Mum's Surgeon Was Jesus
I've just spent a few days with my elderly, former missionary mother who's been having some cancer removed. The family all prayed in relay teams of supplication prodding the lord from his lazy-boy armchair where he was watching the ANZAC rugby league clash while sucking on KB in soft, glimmering cans from his private stash..
Needless to say, the success of the op, the line of meticulous stitches, owed all to the intervention of the lord; who, immaterially; personally ensured that all went well. After the op, Facebook resounded to the congratulations of the stalwarts of the prayful PR campaign conducted to draw jesus' attention to their particular old lady. Jesus had done it all, they said. It was all down to him...
"Jesus is the best" gushed one, particularly sick-generating post as the faceless, exhausted public hospital doctor was relegated to the position of instrument of the lord. I'd have been impressed if a hairdresser had done the thing, better yet, a greenkeeper under a gum tree.
It goes without saying that the only atheist in the family was the one who arrived a day early, spent the night then took the mother down to hospital at 6am and held her hand in the waiting room and stayed with her for three days while the christians went about their busy lives content with the copout of praying.
Oh, lord. Mysterious are thy fucking ways...
"Experiments are the only means of knowledge at our disposal. The rest is poetry, imagination." Max Planck