The Parable of the Wrong Book

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how can one teach faith and skepticism, and how do they interact?”

Josh spoke thus:

A student was reading the wrong book.  The student’s teacher took the book from the student’s hand and placed it in its place on the shelf.

“What’s wrong with that book?” the student asked.

“That isn’t a book we read,” the teacher said.

“Then why is it on the shelf?” the student asked.

“Because it would be dishonest to remove it from the collection,” the teacher said.

“But we can’t read it?” the student asked.

“It’s not that we can’t read it,” the teacher said, “We always have the choice to read it or not to read it.  We choose not to read it.”

“So why not remove it from the collection, if we don’t read it?” the student asked.

“Because if we remove it, we can’t read it,” the teacher said.

“Isn’t that what we want?” the student asked, “Don’t we want not to read it?”

“We want to choose not to read it,” the teacher said, “If we remove the book, we can not choose not to read it.”

“What is it we’re not meant to read?” the student asked.

“I can’t tell you,” the teacher said.

“Because I’m not meant to know what’s in it?” the student asked.

“Because I don’t know what’s in it,” the teacher said.

“Then how do you know why we’re not meant to read it?” the student asked.

“I don’t care why we’re not meant to read it,” the teacher said.

“But there might be a good reason to read it,” the student said.

“We have all the reason we need not to read it,” the teacher said, “It is a book we don’t read.”

“There might be something good we could tell people about,” the student said.

“It doesn’t matter,” the teacher said.

“There might be something bad we need to warn people about,” the student said.

“That’s not the point,” the teacher said.

“It might be a book we’re meant to read,” the student said, “It might be a book we’ve mistakenly designated to be a book we’re not meant to read.”

“We must trust it is not a book we’re meant to read that has been mistakenly designated a book we’re not meant to read,” the teacher said.

“Perhaps I trust that it’s part of the collection so that some can choose to read it,” the student said.

The teacher took the book down from the shelf.  Handing the book to the student, the teacher replied, “I trust we are meant not to read it.”

The Parable of the Car Commercial

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, this whole profile picture equality sign thing on Facebook is silly right?  Who pays attention to stuff like that?” 

Josh spoke thus:

Two senior citizens were watching T.V.  A car advertisement came on.

“I don’t know why they bother,” the first senior citizen said while taking a can of beer from the new refrigerator, “It’s not like I buy a car because of an ad I see on T.V.  Who buys a car because of an ad they see on T.V.?  Do you want another beer?”

“I’ll take another,” the second senior citizen said.  The second senior citizen took a cigarette from the packet on the new coffee table.

“I research a car before I buy a car,” the first senior citizen said, “Did you switch cigarette brands?”

The second senior citizen nodded, “Want one?”

“I haven’t tried those, sure,” the first senior citizen said, “What do you think of this new beer?”

“It’s pretty much like the old beer,” the second senior citizen said, “Beer’s beer, right?”

“I just figured I’d try it,” the first senior citizen said.

“Same with me and the cigarettes,” the second senior citizen said.

“Cigarettes,” the first senior citizen said, “That’s something you don’t see a lot of ads for these days.  Say, is that a new shirt?”

“I got it from that new place in the mall,” the second senior citizen said, “I saw they were having a sale, so I figured I’d hop on over and check it out.”

“Those stores,” the first senior citizen said, “They’re always having sales.  It’s like that’s all they do.  It’s so you don’t really know what the price is for anything anymore.”

“I wait for the sales,” the second senior citizen said.

“You have to these days,” the first senior citizen said.

A second car commercial came on.

“Will you look at that?” the first senior citizen said, “Another car ad.  Who’s buying all these cars, anyway?”

“Not me,” the second senior citizen said, “Who can afford a new car?  I go to that place with the funny T.V. spot, where the guy is buying a new car at the full manufacturer’s price, and the salesman shows him how he’s been conned into buying a new car when a good used car is cheaper and just as good.”

