The bumpersticker reads, "Jesus is the answer." I pass the car in the parking lot, en route to my own car, at day's end. The car is a four-door sedan, a pinch smaller than a land whale. I'd guess it dates from the late 80s or early 90s. The car isn't in bad shape, but the paint no longer has a new sheen. There's a fair accumulation of stuff inside the car, a bit more than my car – which often serves as a traveling briefcase.
I want to ask the driver, if Jesus is the answer, what's the question? It's like a perverse Jeopardy question.
I can imagine that person would respond that Jesus is the answer for all life's problems.
Which immediately reminds me of a portion of Kurt Vonnegut's novel, Breakfast of Champions. The narrator is talking about his mother, who committed suicide by drinking bleach. He notes that this precedent makes suicide seem like an elegant response to many hard questions; for example:
What is your great-grandmother's maiden name?
I think I'll kill myself
A train leaves the station, traveling north at a rate of 60 mph; a car is traveling west at 35 mph. When will the crash occur?
I think I'll kill myself
Why is a mouse when it spins?
I think I'll kill myself
Post #1462
No comments:
Post a Comment