Not For The Squeamish —A Long, Horrible, Gruesome, Sometimes Profane, Post About Thoughts On Religious Tolerance As It Relates To My Prostate Exam

I have heard outsiders say that we Christians are intolerant when it comes to other religions. They say that we refuse to see good in the faiths held by others. They say we are narrow-minded. They say we are bigoted. They say we are exclusive.

They have a point.

Being a Christian is certainly nothing to brag about.

In fact when I say “I’m saved”, by definition that means I am in such sorry shape that it took an act of God Almighty to rescue me!

Picture a guy who blunders into a septic tank and is drowning in filth and crap. He frails about as he goes under for the third time and sinks into the sludge at the bottom.

He’s a goner.

Along comes a Savior who runs the edge, strips off His clothes, jumps into the septic tank, dives under the liquid, gropes around in the sediment, grabs the guy by the collar, drags him to the surface, pulls him to dry ground, pounds him on the back till he pukes up the crap he swallowed, presses His lips to the guy’s mouth and blows His own breath into the man giving him life.

What does the savee have to brag about?

The only Hero on the scene is the Savior.

A guy whose just been rescued from drowning in a septic tank can look down on no one.

All the saved one can do is be embarrassed about his own plight, and grateful to the Savior.

But what about the unsaved? People believing in other religions? Is the Christian better than them?

The Bible says that there is only one God and one mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus.

That doesn’t leave much wiggle room.

I thought about this stuff a lot as I prepared for a prostate exam yesterday.

Why would a prostate exam set me to thinking about religious toleration?

The Jacksonville phone book contains 34 pages of fine print listing physicians; the one assigned to me is a Mohammedan.

FYI: when a physician talks about a digital exam, he does not refer to pale green numbers flashing on a computer readout. When he says digital, he means digital!

And my doctor is powerful enough to squeeze a football with one hand — and pop it!

I have reason to know that.

And the digital exam is just the first step. Next, he will insert a stainless steel tube shaped like a giant soda straw (but about as big around as a truck tire) into my penis. He feeds a fiber optic light through this tube to see what he calls “abnormal tissue”.

Then he runs a delicate precision surgical instrument through the tube to cut away said tissue. You can see a picture of this delicate precision surgical instrument in any hardware store catalogue under the listing for “Chain Saws”.

I think I’ve mentioned in this blog before that I have an strong aversion to being touched. Such a strong aversion that a casual touch in a crowded elevator creates a panic attack that leaves me quivering. So strong that for the past 40 years I have cut my own hair with a razor/comb thingy rather than let a barber touch me.

I would not trust St. Paul with a golden halo to touch my One & Only in the ways this doctor needs to. I cringe and feel nauseated at the mere thought of anyone touching me.

I’m not exactly a people person.

So, when I learned that a Mohammedan would do all this stuff to me, I had second thoughts. I even thought about requesting a change to a Christian doctor; but I didn’t.

For some strange reason I associate Mohammedans with crashing planes, car bombs, exploding shoes.

Aren’t they all like that?

Of course not!

Just because a person is not a Christian, does not mean that he is not a skilled, honorable, noble person.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not talking about some sort of universalism here.

Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no man comes to the Father except by me”.

Unless Jesus was a liar, that does not leave us one bit of wiggle room.

It’s Jesus or nothing.

I picture the situation like this: People trapped on the roof of a burning skyscraper. Another skyscraper towers up just 40 feet away; if the trapped folks can jump from one roof to the other they will be safe.

A man gets a running start. He leaps off the parapet. He sails though the air windmilling his arms. His mighty jump takes him 39 feet and ten inches! What a leap! His leap is to be applauded. His leap is to be admired. His leap qualifies him for an Olympic record.

That’s the way I picture a faithful adherent to another religion.

I give him my applause, respect and admiration.

Only one thing wrong.

The Bible says we have all sinned and fall short of the glory God has for us.

We make mighty leaps.

But fall short.

Christ stretches out His nail-scarred hand to us, but if we ignore Him, our leap falls short.

Are the Christians better than the non-Christians still on the burning roof?

Not a bit.

Even the best leapers among us fall short and are as brands saved from the burning.

We can take no credit.

We still smell of smoke. We still smell of the mire from that septic tank.

The only Hero is the Rescuer.

He alone is worthy.

Now, my Mohammedan doctor handles dozens of these prostate things each week.

But, this is my One & Only.

Yes, the doctor’s ministry to me may result in the restoration of my vim, vigor, and vitality. After he gets through with me, I may be able to knock the bark off a tree at five paces….

Or, a slip of the chainsaw, a zig when he should have zagged, may leave me utterly impotent and dribbling down my left leg and wearing diapers for the rest of my life.

(The alternative is to let this abnormal tissue inside me grow till I fill with piss, my kidneys back up, my teeth float, and I die.)

OK, John, you say you trust God for your eternal salvation, can you trust His chosen instrument with your precious One & Only?

Chosen instrument?

Yes, and I’m talking about the doctor, not the chainsaw.

As a Christian I believe that God is the First Cause of all effects. I believe that there are no second causes but that everything comes to us via the hand of the Father.

I did not choose this prostate trouble for myself.

I did not choose which doctor the other two doctors recommended to handle me.

I believe that God Himself, for reasons of His own, placed me in the hands of this Mohammedan. I believe that God means me no permanent harm — yes, even the anxiety, even the chainsaw, even the suffering, even the indignity of diapers, even a painful death — none of those details are permanent. The troubles of this life are fleeting things in the light of eternity.

I seriously doubt that any guys in Heaven will sit around bitching about having to have had prostate surgery on earth.

It just won’t matter to them then.

Nevertheless, I’m feeling a different interpretation of the Bible verse that says, “Father, into thy hands I commit my One & Only”.

Or something like that.

So, because I trust in God’s will, and my Mohammedan doctor (those folks also believe in submitting to the will of God), I’m in for an interesting time over the next few months.

I’m sure the doctor would describe the medical procedures ahead a little differently from the way I do. And I do not intend to blog about health stuff any more; readers have their own health stories. I thought long and hard about whether or not to go into this stuff today. That’s why I’m so late getting this posted today. (And I doubt if I’ll post tomorrow because of getting ready for The Wedding).

Anyhow, until I get more information, I’ll let the doctor do whatever he needs to — But you can bet that I’m still going to be cutting my own hair!

P.S: Did you know that the words testify and testimony that we Christians bandy about are related to the word testicles? In the good old days, the Romans would put a suspected Christian’s balls on the chopping block and ask him if he still confessed that Jesus Is Lord.

Just thought you’d want to know.