“I laugh every time I see that guy,” the first senior citizen said, “What a sucker!”

“What a sucker!” the second senior citizen said, “People are such suckers for all that marketing.  They’re convinced they’re young and pretty because of what they buy!”

“Well I’m not young, and I’m not pretty,” the first senior citizen said.

“Cheers to that,” the second senior citizen said, “That’s why I like this new beer you got.  It’s for us older folks.”

The Parable of the Serial Dieter

One day while teaching, Josh was asked ”Teacher, on the fortieth anniversary of the final withdrawal of troops from Vietnam, what lessons can the United States be said to have learned from the experience?”

Josh spoke thus:

A serial dieter was looking at the refrigerator door.

“I will not open the refrigerator door,” the serial dieter said to the refrigerator door.  The refrigerator door did not question what the serial dieter said.

“I will not open the bread bin,” the serial dieter said to the bread bin.  The bread bin did not question what the serial dieter said.

“I will not open the cupboard,” the serial dieter said to the cupboard.  The cupboard did not question what the serial dieter said.

“I will not eat,” the serial dieter said to the serial dieter.  The serial dieter did not question what the serial dieter said.

“If I were to open the refrigerator door,” the serial dieter said, “Inside the refrigerator I would find the chocolate pudding I made yesterday but resisted eating.  I would find the six pack of beer I brought home yesterday but stored away rather than drank.  I would find the rich dessert cheese that I placed next to the black olives whose jar I opened, just to be sure the olives were not spoiled, but which I did not eat.”

“If I were to open the bread bin,” the serial dieter said, “I would see the soft loaf of bread that was freshly baked just hours ago, and whose aroma would wash over me like a summer breeze across honey.”

“If I were to open the cupboard,” the serial dieter said, “I would find the artichoke hearts in a jar, the guacamole dip in a tin, the tortilla chips and bean topping that looked so good on the store shelf that just in passing I had to pick them up.  How disciplined I was to put them in the cupboard when I got home!”

“I will not make a meal of all of these things,” the serial dieter said as the serial dieter put plates, glasses, flatware and napkins on the table.  The soft candlelight refracted like starlight through the cut crystal of the tumbler as the serial dieter poured the beer.  The wooden bowl gave off a satisfying thud under the weight of the guacamole, and scratched pleasantly when brushed by the tortilla chips.  The artichoke hearts glistened next to the rich dessert cheese.  The soft bread and the olives formed a perfectly proportioned still life on their side plate, a scene given profundity by a background of chocolate pudding in finely shaped stoneware.  The bean topping sat in a compact, confident mound prepared for distribution by knife, spoon, or even lustful finger.

“That was not a meal, not in the proper sense,” the serial dieter said through a happy burp when all had been consumed.  The serial dieter gazed at the remaining half-glass of beer beside the plates the serial dieter had licked clean.  

“Now that I have broken the habit of large meals in the evening, I can begin to manage my daytime caloric intake,” the serial dieter said.

The serial dieter felt a little over-full.  Another bite would have been a bite too many.

“It’s a good thing the ice cream is still in the freezer,” the serial dieter said to the lonely spoon, “Because I will not open the freezer door.”

The Parable of the Car Keys

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what would make a person straw purchase a gun for another person?”

Josh spoke thus:

A teenager wanted to go to the mall.

“Can I take the car?” the teenager asked the teenager’s parent.

“You can’t take the car,” the teenager’s parent said.

“I need to go to the mall,” the teenager said, “Just let me take the car.”

“You don’t need to go to the mall,” the teenager’s parent said.

“I have to buy something for school,” the teenager said, “Just let me take the car.”

“What do you have to buy for school?” the teenager’s parent asked.

“I need soccer boots,” the teenager said, “Just let me take the car.”

“What’s wrong with the soccer boots you have?” the teenager’s parent asked.

“They split a seam,” the teenager said.

“When did this happen?” the teenager’s parent asked.

“It just happened today,” the teenager said, “Just let me take the car.”

