Young Ziller woke up early as usual, but this particular morning it took him a few moments to realize where he was.

The smell of potpourri, the steady tick-tock of the ancient clock on the wall, the antique dresser in the corner all quickly reminded him.

Grandmother’s house.

Ziller made his way up the darkened hallway. It sounded like a medium-sized dragon with metal lungs was huffing and puffing in the kitchen, but it was only the old percolator style coffee pot performing its magic.

“Good morning, Ziller.”

“Good morning, Grandmother.”

Grandmother was seated in her usual spot. Her cup of coffee and open Bible were set on the white tablecloth in front of her.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Really good, Grandmother. Thank you.”

Grandmother turned again to her Bible. Ziller poured himself a glass of milk and selected a piece of toast and several strips of bacon.

The streetlamp outside was taking its last peek through the window blinds before the sun came up. Ziller studied his toast and organized its crumbs on the little china plate with his finger. Every now and then he would stop to listen to the sound of a car driving past the house carrying people somewhere they needed to go.

“Grandmother, do you think Jesus was real? Did he really exist?”

“Well of course he did, baby,” she said looking up. “He is real. He lived. He died for us and he rose from the dead and he lives today.”

“Yeah. But how do you know that?”

Grandmother closed her Bible, took Ziller’s hand and sighed deeply while Ziller prepared himself for a loving lecture or gentle scolding for asking such a question.

She opened her mouth and, instead of scolding, she began to softly sing a song that Ziller had heard many times at her old Southern Baptist church:

“I serve a risen Savior
He’s in the world today.
I know that He is living,
Whatever men may say.
I see His hand of mercy;
I hear His voice of cheer;
And just the time I need Him
He’s always near.”

“He lives, He lives, Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me along life’s narrow way.
He lives, He lives, salvation to impart!
You ask me how I know He lives?
He lives within my heart.”

And that made more sense than anything Ziller has ever read in a book.

ziller

“I serve a made-up Savior
He’s non-existent today.
I know that He is mythological,
Whatever men may say.
He has no hand of mercy;
He had no voice of cheer;
And just the time I need Him
He’s nowhere near.”

“He's fake, He's fake, Christ Jesus is fake today!
He does nothing with me and nothing with me along because he is totally fake.
He's fake, He's fake, illusion to impart!
You ask me how I know He lives?
He doesn't. He's just fake and $hit.”

Couldn't resist, could you? I swear, pearls before swine.

Pearls?! Please.

What you call "pearls" some would call just plain ridiculous. Like believing in faeries or goblins. She might as well have just sung him a song about Santa riding a unicorn. That is the same level of "pearl-ness" as jesus-is-like-totally-real-because-I-can-rhyme-to-music.

Well, it was sweet.

So, Ziller is not allowed his own opinion? I think if Jesus existed maybe he was a great teacher, not a God or anything. But, we can disagree without being rude. I'm frankly surprised.

Care to show any comment on this thread that disallows Ziller his opinion? Start at the top and work your way down.

HH =)

I think Ziller has a very good point. Jesus lives only in one's heart because he's otherwise totally mythological.

How I loved that hymn! For me the argument should not be over the reality of the experience but how the experience was destroyed by Mormonism. At least it was for me. How much happier would I be today if I had never become a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? Because the falsity of the restoration forced me to doubt all that I had experienced "through the spirit," that witness of a savior has been lost to me. My life is less rich than it was before, but once I began to see as a man returning to childhood has become impossible. I would like to go back to "the" church or a church, but then I would like to return to the safety of my Mother's arms. Alas she is dead. I think the only reason I keep coming back to RFM is because of the smoldering anger I hold for Mormonism because of all it robbed me of. "Leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms." "Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'"

A question I have never asked myself...or anyone else for that matter. Irrelevance personified.

Ron Burr

Use the time to do your research, prepare your best argument and save it to a file for future use.