Read Online The Blood That Stains Your Hands by Douglas Lindsay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Douglas Lindsay
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entered the nave, and now we're back in a not dissimilar position to where we were yesterday. Her sitting at the end of a row, me directly across the aisle at the end of the adjacent row. I get the smell of her today, something I didn't notice yesterday. A light fragrance.
Neither of us has spoken. Not sure how long we've been sitting here. Ten minutes? Fifteen?
If God is everywhere, then is this place any closer to God than anywhere else? Does the silence and the art and the Bible and depictions of Jesus make it any closer to God than a forest or a field or a supermarket or a studio basement flat with no windows, rats in the walls and a soiled mattress lying in the middle of the floor?
I lower my eyes from Jesus in blue above the chancel. I'm thinking about God now. Stupid bastard. How many times have I asked the question in the past? If there's a God, why did my dad get killed by a drunk driver when I was two and a half? Why's the bastard who killed my dad still alive today?
How many times? I asked it enough to not need to ask it anymore. To not even consider God.
'You believe all this stuff?' I ask, my voice cutting uneasily into the bright light of early afternoon.
'How do you mean?' she says. Glances round at me.
'Historians these days,' I say, 'they know. They know how it worked out. There were hundreds of religions in the Middle East two thousand years ago, and Christianity was just one of them. St Paul was better organised than everyone else, managed to drag Christianity's head above the parapet, and eventually it flourished. It was like Hitler emerging from the shambles of post-WWI German politics. It wasn't like he was the divine leader or anything, he just played the game better, persevered, played his cards at the right moment...'
'You're comparing Hitler to Jesus?' she says curiously, although she's smiling.
'Actually, I think I was comparing him to Paul.'
'Oh, OK, that's fine.'
We laugh. Together. Like some sort of version of normal conversation. It's been so long.
'I just mean, it's kind of clear how Christianity got started, and how it managed to flourish, and how the books of the Bible were chosen, et cetera. It was all just politics. Which, you know, is why this church merger business wasn't so un-Christian after all. This is how it works. People have self-interest, they work to protect and extend that self-interest. In this way, Jesus was just a product that Paul was selling, and he was good at his job. Nowadays he'd be working for Apple.'
'Unless,' she says, turning away and looking back down the body of the church, 'Jesus is the true son of God, and then he would undoubtedly have risen, regardless of whether or not Paul had been a good salesman. Perhaps, in fact, it was God who made Paul a good salesman on the road to Damascus.'
'A fair point,' I say. 'But that's what I'm asking. In the face of the evidence and the plethora of historians and books and documentaries, which do you believe?'
'Can't you believe both? That God delivered Jesus to us, and then used St Paul to extend His message?'
'But all those Bible stories that are just made up or cribbed from other religions. The virgin birth and the wise men and all that?'
Notice how I'm not swearing in church.
Notice how I'm not mature enough to do that without thinking I should be earning some kudos. From somebody!
'You believe what you choose to believe, Sergeant. One cannot argue with faith. I will say, however, that I have never truly believed. I have prayed and I have come to this church all my life, but I've never truly believed. But that's not what it's about. I would say, in fact, that it doesn't matter one bit. It's community, that's all. About being there for people, having a set of values, sharing those values, helping others, giving of yourself, and hopefully receiving too.'
'Do you need God for that? I mean, do you need the church for that?'
She finally turns and looks at me again.
'People need a focus, that's all. The
Neither of us has spoken. Not sure how long we've been sitting here. Ten minutes? Fifteen?
If God is everywhere, then is this place any closer to God than anywhere else? Does the silence and the art and the Bible and depictions of Jesus make it any closer to God than a forest or a field or a supermarket or a studio basement flat with no windows, rats in the walls and a soiled mattress lying in the middle of the floor?
I lower my eyes from Jesus in blue above the chancel. I'm thinking about God now. Stupid bastard. How many times have I asked the question in the past? If there's a God, why did my dad get killed by a drunk driver when I was two and a half? Why's the bastard who killed my dad still alive today?
How many times? I asked it enough to not need to ask it anymore. To not even consider God.
'You believe all this stuff?' I ask, my voice cutting uneasily into the bright light of early afternoon.
'How do you mean?' she says. Glances round at me.
'Historians these days,' I say, 'they know. They know how it worked out. There were hundreds of religions in the Middle East two thousand years ago, and Christianity was just one of them. St Paul was better organised than everyone else, managed to drag Christianity's head above the parapet, and eventually it flourished. It was like Hitler emerging from the shambles of post-WWI German politics. It wasn't like he was the divine leader or anything, he just played the game better, persevered, played his cards at the right moment...'
'You're comparing Hitler to Jesus?' she says curiously, although she's smiling.
'Actually, I think I was comparing him to Paul.'
'Oh, OK, that's fine.'
We laugh. Together. Like some sort of version of normal conversation. It's been so long.
'I just mean, it's kind of clear how Christianity got started, and how it managed to flourish, and how the books of the Bible were chosen, et cetera. It was all just politics. Which, you know, is why this church merger business wasn't so un-Christian after all. This is how it works. People have self-interest, they work to protect and extend that self-interest. In this way, Jesus was just a product that Paul was selling, and he was good at his job. Nowadays he'd be working for Apple.'
'Unless,' she says, turning away and looking back down the body of the church, 'Jesus is the true son of God, and then he would undoubtedly have risen, regardless of whether or not Paul had been a good salesman. Perhaps, in fact, it was God who made Paul a good salesman on the road to Damascus.'
'A fair point,' I say. 'But that's what I'm asking. In the face of the evidence and the plethora of historians and books and documentaries, which do you believe?'
'Can't you believe both? That God delivered Jesus to us, and then used St Paul to extend His message?'
'But all those Bible stories that are just made up or cribbed from other religions. The virgin birth and the wise men and all that?'
Notice how I'm not swearing in church.
Notice how I'm not mature enough to do that without thinking I should be earning some kudos. From somebody!
'You believe what you choose to believe, Sergeant. One cannot argue with faith. I will say, however, that I have never truly believed. I have prayed and I have come to this church all my life, but I've never truly believed. But that's not what it's about. I would say, in fact, that it doesn't matter one bit. It's community, that's all. About being there for people, having a set of values, sharing those values, helping others, giving of yourself, and hopefully receiving too.'
'Do you need God for that? I mean, do you need the church for that?'
She finally turns and looks at me again.
'People need a focus, that's all. The
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