“You can’t take the car,” the teenager’s parent said.

“I have to go,” the teenager said, “I have soccer practice after school tomorrow.  Just let me take the car.”

“I can take you to the mall,” the teenager’s parent said, “I can take you to buy soccer boots.”

“You can’t go with me,” the teenager said, “I’ll never live it down if you go with me.  Just let me take the car.”

“It’s just to buy soccer boots,” the teenager’s parent said.

“Parents can’t buy your soccer boots,” the teenager said, “Parents buy soccer boots for their little kids.  Just let me take the car.”

“And you’ll get soccer boots and nothing else?” the teenager’s parent asked.

“I’ll just get soccer boots,” the teenager said.

“And you’ll come right back?” the teenager’s parent asked.

“And I’ll come right back,” the teenager said.

The teenager’s parent gave the teenager the car keys.

The teenager grabbed the keys and rushed to the door.  Leaving the house, the teenager made a cell phone call.

“I got the car,” the teenager said, “Call the others.”

“The others?” the teenager’s parent asked.

“Nobody’s else’s parents would let them have a car,” the teenager said.  The teenager listened to the phone.  “Oh yeah.”  The teenager turned back into the house, “Can I have the credit card?”

“Wouldn’t that be me buying your soccer boots?” the parent asked the teenager.

The teenager replied, “It’s okay.  I have a car.”

The Parable of the Bottle of Whole Milk

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, does the quality of a relationship determine its validity?”

Josh spoke thus:

A chef and health director were standing in a kitchen’s walk-in cooler, looking at the milk.

“This is not milk,” the chef said to the health director, “You tell me it’s milk, but it is not milk.”

“It’s two-percent milk,” the health director said, “It’s healthier for our clients.”

“They are not clients,” the chef said, “They are people.”

“They are people who need diets low in fat,” the health director said.

“So they don’t die?” the chef asked.

“So they don’t die,” the health director said.

“But how will they know they haven’t died?” the chef asked.

“They’ll know they haven’t died because they’ll still be alive,” the health director said.

“Define alive,” the chef said.

“Alive is not dead,” the health director said.

“So by your logic,” the chef said, “They’ll know they aren’t dead because they won’t be dead.”

“It’s a simple argument,” the health director said.

“Let me define alive for you,” the chef said, “Alive means able to drink real milk.  Alive means able to mix real sugar with real cream.  Alive means able to cook with real butter, able to enjoy real wine.”

“That’s a narrow definition of what it is to be alive,” the health director said.

“I’ll grant you it’s more narrow than ‘not dead.’” the chef said.

“I want to keep my clients ‘not dead,’” the health director said.

“I want to keep my people alive,” the chef said.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a glass of whole milk,” the health director said.

“You’re not living,” the chef said.

“I’m not dead,” the health director said.

“That’s open to debate,” the chef said.

“What would you say if your cooking killed someone?” the health director asked.

“What would you say if my cooking prevented their being alive?” the chef asked.

The chef reached to the top shelf of the walk-in cooler and pulled down a bottle of whole milk.  He opened it and offered it to the health director.  The health director drank.  The chef took the bottle from the health director’s hand.  The health director reached for the bottle.

“Welcome to the world of the living,” the chef said.  The chef smiled and handed the bottle back to the health director.

The health director tossed the bottle in the trash and replied, “Welcome to the land of the not dead.”

The Parable of the Ball and the Fence

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, when should a judge bow to the opinion of the majority, and when should a judge protect a long-held but out-of-vogue, and even unpopular, personal view?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two teams of young players needed an arbiter.

“If the ball goes over the fence, it’s a score,” the captain of one team said.

“If the ball goes over the fence, it has to go over without touching the fence to be a score,” the captain of the other team said.

The game was deadlocked at three scores apiece before the ball went over the fence.

“That’s not the rule,” the captain of the first team said, “The rule is just that the ball has to go over the fence.”

“But it hit the fence,” the captain of the second team said, “Hitting the fence isn’t over the fence.”

