This is of course the weekend of our expectations. The famous and infamous History Conference is finally upon us. The press have shown up to do their part, and the opposition has promised exactly that.
Early reports signal much smoke and little if any fire. In fact the only fire I’ve seen in the last couple of days was in the bakery this morning when a couple of pizza boxes began the exciting process of combustion. But alas the only foul play seems to have been the people who closed who accidentally put the boxes near the oven. Oh-well. Apparently there were four or five protesters last night doing their protesting thing. This morning there was one, solitary protest being accomplished by one fellow who was holding a sign that said, “History stopped when Wilson touched it.” I know that really struck me as I’m sure it is you at this very moment.
Alas. The irony only grows and exponentially increases. We are maligned in the press, our businesses are boycotted, spit upon, and vandalized. We are refused service, declined business opportunities, and our tires are slashed (repeatedly). We are lied about, slandered, and libelled (with names I’ve never heard in the Bible). And when the lady is asked what the deal is, she says, “We know it’s not about slavery, we just don’t like your attitude.” Obviously we have a bad attitude. They have formed coalitions and associations; they have posted signs and posters and had secret deliberations about how to get rid of us. While we went in to the university to pay an extra fee for security, the university was in the next room planning the protest. Today, the whole lot of them was to gather at five o’clock for their “we really mean it this time, not in our town” march from downtown Friendship Square to the university SUB where the conference is being held. New St. Andrews students will be on hand to give out cookies and hot coffee to the protestors.
‘Not in our Town’ is their motto, and ‘We’re too great for Hate’ stands as their damning banner of tolerance, freedom, and human rights. And the incoherence of their arguments, “You have a political agenda”, “What’s your standard is a trick question”, “We don’t like your attitude” and the rest prove the very fact they so wish they could deny. They are their own reductio ad absurdum.
But we have not resisted to the point of shedding of blood. And our joy is multiplied in the presence of our enemies. Our tables are laden with blessing and gladness. We will dance, we will laugh, and though they should cry “conspiracy! conspiracy!” we will only build snow men with charcoal eyes, carrot noses, and corncob pipes; and if the glee is right, we’ll spend a few extra minutes putting buttons on their bellies. And I’ll name mine Bill, and you’ll name yours Selena.