It had started a clear July Wellington Saturday but the southerly had strengthened with occasional showers. That meant RBB decided to put away the BBQ. The invite list was the usual suspects: me, RBB, plus TC and the two wives. The topic list is never set, but religion showed up faster than the assortment of cheeses.
RBB, host, mostly retired music teacher, and unapologetic devotee of the Greek pantheon. He reckons Poseidon owes Wellingtonians for all the ferry crossings ruined by southerlies.
TC, anti-catholic atheist, former wine salesman/manager, believes organized religion is humanity’s longest-running con. Doesn’t mince words.
Rob Catholic, goes to Mass in Lower Hutt, sometimes twice a day. Brings good altar wine and mandatory patience, even if he tries that of others.
Shelley RBB’s wife, keeps the peas hot and the arguments from boiling over.
Lynn TC’s wife, she’s heard TC’s spiel for 48 years and can disarm him with one eyebrow.
Lunch was roast lamb, mint sauce, and kumara mash. RBB had a little altar to Hestia by the kitchen window. No one touches it except RBB to dust, like his basses.
RBB carving: “Right. Before we eat, a crumb for Hestia. Keep the home safe, keep the arguments civil.” He flicks a bit of crust into the flame on a tea light. “Hospitality matters to the gods, lads. Zeus would smite a bad host.”
TC, already loading his plate: “Zeus would smite anyone he felt like, sparky. You’ve picked the soap opera pantheon. Meanwhile, the real damage down here gets done by the bloke in Rome.” He nods at me. “No offense, Rob.”
Rob, uncorking a pinot: “None taken. You’ve been offended on my behalf since 1974” He pours for Lynn first. “I’m here for lamb and company. If God wants to join us, He’s welcome. If He doesn’t, He’s still welcome.”
Lynn “TC eat before you lecture. You go sour on an empty stomach.”
TC mouth full, undeterred: “All I’m saying is, I don’t need a priest to tell me right from wrong. Or a god. Or twelve gods.” He waves his fork at RBB. “Yours at least had the decency to be flawed. Jealous, petty, sleeping around. More honest than ‘all-loving, all-powerful’ while there is so much pain in the world”.
RBB, grinning: “That’s why I like them. The Greeks never pretended the gods were perfect. They’re forces. You respect the sea, you don’t moralize at it. Poseidon doesn’t do pastoral care. He does tides and storms. You build a good boat and you pay attention. Same with Ares, same with Aphrodite. You think love is rational, TC? Did you read Rob's last blog?”
Shelley: “Careful, Richard.” But she’s hiding a smile.
Rob passing the peas: “I get the appeal, RBB. I do. The Greeks mapped human nature onto the sky and called it divinity. But I’m after something else at Mass. Not a story about why the world is messy. I’m there because I think there’s a way through the mess. Grace, forgiveness, praying for each other. Even for you, TC.”
TC “Forgiveness is great. Don’t need a cross for it. Don’t need a collection plate either.”
RBB, raising his glass: “To us, then. And to Dionysus, who made sure we had pinot.”
Rob, clinking: “To free will. You lot use yours to argue with me, and I’ll use mine to top up your glasses, try this Mission Chardonnay”
Lynn: “To lunch that’s still hot. Eat, you philosophers.” Lynn and Shellie look at each other and shake their heads.
I like it.
ReplyDeleteThe roast lamb, like the wit was a bit dry though and could have done with some gravy.
TC