“You’re making that up,” the captain of the first team said, “That was never the rule before.  The rule has always been that if it goes over the fence, it’s a score.”

Both teams had decided that the game was nearly over, and that since the score was tied, the next score by either team would end the game.  The final team to score would win the game.  So it was very important to determine whether or not the first team had just scored when the ball went over the fence.

“What are we going to call it if the ball went over the fence but it’s not a score?” the captain of the first team asked.

“We could call it a tie,” the captain of the second team said.

“We could keep playing,” the captain of the first team said.

“We can’t keep playing,” the second team said, “The ball went over the fence.”

“See?” the captain of the first team said, “You admit that it went over the fence.”

“I admit it went over the fence,” the captain of the second team said, “I don’t admit that it’s a score.”

But the ball did go over the fence, so the two teams did need the arbiter.

The question, though, that most needed to be asked of the arbiter was bigger than the question of whether the first team had just scored or had just not scored.  The arbiter’s decision would not just determine this match’s outcome.  The arbiter’s decision would determine the future of the game itself.

The captain of the first team, which team had sent the ball over the fence, had the responsibility of asking this most determinative question.

The captain asked the arbiter, “Mister, can we have our ball back?”

The Parable of the Real Estate Agent

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what do the cities of Michigan gain when their elected officials are replaced by financial managers who can’t manage the cities any better than the elected officials could?”

Josh spoke thus:

A real estate agent was talking to a homeowner.

“I’ve found you a house,” the real estate agent said to the homeowner.

“I don’t need a house,” the homeowner said to the real estate agent, “I have a house.”

“This is a bad house for you,” the real estate agent said to the homeowner.

“I like this house,” the homeowner said.

“This house doesn’t suit you,” the real estate agent said.

“I think this house suits me just fine,” the homeowner said, “I’m happy in this house.”

“You can’t afford this house,” the real estate agent said.

“I already bought this house,” the homeowner said.

“But your mortgage payments are too high,” the real estate agent said, “You bought the house before the real estate crash, and you’re paying more than the house is worth.”

The homeowner said, “I know what I paid for the house, and I know what it’s worth, and I know what my payments are.  I choose to stay.”

“But you can’t stay,” the real estate agent said.

“Why can’t I stay?” the homeowner asked, “This is my house.”

“It isn’t your house,” the real estate agent said.

“Of course it’s my house,” the homeowner said, “I own it.”

“You don’t own it,” the real estate agent said, “I sold it.”

“How could you sell it?” the homeowner asked, “It isn’t yours.”

“I sold it on behalf of the bank,” the real estate agent said, “The bank doesn’t think the house is worth what you’re paying for it.”

“That’s not their choice,” the homeowner said.

“It is their choice,” the real estate agent said, “If they call in your mortgage, you can’t pay.”

“Why would they call in my mortgage?” the homeowner asked, “I’ve never missed a payment.”

“On the grounds that I promised to find you a new house that’s worth what you pay for it,” the real estate agent said, “I found such a house, I’m selling it to you, and I’m selling this house to someone else.”

“To who?” the homeowner asked.

The real estate agent replied, “To me.  Now come, let me show you your new home.”

The Parable of the Motley Parade

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, why are there no parades on Palm Sunday?”

Josh spoke thus:

A group had decided that their hero should have had a parade, but there had been no consensus on colors.

It was agreed that there should have been music.  The music would have been martial.  The music would have been triumphant.  There could have been high-school bands, there might have been bands from local fraternal organizations, there even might have been children’s bands.  The best thing would have been a gathering of top-forty pop artists, who would have had to lip-synch, of course, with the weather being so cold, and with preparation time being so short.  The music would have flowed from loudspeakers behind the pop stars, and the pop stars would have emoted beautifully.

