I listened to a sermon by Peter Rollins this week, and he told a story that I’ve heard before, but he’s from Northern Ireland, so he has this great accent, and accents are lots of fun, so I’ll try to tell it in his voice. (How’s that for a run-on sentence to start out a sermon?)
There was this guy named Shamish who was traveling by sea. His boat sank, and he ended up on a deserted island. He lived there all alone for twenty years, but his brother Hamish never gave up looking for him. Hamish bought a plane and flew all over the ocean looking for his brother. One day, he saw some buildings on a small island and decided to go down and take a look. He was amazed when Shamish met him at the beach.
They hugged and cried and celebrated that Shamish was finally rescued. But Hamish said, “Before I take you back, why don’t you show me around this place where you’ve been living for the past 20 years.”
So Shamish took him to his “village” where there were three small buildings. Hamish said, “What are these?”
Shamish said, “Well, this is my house. It’s really quite comfortable, considering.”
Hamish looked pointed to another building, “Then, what’s this one?”
Shamish beamed with pride. “Ah, that’s my church. I go there every Sunday for services, and I say prayers there on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. It’s a wonderful, holy place. I love it.”
Hamish nodded and pointed at the third building, “And what’s that one?”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No, really, I don’t even want to discuss it. Let’s go.”
“Come on now Shamish. You’ve been living here for twenty years. The least you can do is give me the full tour.”
“Oh, all right, that’s the church I used to go to. Terrible place. Just awful.”
