Eulogia

Eulogia (eu-lo’-gi-a): Pronouncing a blessing for the goodness in a person.

I had spent a week at Presbyterian Bible camp. We read the New Testament, said prayers, and sang hymns. It was all very boring, especially the Bible. It was like Shakespeare without the wild turns of phrase and poetic nuances. The story of Christ’s cruxifixction had some drama to it, but nothing coming close to Romeo and Juliet or Richard the Third—“my Kingdom for a horse.” That’s something worth listening to. Think about it. It’s like saying “my back yard for a skateboard.”: the drama of desperation drips from King Richard’s lips. Whereas Christ’s cruxifixction is a sad tale of this guy who got screwed who was forced to drag the implement of his own execution uphill. He was already a bloody mess when he got up the hill and was nailed up on the cross he dragged. The he asked God to forgive everybody who played a role in his demise. This story, for example, does not hold a candle to “Romeo and Juliet.” It runs a straight line from betrayal to execution. “Romeo and Juliet’s” plot is, on the other hand, convoluted, layered and anti-papist.

Even though Presbyterian Bible camp made me into a non-believer, I wasn’t hostile to its tenets, like joining a country club, hiring a reliable stockbroker, going to a reputable private school and insincerely giving God credit for everything.

After Bible camp, I figured I should make it look like I got something out of it. So, when anybody I knew did something I considered good, I would say “God bless you” or “All glory to God.” Most of the time I would yell it so people would pay attention to God’s benevolence. I was very liberal in my bestowal of praise—for example: my sister’s chocolate chip cookies: “God bless you.” Or, my father got out of his chair to change the TV channel: “God bless you.”

Dr. Willap, the head of the local Presbyterian church heard about what I was doing. He came to our house to “counsel” me. I would hear none of it. He started yelling and threw a punch at me and missed. I knocked him out with my football trophy. When he regained consciousness, he apologized as he went out the door. I said “All glory to God.” He turned and lunged toward the door. I slammed the door in his face. He pounded on it for a few minutes and left.

I felt like a martyr. I didn’t like it. Maybe if I switched to the Episcopalian church, I’d have better luck with my spiritual stylings.

God bless you for reading this. May your walk in faith be filled with drama, suspense, and pathos, like a Shakespeare play.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

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