The parable of the fruit-full one
Come no further, you dirty pariah, stay off my couch, you filthy tramp. God loves you. Young woman, your sins are forgiven. Hey you, dip not your fingers into my sacrament bowl. Stand right there, and the lord shall attend to your needs. Close the manhole on your face. Your breath shall ferment my wine. Ah, I see. You need a miracle? What have you got for the Lord? Did the burden of Egypt finally tire you? Did the yoke of sin finally tire your neck? Ah, talk well, and I shall see to it that the road to Canaan squeezes itself for one more soul. You understand?
Oh yes Bishop, I do understand that thou must have seen Canaan, but did you see the wilderness in the middle too? You must have seen the other side, but have you seen the wild sea just before that? Oh messenger of the lord, how hungry is he up there? How needy is he that he pities not the echoes in our pockets and the growling in our tummies? Can you tell him to wait till at least he gives us rain? He knows all, and of course he sure knows that the sun is hard on us.
Oh man of little faith, why dare you doubt God? Bring to me a sin offering and maybe I shall intercede, that the wrath of the almighty does not follow you like a plague? Oh you of little faith, how dare you question the instructions given to the messenger? I have seen mountains too big for you to lift or even look. I have been taken to places too high for simple people like you to go. I moved all those mountains so all of you could have a way. God shall not be mocked.
Yes sir, messenger of God. I totally understand. These mountains you speak off, where are they? When did you get to face them without us knowing? You eat from the lord. You told us he spoke to ravens and demanded they feed you, just like mighty Elijah, and we, the obedient ravens agreed. Your words sure do scare, but before you moved mountains, why did you not move the heap of rubbish out your door?
Out my way you petulant sinner, time waits for not man. Wait, what is that I hear? Alas, it’s too late, for I can hear the bells toll. I can hear the trumpets call. Run and hide, for your days have come to an end. The journey’s over and it is time for the birds to go home and roost. I shall say; open the gate, your fruitful farmer has come home, his hands overflowing with souls that grew among the weeds, and the seeds that would have fallen on stones.
Yes fruitful one, I do see you. I hear you all well too, but why is your mouth full of seeds and your hand full of peels? Where are the fruits you cultivated? Why do I not see soil or sweat on your brow? You fruitful farmer, where is your granary? Where did you store your harvest?
Come no further, you dirty pariah, stay off my couch, you filthy tramp. God loves you. Young woman, your sins are forgiven. Hey you, dip not your fingers into my sacrament bowl. Stand right there, and the lord shall attend to your needs. Close the manhole on your face. Your breath shall ferment my wine. Ah, I see. You need a miracle? What have you got for the Lord? Did the burden of Egypt finally tire you? Did the yoke of sin finally tire your neck? Ah, talk well, and I shall see to it that the road to Canaan squeezes itself for one more soul. You understand?
Oh yes Bishop, I do understand that thou must have seen Canaan, but did you see the wilderness in the middle too? You must have seen the other side, but have you seen the wild sea just before that? Oh messenger of the lord, how hungry is he up there? How needy is he that he pities not the echoes in our pockets and the growling in our tummies? Can you tell him to wait till at least he gives us rain? He knows all, and of course he sure knows that the sun is hard on us.
Oh man of little faith, why dare you doubt God? Bring to me a sin offering and maybe I shall intercede, that the wrath of the almighty does not follow you like a plague? Oh you of little faith, how dare you question the instructions given to the messenger? I have seen mountains too big for you to lift or even look. I have been taken to places too high for simple people like you to go. I moved all those mountains so all of you could have a way. God shall not be mocked.
Yes sir, messenger of God. I totally understand. These mountains you speak off, where are they? When did you get to face them without us knowing? You eat from the lord. You told us he spoke to ravens and demanded they feed you, just like mighty Elijah, and we, the obedient ravens agreed. Your words sure do scare, but before you moved mountains, why did you not move the heap of rubbish out your door?
Out my way you petulant sinner, time waits for not man. Wait, what is that I hear? Alas, it’s too late, for I can hear the bells toll. I can hear the trumpets call. Run and hide, for your days have come to an end. The journey’s over and it is time for the birds to go home and roost. I shall say; open the gate, your fruitful farmer has come home, his hands overflowing with souls that grew among the weeds, and the seeds that would have fallen on stones.
Yes fruitful one, I do see you. I hear you all well too, but why is your mouth full of seeds and your hand full of peels? Where are the fruits you cultivated? Why do I not see soil or sweat on your brow? You fruitful farmer, where is your granary? Where did you store your harvest?
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