I don’t know a lot about religion. It wasn’t part of my upbringing, and my brushes with it were… let’s go with unpleasant, which is more about me and my state of mind at an impressionable age than with any individual religion.
Whatever my feelings about it, I find discussing religion fascinating. I don’t mind it when proselytizers come to my door, provided they’re not going to badmouth the poor or anybody else right to my face (I say this because it’s happened; that particular missionary isn’t welcome at my door any more). I like hearing about peoples’ beliefs, about what brings them hope. I don’t have to believe the same things to connect with others about my need for solace and guidance and hope.
I don’t really have anything I’m getting at, here. I think that things that bring us hope are good, provided they don’t bring us hope at the expense of others, which I feel should be obvious but unfortunately isn’t. I don’t know if I believe the world will ever be as good as I can imagine it to be, but it’s important to me to imagine it anyway.
Here’s a drabble.
(n.) from Ancient Greek ἅγιος , for “holy” and -κρατία, for “power”
A government of saints.
The first was a woman who had dedicated her life to serving the poor. The man with birds in his hair was second, and the person whose hands could heal was third. Each had miracles in their blood, and each was given the honor of command—and because they were holy, they were uncorrupted. Their rule was just and fair and kind and the world was at peace for so long people forgot anything else. The questions about validity slowed and died; each person had a gift of their own, a scar that spelled prophecy or a gift with language.