It was agreed as well that there should have been first responders.  The young boys along the route could have been excited by the noisiness of the fire engines.  The young girls could have been impressed by the steadiness of the women in uniform.  Everyone would have been surprised at the number of police not on duty at any one time to the point where people would have had to have been surprised that so many police could be gathered in one place and marching, without a total collapse of civil order.  

And first responders would have been avatars for the hero.  “You may not be a hero deserving of a parade,” the first responders would have indicated to the populace, “But you are not so far removed from heroes that they do not walk among you as firemen, ambulance drivers, policemen and traffic wardens.”

No doubt, also, the hero would have inspired some among the audience to volunteer to be responders themselves.  There was no harm in a little recruitment.

Also recruiting would have been the local national guard, among whom were other heroes of the recent conflict, additional heroes among neighbors.  The hero would have drawn attention to the local citizen soldiers.

Veterans of past conflicts would have paraded as well.  Their dated uniforms altered to fit, or left tight, or allowed to hang loose, they could have sat in open-topped cars and waived.  Some might have marched proudly, their legs once again strong with pride of service.

A route would had been chosen, and a stand erected for giving speeches.  There was nothing better for speeches than a stand erected expressly for a hero.  And there was no better way to hear a speech than among admirers of heroes, looking up, as if into the heavens themselves, to hear the praises of heroism.

But the color palate could not be decided. 

The hero’s children stood in a mottled bunch, then, at the bus station.  They bent against the railing as the hero approached.  The hero’s spouse jumped the railing despite the security staff’s admonitions.  

“They said you should have a parade,” the hero’s spouse said to the hero.

The hero watched as the motley threesome marched and hummed a welcome to their returning parent.

A handful of passers-by smiled as they rushed to catch their busses or to meet other arrivals.

The hero acknowledged, “No hero ever had a finer parade.”

The Parable of the General and the Chief of Intelligence

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, when a political group that relies on a media outlet deserts that media outlet, where do they get their news?”

Josh spoke thus:

A commanding general was sitting in his tent with his chief of intelligence.

“There is no news from the battlefield,” the commanding general said, “I need news from the battlefield.”

“There is no news from the battlefield,” the chief of intelligence told the general.

“How can there be no news from the battlefield?” the commanding general asked, “Haven’t you sent out any runners?”

“I have sent out a number of runners,” the chief of intelligence said.

“And not one has returned?” the commanding general asked.

“Three have returned,” the chief of intelligence said.

“Where are they?” the commanding general asked.

“They’re dead,” the chief of intelligence said, “You had them killed.”

“I?  When did I have them killed?” the commanding general asked.

“When they told you that our left flank was collapsing,” the chief of intelligence said.

“I remember those three,” the commanding general said, “They were all liars.”

“Liars or no, they’re dead,” the chief of intelligence said.

“But what of the other runners?” the general asked, “I don’t recall having any other runners killed.  Were they killed on the battlefield?”

“They have all run away,” the chief of intelligence said.

“Why did they run away?” the commanding general asked.

“So that you wouldn’t have them killed when they brought you bad news from the battlefield,” the chief of intelligence said.

“If they don’t lie, they have nothing to fear,” the commanding general said.

“If they tell you that our right flank is also collapsing, they will have something to fear,” the chief of intelligence said.

“Is our right flank collapsing?” the commanding general asked.

“Everything is collapsing,” the chief of intelligence said.

“You go, then,” the commanding general said, “Go and bring me news from the battlefield.

The chief of intelligence left the tent.  A short moment later, the chief of intelligence returned.

“What news?” the commanding general asked.

“If I tell you the news, you’ll have me killed,” the chief of intelligence said, “I just came back to tell you I’m leaving.”

“That’s desertion,” the commanding general said, “I’ll have you killed for desertion.”

“Okay, then here’s the news,” the chief of intelligence said, “We’ve lost the battle, and we’re surrounded.

“You’re lying,” the commanding general said, “I’ll have you executed.”

A voice from outside the tent said, “I think it is you who will be executed.”

“Who are you to tell me I’ll be executed?” the commanding officer asked.

