3 min. read
Here’s a little story for ya about American Christianity. It may not be a hoot, but it sure enough is something else.
Once there was a fella with a weird name: Westernized Anglo Standards Protector. Let’s call him Wasp, for short. Wasp moved to America roughly about 400 years ago and he’s had his luggage delivered real slow like. Just a few bags every century or so. One of the most recent bags to come over had a lot of Jesus in it. Now this Jesus only vaguely looks like that Jesus from Nazareth you may’ve heard tell about; doesn’t really resemble a person who might give his own life up for you or me or someone else all together; doesn’t at all sound like a king who died and came back and all of it. Matter of fact, and this is a strange sight for sure, this Jesus in the suitcase looks a lot like Wasp.
Anyhow, Wasp finally grew up and married an American girl who also come by a weird name: Nationalism. Let’s call her Nat, for short. Nat loves the idea of a pure America that always comes first, always does the best, and used to be great (which means when there were less people who looked and sounded like Wasp, and those who weren’t like Wasp didn’t get any of the good stuff). Somehow or another, Nat has it all reasoned out that America (or ‘Merica, as she sometimes affectionately drawls) is still great ‘cause it is America after all, and this country here is pretty dadgum exceptional.
Now, Wasp and Nat were just all tickled because they never seemed to argue. Hell, they sometimes laid around in the bed all day just admiring how particularly special they were. Well, anyone who knows the natural course of things knows what that will eventually lead to. Yes, indeed, they finally had themselves a baby. And, my goodness, if they didn’t give that baby such a weird name, too: American Christianity. Let’s call the poor child, AC for short.
Now you or I might call any child a beautiful thing. I mean even if the creature just had the most unfortunate of genes manifest in its face we’d still think that surely it’s just a phase. We give lots of grace to children. But I’m afraid AC is indeed expectational in one unfortunate regard: she has the nicest clothes you’ve ever seen, but, oh boy, is she ever ugly. I mean just plain painful to look at. She’s such a troubled and oppressive child. She’s loud, and limited, and would be laughable if she weren’t so tragic. See, she’s blind and the little profligate doesn’t even know she’s blind. The only benefit I guess is she don’t ever have to be traumatized by looking in a mirror. Wasp and Nat ignore her blindness, too. They just act like such a thing is the way of the world. Something about the blind leading the blind, and all.
AC has lots of babysitters, but her favorites have become a regular part of the family. There’s that old crusty nanny of hers, Consumerism (Connie, for short) and Racism (whose birth name is, I kid you not, White Fragility, and, for some reason I can’t quite figure, goes most often by the name of Me).
Anyways, that’s how the little family came to be. Generally they aren’t up to much good. But you wouldn’t know it by looking at ‘em. They’re always together, all five of ‘em. I mean, why would you keep two babysitters around all the time if you’re with the kid all the time, too? Go figure. Oh, well. Not much they do makes much sense in the world.
But there ya have it. A story about our little beloved AC. Don’t know how the story will end. I for one am just hoping the sad tale wraps up soon. Those long stories are trifling hard to read these days.