One always wants to reduce one's time in purgatory -- and the best way to do this is to earn sanctifying grace. (This is a real thing for Catholics, who don't notice the whole thing is kinda like a board game with prizes.)
Last week I did something to earn a ton of sanctifying grace. I hand-washed four cotton sweaters. Oh sure, you're saying. How hard is it to dunk some sweaters in soapy water? True, that part is easy. But the sanctifying grace stems from my next step.
Reaching back into The Things Mom Taught Me, I remembered that you're supposed to roll the wet sweaters tightly into a towel "log". So that's what I did. I laid the towels down on my rug, smoothed out the wrinkles, and put one unwrinkled sweater down on each towel. Then I rolled them into logs, pushing really hard with my fingers (that's where the sanctifying grace really comes in!) until they were very tight tubes. Finally, exhausted, I laid them in a row on the rug and left them there till morning.
As I walked away from the sweater logs, I could feel the rush of grace coursing into my body. Through my ministrations, I probably lopped off maybe 6 or 7 years from my sentence in purgatory (and they have super-burning fire there, so this is a big deal). The next morning, feeling refreshed by all the grace, I unrolled the towels to see if they were dry. They weren't.
But here comes the theological problem: I never vacuum my rugs. Never. So what I really accomplished when I rolled the sweaters up, was to jam lint, dust and hairs into the fabric of all four sweaters. So at this point, they were clean -- but filthy. Still, I trusted in the lord and moved on. (Sometimes that's all you can do.) Besides the filth issue, the sweaters were still wet. So I hung the dusty things in a window and hoped that the sun would dry them out. Lo and behold, a day later they were dry.
Now all I have to do is take them outside, hang them on a line and beat them with a tennis racket for an hour or so, to get the filth off. Success!
But in the end, I had to face a hairy religious question. Would I continue to earn sanctifying grace with the tennis-racket move, giving me absolutely massive benefits? Or -- and here's the rub -- had I lost all hope of gathering any sanctifying grace by being such a filthy git?
No wonder they have theologians to unsnarl these deep questions of faith. Maybe the Templeton Foundation or Alvin Plantinga could help me out. Or maybe one of my readers is a super-Catholic who already knows the answer. If so, do tell in the comments. Oh, do! My immortal soul is at stake.
Last week I did something to earn a ton of sanctifying grace. I hand-washed four cotton sweaters. Oh sure, you're saying. How hard is it to dunk some sweaters in soapy water? True, that part is easy. But the sanctifying grace stems from my next step.
Reaching back into The Things Mom Taught Me, I remembered that you're supposed to roll the wet sweaters tightly into a towel "log". So that's what I did. I laid the towels down on my rug, smoothed out the wrinkles, and put one unwrinkled sweater down on each towel. Then I rolled them into logs, pushing really hard with my fingers (that's where the sanctifying grace really comes in!) until they were very tight tubes. Finally, exhausted, I laid them in a row on the rug and left them there till morning.
As I walked away from the sweater logs, I could feel the rush of grace coursing into my body. Through my ministrations, I probably lopped off maybe 6 or 7 years from my sentence in purgatory (and they have super-burning fire there, so this is a big deal). The next morning, feeling refreshed by all the grace, I unrolled the towels to see if they were dry. They weren't.
But here comes the theological problem: I never vacuum my rugs. Never. So what I really accomplished when I rolled the sweaters up, was to jam lint, dust and hairs into the fabric of all four sweaters. So at this point, they were clean -- but filthy. Still, I trusted in the lord and moved on. (Sometimes that's all you can do.) Besides the filth issue, the sweaters were still wet. So I hung the dusty things in a window and hoped that the sun would dry them out. Lo and behold, a day later they were dry.
Now all I have to do is take them outside, hang them on a line and beat them with a tennis racket for an hour or so, to get the filth off. Success!
But in the end, I had to face a hairy religious question. Would I continue to earn sanctifying grace with the tennis-racket move, giving me absolutely massive benefits? Or -- and here's the rub -- had I lost all hope of gathering any sanctifying grace by being such a filthy git?
No wonder they have theologians to unsnarl these deep questions of faith. Maybe the Templeton Foundation or Alvin Plantinga could help me out. Or maybe one of my readers is a super-Catholic who already knows the answer. If so, do tell in the comments. Oh, do! My immortal soul is at stake.
6 comments:
My sister sent her comment via email. I'm reproducing it here, to kick off the theological discussion:
"In my opinion, I feel as though you have lost all of your 'get out of purgatory in less time points'".
The fact that you're beating the filth out of them should get you even more SG than you bargained for. I believe that's how that works.
Welcome back, btw.
Two contrary opinions. Smells just like religion.
Thanks, Annie. Speaking of returning to blogging, I get that "she grows weary" but...it may be time for you to start blogging again. I'm just saying.
Huh! (Takes finger out of nose) ... did I say something here or was I just getting a kick in the butt?
I was going to blog about Fukushima's anniversary but figured everyone was tired of that story, except for the Japanese who have to live it.
KKW has gone blonde, so yesterday... and Harrison Ford has been practicing his golf course landings.
Not much else going on is there? I'll check though.
I always mix the two up. You're so alike. And I was just trying to be encouraging. It's my nature. Hey everybody sorry for the mixup.
(For new readers, a little background: No matter who posts a comment on this blog, it results in me getting an email that says there's a new comment from Artichoke Annie. So I always think it's Annie's comment. Gotta remember to check each time.)
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