The enemy commanding general entered the tent.  He spoke to the chief of intelligence.

“Thank you for all the information from your runners,” the enemy commanding general said to the chief of intelligence, “Your life will be spared.”

The Parable of the Farmer and the Tractor Salesman

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, when a city closes schools because it has a fiscal shortage, isn’t the city guaranteeing that there will be a shortage of educated labor, resulting in a shortage of skilled workers to fill skilled positions, and therefore a shortage of business in the city, and inevitably a shortage in tax revenue in the future, resulting in a shortage of money for schools?  Isn’t this short-term fiscal savings the beginning of a long-term spiral of fiscal suicide?”

Josh spoke thus:

A farmer was looking at a tractor.

The farmer said, “I need a tractor.” 

The salesman said, “This is a fine tractor.” 

The farmer said, “If I don’t buy a tractor, I can’t plow my field.”

The salesman said, “If you’re going to plow a field, this is a fine tractor for plowing a field.”

The farmer said, “If I don’t plow my field, I won’t be able to plant any seed.”

The salesman said, “If you’re going to plow a field so that you can plant seed, this is a fine tractor for plowing a field before you plant your seed.”

The farmer said, “If I don’t plant any seed, I can’t grow a crop.”

The salesman said, “If you want to plow a field so that you can plant seed, so that you can grow a crop, this is a fine tractor for plowing a field before you plant your seed so you can grow a crop.”

The farmer said, “If I don’t grow a crop, I won’t have anything to harvest come harvest time.”

The salesman said, “If you want to plow a field so that you can plant seed, so that you can grow a crop, so that you’ll have something to harvest at harvest time, this is a fine tractor for plowing a field before you plant your seed so you can grow a crop, so you’ll have something to harvest at harvest time.”

The farmer said, “If I don’t harvest a crop, I won’t have anything to sell at market.”

The salesman said, “If you want to plow a field so that you can plant seed, so that you can grow a crop, so that you have something to harvest at harvest time, so that you can sell something at market, this is a fine tractor for plowing a field so that you can plant seed, so that you can grow a crop, so that you'll have something to harvest at harvest time, so that you can sell something at market.”

The farmer said, “If I don’t sell anything at market, I won’t have any money to buy a tractor.”

The salesman said, “If you want ... wait a minute: you don’t have a tractor, so you haven’t plowed your field, so you haven't planted any seed, so you haven’t had a crop to harvest at harvest time, so you haven’t had anything to sell at market, which means you don’t have any money.  If you don’t have any money, how are you going to buy a tractor?”

The farmer replied, “This is the life of a farmer.”

The Parable of the Builder of Highways and the Surveyor

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what do you think Martin Luther King would have said had he seen that on the fiftieth anniversary of the start of the march from Selma to Montgomery, an African American president of the United States received the Medal of Distinction from the president of Israel?”

Josh spoke thus:

A builder of highways and a company surveyor were looking at a river that ran through the middle of a steep mountain valley.

“It makes me think of the song,” the company surveyor said, “Ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough, ain’t no river wide enough.”

“Do you know,” the builder of highways said, “That there’s a point in Minnesota, where you can walk across the Mississippi?  I got that from a song.”

“This isn’t the Mississippi, and we’re not in Minnesota,” the company surveyor said.

“All rivers start somewhere,” the builder of highways said.

“And all rivers have to be crossed somewhere else,” the company surveyor said.

“Moses wasn’t allowed to cross the River Jordan,” the builder of highways said.

“Moses crossed the Red Sea, Moses wandered the Sinai, Moses climbed to the mountaintop, Moses made the Nile run red,” the company surveyor said, “Moses did plenty.”

“Are you saying it’s the journey that matters?” the builder of highways asked.

“I’m saying the destination isn’t always where you think it is,” the company surveyor said.

“A road has to lead somewhere,” the builder of highways said.

“But not everyone follows it to the end,” the company surveyor said.

“And not everyone stops when the road stops,” the builder of highways said.

