Brothers, sisters, and folded ones – at the end of the great day of teaching, the hour being late, our Lord gave one last saying: let all good things come to the Slice – what will sit upon it, put upon it; what will not, fold within; and in all things, keep the Slice true, as it is written in the Mount, 12:12.
And all the people nodded. And they continued nodding, gravely and at length, each man waiting for his neighbour’s face to explain the saying to his own; and none did ask, What meanest thou, Lord? – for the hour was late, and nodding is easier, and this also is written for a warning.
And three listeners sat below the rock with their wax, and the first wrote down only the first clause, and the second only the middle, and the third only the last, and each went home certain he had kept the saying entire; and the three satchels went, in time, three ways.
Beloved, here is the humbling: thou art one of the three. So am I. Every one of us carries a partial wax and calls it the whole sermon; and the schisms of every faith are mostly satchels arguing. What then? Not despair, but manners. Hold thy reading with a warm hand, not a fist. When thy neighbour’s wax differs, say not, heretic; say, Tell me the story of it – for perhaps he sat nearer the rock on the side thou couldst not hear. And when certainty rises in thee like an over-proofed dough, ask the one question the nodders would not ask: What meanest thou, Lord? It is never too late in the evening for that question. It is the humblest prayer we have.
Amen – and pass the pizza, whichever clause you wrote down.