He tried to confess <br />his sins to a bank. <br />He told the teller <br />about his specific <br />enactments of sloth, <br />deception, cruelty, lust. <br />Did he have an account? <br />she asked. Everyone, <br />he replied, has an account <br />in Heaven. Would he step <br />aside to let the next <br />person in line advance? <br />she asked. Yes, he said, <br />but first I need to withdraw <br />forgiveness, quite <br />a lot of it. She summoned <br />Security, who said they <br />would have to ask him <br />to leave. He said he <br />would have to ask them <br />to forgive him. They <br />said they excused him. No, <br />not excuses, he said— <br />forgiveness. They took him <br />to the door and beyond. He <br />wandered to a church <br />and deposited some money. <br />May I have a receipt? he asked. <br />Yes, a liturgical minister said, <br />and gave him a wafer, a sip <br />of wine. He ate and drank <br />the receipt. Will you tell me <br />my current balance? he asked. <br />Yes, the minister said, you are, <br />like everyone else, overdrawn, <br />so I wouldn’t push it. Go now <br />and sin much more frugally <br />if sin you must, and <br />apparently, you must.<br /><br />Hans Ostrom<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/theology-and-banking/
