Dividing them clean and unclean. The Jews at the clean thing – the Tilapia, the Sardine, the Saint Peter’s Fish - while the Gentiles ate the unclean – the Eel and the Catfish. But the fisherfolk in Jesus’ story are not sorting them clean and unclean but rather useful and not useful. Maybe that’s a distinction without a difference, but I think it works.

    And Jesus offers a bit of explanation – though the explanation introduces more questions. He says – this is how it will be at the end of the age. The angels will appear and separate the wicked from the righteous. And the wicked will be thrown into a blazing furnace where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

    “Are you getting all this?” Jesus asked them. “Do you understand? Have you understood all of these?”

    And they said, “Yes.” But I wonder…

    Storeroom Treasures (Matthew 13:51-52)

    One more. Jesus tells them of a scribe who becomes a disciple of the Kingdom of Heaven. We are accustomed to thinking of the scribes and Pharisees as the bad guys, as antagonists of the gospel. But there we have a scribe who is an admirable disciple of the Kingdom of Heaven. A student. A scholar devoted to the teachings of heaven. And this scribal disciple is like a householder who goes into the storeroom or the pantry and brings out new and old treasures to enjoy. The old isn’t thrown out for the new. The two are brought out and shared and enjoyed.

    Are you getting all this? Do you understand? Have you understood all these?

    And this is where you say, “Yes…”

    So blessed are your eyes, because they see. Blessed are your ears because they hear. Many prophets and upright people longed to see and never saw, waited to hear, but never heard. (Matthew 13:16-17). Blessed are you for seeing and hearing and understanding.

    Or maybe you don’t understand. It’s okay. I get it – because I don’t get it. These stories are strange and beautiful and weird. They are not simple. But it’s okay. These parables have endured for two thousand, some odd years now. They’ll go on with or without us. Maybe you need to go home and struggle with one of them for a while. It’s okay. The story is there for you to puzzle over.

    Take the stories with you. Let the little seed sprout. Let the yeast rise. Look for treasure. Change everything. Be filled with joy. Spread color, and beauty, and shelter. Bring out the old treasures along with the new. This is the Kingdom of Heaven.

Folding Chairs and Fiery Thrones

    It was late January, on a gray and dying afternoon some years ago, when I found myself in front of the Ebenezer Baptist church building. I was tired and cold, looking for a place to warm up and rest my legs. I’m not sure what compelled me to try the door. I was surprised to find it unlocked.

    I went inside and called out, “Hello? Anyone here?”

    From somewhere in the back of the building, I heard a voice answer. “Back here. In the fellowship hall.” So, I followed the voice.

    In the fellowship hall I saw someone I assumed to be the janitor setting up rows of bright orange folding chairs. “I just came in to get warm,” I said. He nodded and placed another chair. From the kitchen, just off the fellowship hall, I could hear the gurgle of a coffee pot brewing.

    “What are you setting up for?”

    “It’s not for me to say, really. But you’re welcome to watch,” he said and then left the room.

    I found a spot along the back wall where I could stand, next to a bookshelf filled with hymnals and children’s books. I waited but nothing happened for several minutes. So I let myself into the kitchen, found a ceramic mug and poured myself a cup of coffee. Then I took my spot by the bookshelf to continue waiting.

    After a few more minutes the fluorescent lights overhead flickered and the coffee maker in the kitchen hissed. The door of the fellowship hall opened and the Senior Pastor entered. I knew it was the Senior Pastor because his framed photo was hanging on the wall next to the bookshelf. He had a dignified look – silver hair, manicured beard. He was dressed in a white seersucker suit. He sat down in one of the orange folding chairs at the front of the room. Then the doors opened again, and the church elders came in with folders, and papers, and clipboards, and notebooks. They assumed their seats and the church board meeting was called to order.

    I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped. “Watch this,” said the janitor behind me. “You’ll like this.”

    From somewhere beyond the hall, I began to hear shouting. Curses. Vulgarities in a vaguely New York accent.

    “Old business,” one of the elders announced. “New business,” another said.

    “The same business,” the janitor whispered behind me.

    “I don’t know who you radical-left thugs are. Vermin. But you’re going to regret this. Nasty women. Losers. Scum. You’re animals. Animals. Animals!”

    The voice was dragged through the doors. and I saw his orange skin and flyaway hair. “Who is this?” I asked the janitor.

    “Oh, him? He’s nobody, really. Just one of a long line of monsters horning their way into history. They’re always turning up.”

    “What’s going to happen to him?” I asked.

    “Watch.”

    I turned back to the board meeting. The Senior Pastor said, “The mouth has spoken. Have his words been recorded?”

    “They have,” announced the body of elders.

    “So be it,” declared the Senior Pastor.

    “Amen,” intoned the body of elders.

    And just like that the orange-skinned vulgarian went up in flames.

    “What the hell is this?” I nearly shouted, turning back to the janitor.

    He led me over to a tripod stand with a series of Bible maps. “Look here,” he said and pulled down a map of Egypt. Then another of Babylon. And Persia. And Greece. And Rome. And. And. And. One map after another after another. “This is the way of beasts and empires. They receive a lease of life for a season and a time, but then…” And he tore away the successive maps and threw them to the floor.

    “Do you understand this?” he asked me.

    “I don’t think I do,” I said. “Not yet.”

    “Have you finished your coffee?” he asked. I nodded and he took the mug from my hands.

    I don’t remember leaving the fellowship hall, but I found myself once again standing in the sidewalk snow and slush in the fading January sun.

History Passes into Lies

    Then I beheld all the fruitless work of man. Armed conflict between thirty nations. Millions threatened. Mounting pressure from international leaders. And Pope John XXI dies when the ceiling of his study collapses. He’d been Pope for eight months. Affliction comes to make us sad or make us wise.

    Freedom is a heavy load, a choice through scorching days and restless cold nights. South American strip mines and deserts are rocked by earthquakes, meanwhile Pope Adrian IV chokes to death on a fly in his wine. This is the curse that feeds on life.

    History is recorded by impatient observers. Pomp and circumstance in the land of hope and glory. Fading ancient fame. Pope Celestine V, overwhelmed by the pressure and demands of the papacy, renounces the throne and returns to the hermitage. He is later imprisoned by his successor and all men shall fear.

    How wretched I am,
    too long living among a people for war.

    Lies pass into history. Critical food shortages on three continents in a season of bitterness. Supply lines strained by militants. Pope Sylvester II makes a compact with the devil for redoubtable scientific and mathematical knowledge. History passes into lies.

    Therefore, behold, Pope Boniface VIII is belligerent. He kicks political envoys in the head. He throws ashes in the eyes of kneeling bishops. He is captured during the violence of the Outrage of Anagni and imprisoned for three days. He is beaten. He is starved. He dies, chewing off his own hand. A marvelous work among the people, and a wonder to the world.

    Work while it is day; the night comes when no one will work. Regional salt wars are fought by child-soldiers and immigrants. Pope Joan’s horse is startled during a procession and she goes into spontaneous labor. The child is born. Her secret is revealed but she dies. And there is none that can deliver me.

    Lord, save me from lying lips
    war-arrows over red-hot coals.

    Yea, before the day, Pope Formosus is exhumed by his successor nine months after his death and put on trial for perjury, for having taken the papacy illegally. His corpse is dragged to the courtroom and found guilty before being reinterred. His papacy is annulled. May the truth protect me always.