My new friend Kelly writes:
Why do you think you are a Saint?
Are you baptized?
Are you even Christian or are you just making fun of us?
Dear Kelly,
The term ‘saint’ comes from when a certain little Hebrew sect starts referring to themselves as ‘the community of the saints’. The Catholics tend to refer ‘saints’ as those who are close to the Almighty but not of this world. But as the Hebrews will tell you, he speaks to some people directly, and most people are going to think you are crazy when you tell them that the voice in your head is really God.
Recently I agreed to educate a group of lesbians about Sainthood. And I got the distinct impression that they wanted to become Saints. After being introduced to the group by the preacher of their church, I climbed up onto their stage.
I magnanimously replied, “OK, ladies let’s go to the kitchen, I have prepared dinner.”
They all sat down and enjoyed their meal, they all were a bit confused as to my point, but were not about to turn down a free meal. After they were finished eating, I served a dessert wine.
“I will now demonstrate what it is to be a Saint.” “You have all been poisoned and are dying,” I explained as they began to pass out, “but don’t worry, I’ll bring you back.”
I heard someone say, “Be careful, you know it’s been awhile…” I was delighted to hear from whoever it was. “Neat!” rather embarrassingly escaped before I could regain control of my lips, which were flapping about out of control.
The women stared at me, wide eyed as they suffocated on the arsenic. The young lady from before pleaded with me, “Why?”
“Now you did it,” someone informed me, in a whisper. I was careful to not reply. I wasn’t sure, but I think they hadn’t noticed me ignoring them, so I made an effort to grin confidently and ignore the comment, wherever it came from.
Remembering that someone had asked me why, I replied, “Because, you can’t understand what it is to be a saint until you have died, don’t you read?” I waited for her to answer but she was too busy clawing at her throat. I wanted her to answer, and became angry. I kicked her over and screamed at her frozen blank expression of horror.
After arguing the finer points of metaphysics with the dead bodies peppered about the room, I resurrected the women. They were really happy to see me. I asked them if they understood what had happened.
Linda, the preacher, approached me; “I am not satisfied with your explanation. You showed us a brief glimpse of the after life yes, but I wonder if you could tell me what sainthood is.”
“Ok,” I replied, “then sainthood is cooking dinner.”
“Good job.” Someone was complimenting me along with everyone else in the room. Nodding up and down they pretty much agreed with whatever I had to say from that moment forward.
“Thanks,” I said it a little too loudly, but everyone forgave me and went home happy.
