Truth visits the Pope
The Pope was at his wits end. One late November night in Rome, he finally could take it no more. He broke down in tears of rage, confusion and despair.
Shaking his fist at the empty heavens, he screamed.
"Enough! I quit! It's all been a farce! Now I see!"
"Prayer, ritual, feast days? All worthless strategies for denial, fictions piled atop hypocrisy and fraud!"
"Art, literature, science, culture, and every product of the human species? Falsehoods!"
"Ethics, good works, and social justice? Illusions! Cruel jokes that have only made the misery worse!"
"The whole of human history? All useless lies!"
"Religion and faith itself? Nil, nil! The most destructive deceptions ever wrought by a heartless universe! Everything is delusion! Lies!"
He howled into the void of the basilica's dome.
"God, Allah, Hashem, The Buddha, Bhagavan, Universe, Eternal Life Force - anyone, anything up there, anywhere! Show me something that's true! Anything! Some rock on which to rebuild my will to go on for another day, another hour! Not even a rock -- a pebble! Even a grain of sand! Just one proposition that cannot be denied! Merely one! Any one!"
He paused. The echoes faded. Silence.
"Just one true statement! Anything! I beg you!"
Silence.
The Pope seized his Bible.
"Even this book! The so-called veritas! More lies! The biggest lies of all! I defy you: Show me one thing in it that is true! That cannot be refuted, in this entire book! On the contrary, I refute it - thus!"
With both hands, the Bishop of Rome threw the tome skyward, high into the dome of basilica. The book's covers flew open. Its pages fluttered like the feathers of a bird in panic.
With unbelievable swiftness, the Pope whipped out a shotgun from behind the Chair of Saint Peter. Like an expert skeet shooter, through his tears, the Pope drew a bead on the holy book.
"Just one true statement!"
At that instant, a random page faced downward over the Pope. The familiar lines of Psalm 136 hovered above him for an immeasurably brief hiatus.
2 O give thanks unto the God of gods: for his mercy endureth for ever.
3 O give thanks to the Lord of lords: for his mercy endureth for ever.
. . .
17 To him which smote great kings: for his mercy endureth for ever:
18 And slew famous kings: for his mercy endureth for ever . . .
At that instant, the trigger pulled back. Like a clay pigeon, the holy book exploded into fragments of leather binding and a thousand bits of paper.
Psalm 136 was blasted into smithereens. Most of its letters instantly were vaporized or incinerated, struck through by the unerring editorial hand of purest chance.
2 O give thanks unto the God of gods: for his mercy endureth for ever.
3 O give thanks to the Lord of lords: for his mercy endureth for ever.
. . .
17 To him which smote great kings: for his mercy endureth for ever:
18 And slew famous kings: for his mercy endureth for ever . . .
Scraps of paper, like confetti, rained and drifted down over the broken pontiff. He sank to his knees, then doubled over onto all fours, feebly pounding the marble floor with his fist. He wept.
"Just one true statement! Just one true statement!"
Onto the floor of the apse, in front of the Pope, in perfectly ordered rows, fluttered down and settled the surviving, non-deleted fragments and letters of the sacred song.
The letters were arrayed as follows:
2 O give thanks unto the God of gods: for his mercy endureth for ever.
3 O give thanks to the Lord of lords: for his mercy endureth for ever.
. . .
17 To him which smote great kings: for his mercy endureth for ever:
18 And slew famous kings: for his mercy endureth for ever:
posted by TiR at 7:01 AM
