"Well,”
Josh said, as we drove home from soccer practice. “Betsey's mad at
Jesus again.”
"Oh,
no," I thought, but I just said, "Why?" I was
surprised that she had just told him and not refused to go to Sunday
School, Last time she hadn't liked the fact that Jesus had driven a
legion of demons into a herd of pigs, who promptly threw themselves
off a cliff and drowned.
"She
says he's a racist."
That
was a new one on me. "Why?"
"Because
when Jesus killed those pigs, he ruined their owner's business and
he probably had to become a beggar. But since he was a Gentile,
Jesus didn't care. So that makes him a racist."
"Oh."
I didn't know what else to say. "I'll have to talk to her."
I wasn't sure how to handle this. I decided to just take her aside
or wait until I was taking her somewhere, but Josh beat me to it,
maybe because we were having pork chops. Betsey is still not eating
meat, although I did get her to agree to eat something that would eat
her. But I haven't been able to find any shark or bear or alligator
meat. Not that I'm looking all that hard.
Cilla
had decided that she was "too young to make that decision."
This is probably the only time she has ever been glad to be too
young to do something.
"You
know," Josh said, "If those pigs hadn't drowned, they would
have been killed anyway." We all knew what he was talking
about. The pig theological crisis has become a family legend
already.
"That's
not the point," Betsey said. "He shouldn't have done it.
And he was mean to the pig's owner. He ruined his business. He couldn't even have a going out of business sale, because he didn't have anything left to sell."
"Tell
Mom why he did it." Josh likes a good debate. Or maybe he just
wanted to give her a hard time. But Betsey seemed glad to get the
opportunity to develop her point.
"Because
the pigs' owner wasn't Jewish. Jesus didn't care what happened to
him. He probably thought it served him right."
"Served
him right for what?" Now Cilla was in on the discussion.
"For
not being Jewish."
"Tell
Mom what that makes him." I don't know why Josh kept telling
her to tell me. Ed was right there.
"A
racist."
Ed
looked up from his potatoes and dropped his fork.
"A
what?"
"A
racist. That's a person who . . ."
"I
know what a racist is. You should never call anyone that. It's like
the n-word."
"But
a person who would use the n-word is a racist. So couldn't you call
them a racist?"
"Well
. . " Ed had to think for a minute. I didn't say anything. I
was enjoying not having to answer the questions for a change.
Finally he got an idea. "Two wrongs don't make a right."
"And
anyway, we don't know any racists." I was shocked at myself. I
sounded like my mother, who could never see the point of talking
about something in theory, except in science.
"But
we might someday," Cilla said, almost with horrified
anticipation, like we might know a vampire someday.
"And
we know Jesus."
"Don't
say that, Betsey." Cilla was getting upset. "You'll hurt
His feelings and the Blessed Virgin Mother's."
"The
Blessed Virgin Mother is probably embarrassed for Him anyway."
I
didn't know what to say. I wondered if it would be cowardly to
change the subject. Fortunately, Josh had gotten bored and wanted to
know what was for dessert.
