My Budding Theologians

Today’s lecture was on “The Beginning of Western Art.”  Per usual, dates ending in the letters “B.C.” got my students in a philosophical state of mind.  Whether my students have never been exposed to classical and medieval history or they have simply chosen to ignore teachers in the past is irrelevant; the outcome is the same:  anything that pre-dates the 1700s is a black hole (actually, for most, anything that pre-dates the civil rights era is pretty mysterious).

Here’s the conundrum:  I’ve yet to discover an easy way to explain the phenomenon of descending and then ascending dates that does not in some way refer to the hot button issue of Christ.  And, no matter what it is I am trying to explain, I am almost always derailed by the inevitable religious debate that ensues. 

Today was no different, and yet. 

“In the second century B.C. – that’s before the time of Christ – the Romans conquered Greece.  Does anyone know where Rome is?”

Mad gestures towards Russia.

“Nope.  Not Russia.  Rome is actually a city in Italy.  Does anyone know where Italy is?”

Blank stares.

“Ok.  Italy is this little yellow country hanging out in the Mediterranean.  Anyway, the Roman Empire was actually much bigger than just Italy, and in the second century B.C. they took over Greece as well as quite a few other countries.  Does anyone remember who crucified Jesus?”

I. says with conviction:  “The Jews!”

“Um.  Not quite.  Does anyone remember the part of the story where he’s spit on and stabbed?  Who’s he spit on and stabbed by?  Who’s in charge of the crucifixtion?”

Now the whole class, this time with fervor:  “The Jews!”

“Well, actually, it was the Roman soldiers.  Is this ringing a bell?”

General murmurs of disbelief and chaos stirring.

Trying to respond to this somewhat alarming misconception, I back track, “ok.  So Jesus was a Jew.  Is that what you’re thinking of?”

I. looks apoplectic.  “Oh no,” she says, “you did not just say that about my lord and savior.  Who you callin’ a Jew?!”

            I look out at my semi-mutinous and almost certainly anti-semetic crowd and re-think my stance.  “Um.  Ok.  So I think there may be a few misunderstandings here, but if you go home tonight and read your bible, you’ll discover that Jesus was a Jew and he was crucified by Roman soldiers.  However, more importantly – and really, where all this got started – is the fact that the Romans took over much of western civilization during the time of Christ.”

            I. raises her hand.

            “Yes I.?”

            “Are you one of those people who believes in three Jesuses?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “You heard what I said.  Three Jesuses!”

            I feel as though I’m about to be burned at the stake.  “Um.  Well.  I., the last time I checked, there’s pretty much a general consensus that there’s only one Jesus.  Perhaps you’re talking about the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit?”  I say, crossing myself for emphasis.

            I. eyes bulge as though she’s just seen a papist (which, of course, she has).  “Yeah!  Three Jesuses!  Don’t you know there’s only one?”

            “Actually, ‘the Father’ is referring to God, ‘the Son’ is referring to Jesus, and ‘the Holy Ghost’ is referring to the Holy Spirit.  So really, that’s a misconception as well.”

            I. looks at me skeptically.  “Well, all I know is that we’re all Jesus’ chirun.”

            E. pipes in, “oh no, baby.  We’s all chirun of Adam and Eve!”

            “Yeah!  And that’s how come all our kin be killin’ each other and gettin’ put in jail.  ‘Cuz Eve ate that apple!” R. says.

            “Damn, that bitch be cold, cold.  That’s how come us women be havin’ it hard, what with the monthly flow and all.  I feel played!”

            “And with all those veggies in the garden.  Why didn’t she just have some corn?  You know those veggies be good for you.”

They all pause for a moment, giving credence to this profound thought.  After a moment, I. asks, "Ms. Kuhne, where's God buried?"

In other news, Joshua and I stayed home this weekend.  After a few debates whether or not we should go to Lafayette and see the Black Pot festival, the forecast and our other friends' illnesses won out.  

On Saturday, Joshua conducted what he likes to call "a deep clean."  This is the sort of cleaning where it gets messier before it gets cleaner, so I generally have to leave the house.  My mission?  To find a costume.  

That night, we walked the streets as conjoined twins.  I sewed two sweaters and scrub pants together, and we wrapped our legs together with an ace bandage.  We walked a mile and a half like this and are now paying the consequences.

On Sunday, we ran 10 miles along Ponchartrain.