A Perpetual Season: Prologue

In light of all that has occurred, I find a great deal of interest in the old Manichees. Sure, Augustine railed against them, but they were on to something, they just got it backward. You see, there are people like me who can only take their religion in a cold, impersonal way. Even the Pharisees were passionate, despite their rigor. But it seems like my type is exiled. Paul warned us in Corinthians, but it's one thing to be warned, and quite another to comply. Many are called, few are chosen. That sort of thing. The Manichees' chosen ones could not prepare their own food. They were too good for it. It was a sin. So the lesser adherants got stuck with the job of feeding the bastards. But I think it's kind of the same, but, as I say, backwards. For the Church needs people like me - the cold, Manicheean bastards who just don't get it. Only we're the ones who have to serve, and we're the ones who aren't among the chosen. Is there second-hand salvation?

An unusual place to jump in, perhaps, but frankly I don't really know where to start. A year ago I wasn't even a neo-Manichee, so I suppose I've made some sort of progress. But then, in a sense, I'm an imperfect tool, so I can't even claim the progress as my own. I suppose it's just enough grace to get me to where I have to do what I have to do, but not enough grace to save me.

I suppose all I am doing right now is delaying that... duty? For even at this moment I am of two minds about the proper course of action. And another strange thing is that those two courses of action are completely opposite of what I would have thought them to be, in their implications. If I'm right about all of this. And I doubt that I am. But I am.

So I can sit here waffling, smoking cigarettes and chewing my fingernails. Or I can just do what I have to do. Or I can keep typing and hope that by trying to relate the whole thing, I can make sense of it.