Anthrocide

I Don’t Understand

Here is what D. L. Hamilton has to say about…

…Accompanying your wife clothes-shopping:

Having tried every technique possible, I have been forced to concede that there is no way to wait for your wife in a women’s clothing department without looking like a doofus. If you just stand there and smile pleasantly at the female patrons, they’re liable to think you’re trying to put the make on them and call the cops. If you are stoic and aloof, they necessarily interpret that as being sinister. Then, of course, if you pretend to be shopping, you just know they think you’re some kind of female-clothing-fetish-cross-dressing weirdo.

…TV ads for new “wonder” drugs:

The ads usually go something like this. First a scene appears on your screen reminiscent of the opening shot from The Sound of Music, with a joyous couple frolicking in a wildflower-dotted meadow. As the uplifting music softens a bit, a soothing voice says something like: “Feel the rapture of a hangnail-free life with Xylium-C. One Xylium-C capsule per day can bring you the joy of living you’ve always wanted, apart from the curse of hangnails. Tell your doctor, ‘I want Xylium-C to set me free!'”

At this point the voice becomes quieter and more businesslike—plus much faster: “In less than 40% of people taking Xylium-C certain side-effects occurred including gut-wrenching, week-long bouts of continuous vomiting and diarrhea, severe unstoppable bleeding from all major bodily orifices, hemorrhaging of the gall bladder, permanent speech loss, and hundreds of excruciating, throbbing, pus-filled boils in the armpits and nasal passages, leaving the patient homicidal and begging to be placed on Dr. Kervorkian’s waiting list.”

Then, as if we hadn’t been paying attention, the voice brightens and continues right on:

“So, let Xylium-C set you free. Ask your doctor about Xylium-C today!”

…Superstitions:

I’ve never had anything good come of throwing money in a wishing well. In fact, it blows me away that any public place with any body of water, no matter how small, gets inundated with coins in no time. Even if one believed in wishing wells, what would cause one to conclude that throwing a quarter in one of the puddles near the Big Thunder Mountain Railway ride at Disneyland is going to bestow some kind of blessing? I’ve always figured if you can come out of that place and still have a quarter you’re pretty lucky.

…Raising children:

During these formative years, many parents seek diligently to get their children into books and are enraptured if their three-year-old can read the word “cat” from Dr. Seuss’s Cat in the Hat. Yet, when demonstrating speech to this formative little mind they make no such academic effort. Instead they speak in fractured sentences, omitting most prepositions and staunchly refusing to use pronouns. It’s never, “I’ll take you to go play, honey. Come with me.” Instead it’s, “Gam-ma take you go play. Come with Gam-ma.” Is it any mystery that the poor kid gets D’s in English when he gets to school?

…Rules for eating:

Never eat anything raw that doesn’t come from a plant. This eliminates raw fish, raw oysters and steak tartare. The truth is, such “delicacies” could not be any less appetizing. I made that point to my wife recently as we were walking past a row of shops and restaurants. The aromas emanating from the pizzeria, the barbecue place, and the steak house were marvelous. Then we walked past the sushi bar. Absolutely no enticing food fragrances at all. As for raw oysters, I think I’d be ill if I stepped on one barefoot, much less put one in my mouth! Steak tartare (a.k.a., raw hamburger) sounds like an open invitation to some dread disease like E. Coli. Besides, burgers are meant to be cooked on a grill and served with a thick slab of cheese melting on them. I suppose if I were stranded on a desert island with no way to cook and managed to catch a fish, an oyster, or a steak tartare, I’d probably get hungry enough to try one of these. But since modern restaurants have stoves, I figure they should use them.

Never eat vegetables that taste like they were boiled for two weeks along with the dirty sweat socks of the entire Green Bay Packers football team. In other words, avoid Brussels sprouts at all costs.

Never eat the glands, organs, or recognizable body parts of farm animals unless they are obscured by being finely ground, chopped, and formed such that you can’t tell what they originally were. For example, eating a pork chop is okay—it doesn’t look like part of a pig. But pig’s feet are out. Stay as far away as possible from weird stuff like Rocky Mountain Oysters, tripe, chitterlings, tongue, pig’s snouts, and brains. However, hot dogs and lunchmeat are perfectly okay, even though they consist of the same objectionable kinds of things I’ve been talking about. Somehow having it ground-up into a frankfurter makes eating pig adenoids and steer sphincters acceptable.

…Plants:

Some of our relatives take great delight in giving plant-morons such as I guided tours replete with explanations only a botanist could appreciate. It is all just gibberish to me:

“Now, over here under this Weeping Titanium are my Night-Blooming Diphtheria, which are doing very well. These pretty purple flowers over here next to them are Matriculating Fiduciaries and then, of course, we have my lovely Wuthering Hypothalamus. I’m a little concerned about my Pythagorean Myopia, though. Hope it’s getting enough sunlight.”

Whenever they go on like that, I just wander around nodding and exhibiting the same depth of comprehension as that yellow smiley-face from the Wal-Mart commercials.

The Complete I Don’t Understand Collection is available as a free download.

