lxi

“For the word of the Lord has sounded forth from you, not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but also in every place your faith toward God has gone forth, so that we have no need to say anything.”

-1 Thessalonians 8-9

            The sweaty and loud Protestant minister at the loud and sweaty Christian Bible Study I went to last night brought up an interesting question: “What is your personal idol?”

            Whenever someone even mentions the word idol during a long-winded homily or a theology class, I immediately think of the Chachapoyan Fertilty Idol, which for centuries had been hidden in forested temple in the shadows of Peru, until it was found by an archaeologist: Henry Jones, Jr.

           

            So, basically, I’m saying that the extent of my knowledge of idol worship rests in the hands of Raiders of the Lost Ark rather than a heavily dog-eared copy of the Good Book, a fact that I find relative comfort in.

            My idol, though, is probably not golden and shrunken and naked, waiting to be plucked up by the steady hands of Harrison Ford, to be delivered from the caverns of my heart by whipping through chasms and booby traps. My idol is something much deeper, a small urge in the back of my mind to thwart the spears responsibilities being constantly thrown at me, to accept the pits of maturity as they open up beneath me, to resist being suffocated by the quick sands of growing up.

            And I don’t plan on Indiana Jones to be coming to rescue me any time soon.