And it came to pass that as Gud was making a long journey to a certain
place he neared a wayside inn, and being weary he entered and found six
characters drinking tea.
"Good evening," spoke Gud. "Why are you drinking tea?"
"We are drinking tea," replied the Clerical Collar, "so that we can
engage in theological disputation without cutting one another's
throats."
"What is the dispute about?" asked Gud.
The Black Bathrobe made answer and said: "It concerns our belief in
Gud."
"May I join you?" inquired Gud.
"Delighted!" cried the Vest with the Silver Horseshoes, not recognizing
the caller.
Gud sat down and the Clerical Collar poured him a cup of hot water, but
neglected to pass him the tea ball. Not wishing to attract attention to
the oversight, which he realized was due to the host's being absorbed in
spiritual matters, Gud was about to convert the water into tea by a
miracle. Upon second thought he refrained, lest the display of
miraculous power would reveal his incognito. Still Gud did not like the
idea of drinking water straight; so instead of performing a miracle he
reached over and helped himself to the tea ball--noting, as he did so,
how much simpler it is to get results by natural laws than by
unnecessary miracles.
The venerable Beard being less wrought up over the disputation,
explained the nature of the meeting to the newcomer. Said he: "We are
all worshipers and ministers of the one true Gud, having been born and
baptised in the faith and duly ordained in its ministry. But of late
certain heresies have arisen among us, and we are gathered here to
ferret out the heretic and bring him to the bar of ecclesiastical
justice. Sad to confess, I find that I alone have remained staunch in
our faith, which is founded on the rock of unchanging truth."
"Liar," cried out the Spectacles of the Student, "we modernists are also
staunch in the faith; it is merely the conceit of fundamentalist bigotry
to argue that truth cannot be changed. Indeed, it must be changed or
intelligent people will cease to believe it."
"You are more accurate than expedient," admonished the Vest with the
Silver Horseshoes. "The faith of the people is waning fast, but it will
never be restored by your muddled mixtures of science and psychology.
What is needed is a great faith-arousing event, such as the trial and
burning of a heretic, and for that purpose are we assembled here."
"Sad, but true," agreed the Threadbare Coat. "Any burning at the stake
would tend to revive faith, but the revival would be much stronger if
the burning flesh savored of heresy."
"What?" shrieked the horrified Spectacles of the Student. "Is it
necessary to burn human flesh in this modern age? Would it not do quite
as well to set fire to a cage of black cats? Surely the burning of cats
would create a stench that would smell to high heaven."
"Tut, tut," sniffed the Clerical Collar.
Then the Venerable Beard spoke up nobly. "The red hand of heresy
grapples white faith by the throat. What is the use of all our
theological blue laws if the black heart of atheism continues to control
our yellow press?"
"Softly, softly, Brother," the Threadbare Coat made answer; "It is not
charitable, neither is it wise, to bite the hand that feeds the press."
"Do not worry," replied the Vest with the Silver Horseshoes. "I never
let my theological hand know what my secular hand doeth. Let us proceed
to business. The burning of any heretic is good for a headline."
The Spectacles of the Student now arose in righteous indignation,
pointed a finger of contempt at the Vest with the Silver Horseshoes and
cried: "Do not tell me that you merely wish to burn a heretic to make
news for your paper. I know why you are a fundamentalist. You have a
monopoly on the oil!"
"Young man, you betray your ignorance," spake the Clerical Collar. "The
church has its own oil reserves."
"But we should save the oil to pour on troubled waters," suggested the
Threadbare Coat; "and that we could do if we had an obese heretic who
would burn in his own fat."
The Vest with the Silver Horseshoes became self-conscious. "There is no
necessity of my being the martyr," he said. "I am already known to the
masses. Moreover a heretic, to burn brilliantly, must have ideas, not
mere fat."
A look of great fear now came into the Spectacles of the Student, who
cried out: "You all assume because you see a light in my attic that I am
burning the midnight candle at both ends in search of ideas; but I tell
you it is the light of faith that shines from my window."
"What use is a false faith?" retorted the Clerical Collar. "I know that
my faith alone is the true faith, because my mother told me it was so.
But I will reveal the heretic to you." And he pointed an accusing finger
at the Venerable Beard.
"If you have no respect for my grey hairs," wailed the accused, "I will
pluck them out." And he seized his beard and tore it from his face.
"Do not think, brother," replied the Clerical Collar, "that by doing
penance with self-torture, you can avoid the stake. Moreover you should
feel honored at my charge, for I do not accuse you of any petty heresy,
such as doubting that the eclipse of our moon is for the purpose of
hiding the angels at their baths. I accuse you of the _Heresis Maximus_,
that you doubt the virgin father!"
"Why, how absurd!" remarked Gud naively. "There never was one to doubt."
No sooner were these words out of the mouth of Gud than the six
characters in search of a heretic pounced in frenzied joy upon him.
Binding him with chains of iron and fetters of brass, they dragged him
forth to the heretical pyre, to which the Vest of the Silver Horseshoes
applied the torch, while the presses hummed with the news of the
burning.
But as the flames licked hot about the feet of Gud, he slipped his
chains; and blazing with ethereal fire that dulled the smoke of
intolerance and the smudge of inquisition, Gud, the martyr, arose in a
flame of splendor. And using the stars as stepping stones, he strode
across the heavens to the place where he was going--for he had an
assignation there.