Kris often asks random questions. They're quite entertaining and I've been meaning to write about them for the longest time (the majority of his questions are in the growing stack of yellow index cards - somewhere).
Well, tonight he pulled out a doozy. I was flipping through logos on the website of a company I've contracted to do my personal branding. It's all part of Project Decloak, which has taken a back burner to grouphug conversions, the Master Gardeners website, two client websites, my UCPC talk, volunteering with the OSCMS summit, and quite possibly another Post-Nuke to Drupal conversion that I'm debating taking up pending the other projects' completions.
One of the example logos was for some company with a name on the variation of "Soldiers for Christ." I wasn't looking at the company names, I was just looking at the logos, trying to find ones I liked so that the logo making company had some ideas (nevermind the fact that I send them seven logos of styles I like, as well as a description of what I want (simple, geometric, recognizable as a favicon.ico)), and so didn't really notice the company names.
Kris, however, did see the company names and expressed surprise, "Why would Jesus need soldiers?"
Without really thinking about it, I responded. "Um, to keep up the killings in his name?"
"Why not just call the company something like 'Overly Dogmatic Zealots for Christ?' I mean, if you're going to kill in someone's name, you better really believe in that person."
"Uh, I don't know," I answered, distracted, looking at more logos.
"So, what would you do if Jesus Christ appeared in our living room?"
Ah, one of those questions. He suddenly had my full attention. "Probably ask him about how he felt about the hundreds of thousands of people killed in his name."
"..." Kris waited.
"Or maybe tell him, that first time you died for our sins, that was a piece of cake. You're in for a world of hurting this time around."
Kris didn't believe me. "Come on, what would you really say. I mean, if a man materialized in our living room and started talking to you, well, maybe not a man, some spirit, but it started talking to you, what would you do?"
"Assume it was the devil."
Apparently this was the perfect answer to induce side-spliting laughter. He couldn't do much more than laugh, as I continued, "What? Come on, think about it. Something materialized right in front of your eyes, why would you believe it's anything other than a migraine, insanity or a daemon?"
"You wouldn't believe it was God or Jesus?"
"The thought that Jesus would materialize in my living room is as absurd as the concept of his dying for our sins and being the son of God and ascension into heaven and all the other stuff that goes with him. No, I'd assume it was something far more sinister."
"Really? So, I'd be passed out, and you'd like, are you the devil?"
"Yep. Pretty much."
I failed miserably this past year, with Kris receiving about fifteen gifts. One or two of them being Homer gifts, I'll admit.