“That’s why we’ll always have jobs,” the company surveyor said.

“I’d like to cross this river,” the builder of highways said.

“There are a lot of people who would like to see you do it,” the company surveyor said.

“There are a lot of people who would stop me if they could,” the builder of highways said.

“I just show you where you are,” the company surveyor said, “I don’t tell you where to go.”

“I will cross to the other side of this river,” the builder of highways said.

The company surveyor pointed and said, “It’s over there.”

The Parable of the Returning Revolutionary

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, with spring come rebirth and revolution, where do you see the new movements rising this year?”

Josh spoke thus:

A revolutionary was sitting by the fireplace of an inn, enjoying a hot drink.  It was the equinox.  A snowstorm was raging outside.

“This is my new beginning,” the revolutionary told the landlord, “This is the start of my journey.”

“It doesn’t look to me like you’re going anywhere,” the landlord said.

The revolutionary and the landlord both looked out the frosted window at snow falling so quickly that when the landlord’s helper swept the sidewalk in front of the inn, by the time the helper had swept from one side of the inn’s property to the other side, the helper had to walk through a half inch of newly accumulated snow to where the helper had begun sweeping and begin sweeping again.

“I’m not going, I’m returning,” the revolutionary said.

“Returning from where?” the landlord asked.

“From the revolution, of course!” the revolutionary said.

“There’s been a revolution?” the landlord asked.

“Of course there’s been a revolution!” the revolutionary said, “It’s been going on for ten years!”

“Oh that revolution,” the landlord said, “That ended years ago.”

“You’re mistaken!” the revolutionary said, “I just came back from revolution headquarters.  I’m charged with bringing the revolution home to the people, home to my people!”

“You’ve been at revolution headquarters for ten years?” the landlord asked, “What have you been doing there for ten years?”

“I’ve been preparing to take the revolution home to the people, home to my people!” the revolutionary said.

“Your people have moved on,” the landlord said, “We revolted, and we moved on.”

“But everything here is just as I remembered it as a child,” the revolutionary said, “Everything’s just as it was before the revolution.  The shops are the same, the people are the same, the landlord at the inn is the same!  The revolution hasn’t come here yet!”

“The revolution’s come and gone,” the landlord said, “That’s what revolutions do.  We had a revolution, we had a spring, we had a sit-in or two, we even had an occupy.  Then we cleaned up and got on with life.”

“But the revolutionary committee should have been leading this!” the revolutionary said, “The revolutionary committee knew nothing of this!”

“Yeah, funny about that,” the landlord said, “Do you want another drink?”

The revolutionary looked out the window at the snow and replied, “I might as well, I’ve got nowhere to go.”

The Parable of the Two Alphas

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, on the tenth anniversary of the start of the Iraq War, what do you think the American leaders were trying to achieve?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two young men in a bar were in need of attention.

“What we need,” the first young man said to the second young man, “Is to be alpha.”

“Like a fraternity?” the second young man asked.

“Not like a fraternity,” the first young man said, “Like a wolf.  We need to be alpha males.”

“Like monkeys?  Like troop leaders?” asked the second young man.

“Troop leaders are for cub scouts,” the first young man said, “We’re not monkeys.  We’re wolves.  We’re two alpha wolves.  Follow my lead.”

The first young man turned to a very tall young man standing next to him at the bar.  He gave the very tall young man a shove.

“Excuse me,” the very tall young man said politely.  The very tall young man moved to give the first young man space at the bar.

“You can’t say that to me!” the first young man shouted at the very tall young man.

“Hey man, I said I’m sorry,” the very tall young man said.

The first young man shoved the very tall young man again and shouted, “You say that about my girl again!  Just say that about my girl again!”

“What girl?” the very tall young man asked.

The first young man shoved the very tall young man a third time.

“Hey, stop shoving!” the very tall young man said.

“Yeah, you better back off!” the first young man shouted, “You better just back off!”