They That Wait

What happened to the disciples while Jesus was in the tomb? What were their thoughts? What did they say and do?

After investing over three years of their lives in Him, their leader and master was gone. They had fled at His arrest and stayed hidden during his trial and crucifixion. They even left it to others to prepare His body and bury Him. But that was yesterday. Today, the Sabbath, the Eleven sit and wait despondently. Waiting—but for what? For some direction in their lives? For some explanation? Or did they wait in fear for the heat to die down?

What they were not waiting for was the resurrection. As Luke 9:44-45 says, the possibility of Jesus raising from the dead was hidden from them so they could not grasp it. So how did they spend those difficult hours? How did the fearless women who went to the tomb view the cowering disciples? How did the disciples interact with one another amid the tension and despair?

They That Wait is a fascinating study of that season of hopelessness that, unknown to them, would end in glorious triumph. In this drama, the individual personality of each disciple is revealed and kept consistent with scripture: The Roman-hating Simon, the tax-collecting collaborator Matthew, the skeptical Thomas, the wise-cracking Nathanael, the spiritual John. Whether performed or just read, They That Wait is engrossing and thought-provoking.

D.L. Hamilton’s play entitled They That Wait is available as a free download.

Excerpt from They That Wait

Peter:
(Zombie-like) Someone—has taken Him down, then?

Matthew:
Humph. Yes, Peter. And now that is an amazing story. Can anyone venture a guess as to who did so? None other than two members of the Sanhedrin. Yes, you heard me right. Those brave, outspoken supporters of Jesus: Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus. Nicodemus! The midnight visitor who skulked through the shadows, trembling in fear to speak with Him. I am told the two of them marched right up to Pilate and requested the body. Such bold lions—now that He is dead. Such meek little lambs while he was alive. Could not they have said one word in His defense?

James B.:
Enough! Who are we to condemn anyone? We who scurried like insects at His arrest, have we license to condemn any other for cowardice? (To John) You alone, my brother, dared stand at the foot of His cross. And even so, who among us offered to die with him?

Thomas:
(Bitterly) I did—at least, in the safety of the countryside where no threat presented itself. “Let us also go,” I said, “that we may die with him.” Humph, such noble words; so hollow and empty now—now that He is dead.

Thaddaeus:
But Thomas, we thought He was the Son of God. How could we have protected Him? I—I assumed He would display His power and overcome His enemies.

James B.:
Display His power to whom, Thaddaeus? Our backsides as we scattered off into the night in cowardice and terror?

Thaddaeus:
We were not cowards, James. We—we were just—confused, is all. Everything happened so—so fast. There was no time to think—

Peter:
(Rising) No time?! There was plenty of time! He was on trial all night. We had all night to have stepped forward in that assembly of jackals and cry out, “He is my Lord! I am His follower! Whatever you would do to Him, do to me also!” (He sits and covers his face).

Simon:
It should never have come to that! We should have followed your lead, Peter, and drawn our swords against that bunch of traitorous collaborators that came out against Him. We should have fought our way through them and escaped or died in the attempt. We should have died honorably, like Hebrews! Like men. If we had all done like Peter—

Peter:
Do not call me that! Do not use that name for me!

Andrew:
But, my brother, that is the name the Lord gave you.

Peter:
Yes, and do you remember why? It was when I, so bold and outspoken proclaimed Him the Messiah, the Son of God. He said to me, “You are Peter, a stone. And upon this boulder I will build my church.” He gave me that name because my words were the foundation of His kingdom of believers. But I have proven myself to be not rock, but the poorest and most brittle of clay. I stood trembling before a little maiden scarcely more than a child and denied that I ever knew Him. Not only once but again and again. Three times! At the last I even called down curses upon myself from God if I knew him. And so God has responded, for I am indeed accursed. I am not Peter! I am not a rock! I am nothing. (Andrew tries to console him).

James B.:
Pete—Simon—Peter. Who among us does not have cause for remorse? (Gestures at John) What of us? “Sons of thunder” He called us, with that twinkle of humor in His eye we all saw so often. Remember, John, when we wanted to call down fire from heaven upon the Samaritans? So bold were we then. But when He was nailed to that cross, the sons of thunder became the daughters of fear. (John reaches over and puts his hand on James’ arm. There is a pause as everyone is deep in thought)

Philip:
What other news, Matthew?

Matthew:
Pilate gave the chief priests a squad of guards.

Little James:
I knew it! They are looking for us.

Matthew:
No, the guard is not for us. They are guarding the tomb.

Thomas:
Tomb? You mean where they laid Jesus?

Matthew:
Yes.

Thomas:
I do not understand. Why would they guard a tomb?

Matthew:
The chief priests told Pilate that Jesus predicted he would rise from the dead. They thought we might steal the body and claim He arose. So he gave them a guard and placed a royal seal across the stone door of the tomb.

Nathanael:
(Laughing sarcastically) A guard? Against us? So tell me, Matthew Levi, what kind of guard would they dispatch against such an ominous force as us? A crippled old woman wielding her crutch as a weapon?