“What’s your problem?” the very tall young man asked.  The very tall young man was becoming angry.  The first young man shoved the very tall young man as hard as he could.  The very tall young man fell back into a group of young women standing behind him.

“Yeah, hide with your girls!” the first young man said, and he moved as though lunging at the very tall young man.  First, though, he whispered to the second young man, “Hold me back.”

The second young man held the first young man, who feigned a lunge at the very tall young man.  Embarrassed and fully angry now, the very tall young man moved to grab the first young man.  Before the very tall young man could reach the first young man, a group of bar bouncers arrived to break up the fight.

“I got him!  I got him!” the second young man yelled to the bouncers.

“Get him out of here!” the bouncers yelled at the second young man.  The first young man allowed the second young man to drag him out of the bar, but all the while the first young man shouted at and feigned attacks at the very tall young man.

When the first young man and second young man were outside, the second young man said to the first young man, “Are you crazy?  There was no way you were going to win that fight!”

“What fight?” the first young man said, “The bouncers were never going to let that be a fight.  Do you ever see wolves actually fight?  They don’t have to fight.  They just have to be alpha.  Look.”

As the first young man and the second young man walked away from the bar, they could see the group of young women into whom the very tall young man had been shoved looking out of the bar.  They were watching the first young man and the second young man walk away.

The first young man smiled and said, “Mission accomplished.”

The Parable of the Homeowner Who Had Been Robbed

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what does the sympathy of some media outlets for two rapists say about the regression of our society’s views towards women?”

Josh spoke thus:

A homeowner had been robbed and was talking to the police.
“When did this happen?” the policeman asked the homeowner.
“About an hour ago,” the homeowner said, “Just before I called you.”
“Are you complaining that we took too long getting here?” the policeman asked.  The policeman stared at the homeowner menacingly.
“No,” the homeowner said quickly.  The homeowner stared at the floor.  “You asked when it happened.”
“So you were here?” the policeman asked.
“Of course I was here,” the homeowner said, “I called from here.”
“That tone isn’t helping your case,” the policeman said.
“My case?” the homeowner asked, “Am I defending myself?”
“So, just to be clear, you’re telling me that you were here, in the house,” the policeman said.
“I was here, yes,” the homeowner said.
“Well, that doesn’t look good,” the policeman said, “That doesn’t look good at all.”
“What doesn’t look good about it?” the homeowner said, “I was here, and the robber came in, and the robber robbed me.”
“So you saw the robber, did you?” the policeman asked, “Why didn’t you tell me that at first?  That’s another hole in your story.”
“Another hole?” the homeowner said, “What holes?  I’m just telling you what happened,” the homeowner said.
“And you decided now, after all this time, to tell me you knew the robber,” the policeman said, “How convenient for you to remember now that you knew the robber.”
“I didn’t know the robber,” the homeowner said.
“You know the robber, you don’t know the robber,” the policeman said, “One story at a time.”
“I never said I knew the robber,” the homeowner said.
“It’s easy to point the finger at someone you know,” the policeman said.  The policeman pointed at the windows.  “Were these curtains open?”
“Yes, they were,” the homeowner said, “It’s hot out.  I wanted the breeze.”
The policeman laughed to himself.  “Wanted the breeze!”
“What’s wrong with a breeze?” the homeowner asked.
“You might as well hang up a sign saying ‘Rob me’!” the policeman said, “You open windows like that, you’re inviting a robber in.”
“You make it sound like I wanted a robber to come in,” the homeowner said.
“Didn’t you?” the policeman said, “A lot of homeowners do.”
“Are you serious?” the homeowner asked.
“They want the robbers to see,” the policeman said, “The homeowners want the robbers to see what the homeowners have, and what the robbers can’t have.  Up close.  Close enough to touch close.  Secretly, they want the robbers to touch.  They want the robbers to rob.  So they leave their windows open.”
“Well I’m not one of those homeowners!” the homeowner said.
The policeman told the homeowner, “You’ll have to prove it in court.”