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"Happy Memorial Day. Here's your test, suckers. It's a comprehensive final." "Uh... Dr. Ridley? It's the first week in December. Memorial Day was last May." "Ian, shut up and take your test." A THEOLOGY OF KILL "So why am I here again?""Ian Stapp," said Dr. Patrick Ridley, Professor of Religion at New Brunswick Theological Seminary, "you're here because, no less than an hour ago, you cheated on your Theology of Kill final. You cheated, and now you have a failing grade." "That's bullshit! I didn't cheat on your stupid test! Your test was a single multiple choice—" "Mr. Stapp," interrupted Dr. Michael Kinig, Dean of the Seminary, "watch your language. You're here because of an allegation—a very serious allegation—of academic dishonesty. I suggest you conduct yourself accordingly." "Mr. Dean, I'm sorry for swearing. I'm just upset because I didn't cheat on Professor Ridley's test, yet somehow I have a failing grade. Why should I fail this class because my teacher is a moron?" Dr. Ridley turned to the Dean. "Michael, before you answer that, I'd like to explain something to you. This Ian Stapp, aside from being both a cheater and a big fat liar, is terribly unpopular. No one in his class liked him—ever. From the very first day of school, everybody hated him. Nobody liked him. Nobody wanted him. He has no friends as far as I know." Ian was stunned. "What?" "Also, he has family problems. They're widely known." "Hey, screw you Ridley! What gives you the right to—" Again the Dean interrupted. "Mr. Stapp, I suggest you get control of yourself. Losing your temper won't get you anywhere with me. Now, Patrick, you said that Ian cheated in class today. Problems at school, problems at home... what does this have to do with cheating on a final exam?" "Well Michael, as I was saying, nobody likes Ian Stapp. Many of us here at the seminary tried to refuse him admission on the basis of incorrigible retardedness, but he had a lot of friggin' money, so got in anyway. Nothing stops the rich. Ian is loaded beyond comprehension. Where did he get all his money? I don't know. He probably robbed a bank, just liked he cheated in my class today." The Dean was confused. "Patrick, I don't see the connection. What happened during the test? How do you know he cheated?" "How do we know he didn't? I wouldn't put it past him, considering his conspicuous lack of friends, and the fact that he's a noted felon." "Felon?" "Yes, Michael. Ian Stapp is a bank robber. I alluded to this earlier." "Patrick, do you have any evidence of this? Is Mr. Stapp a convicted felon?" Ian sat straight up and threw his hands in the air. "Am I hearing this right? Why don't you ask me? I'm sitting right—" Professor Ridley cut-in: "Yeah, probably. And he cheated on my test too. Let's kick him out of the seminary." The Dean was quiet a moment. "Patrick, I'm trying to stay with you, but you have yet to say anything about this test. You say that Ian is a bank robber. OK, but what reason do I have for suspecting him of—" A knock at the door. "—yes, come in." It was Dr. Wilford Newguy, Former Chair of the Mostly Evangelical Theological Society; author of twenty-odd books including the Gold Medallion Award-Winning "Pseudo-Patristics for a Post-Modern Pan-America"; and Scholar-in-Residence at the Seminary, teaching Old Testament Exegesis, Medieval Church History, Theology of Women's Tennis, and Ethics, among other things.
"Excuse me?" "Shut up, Ian. I'm not finished. Michael, if Ian is accused of shoplifting, he did it. If he's accused of cheating on a test, he did that too. Basically, if Ian is accused of anything—anything at all—he's guilty. Plus he's a loser, bigtime. No one likes him. Here are three words that describe him best: Crippling. Social. Ineptitude." "Dr. Newguy, what is your problem? You have no idea who I am!" "Ian, today is Memorial Day." "What?" "I said today is Memorial Day. Try and show some respect." "What? No it's not. Memorial Day was months ago. And what does that have to do with anything? Mr. Dean, this whole thing—" "Ian, do you have any idea how many soldiers had to die so that you could enroll at New Brunswick Theological Seminary and study the Theology of Kill? Do you have any idea how many brave men had to pay with their lives so that you could show up to class, be hated by everyone, and cheat on your final exam?" "What? What are you talking about?" "Have you no respect for the dead, young man? Are you not proud of your countrymen?" "What the fuck are you talking about?" "Ian, since you refuse to honor the dead, let me honor them for you. Let me tell you of their sacrifice, of their love for this country. Let me tell you of their blood, which was shed for you, though you do not appreciate it, you ingrate. Courageous men—most of whom were no older than you are now—left homes and loved ones for unknown and dangerous lands, unsure if they would ever return. They risked lives so we could live, and futures so we could have futures of our own. They died. These young, innocent men, slain in battle, fighting for freedom and liberty, against tyranny and oppression everywhere, they died. Ian, our soldiers died in service to this great nation." Dr. Ridley weighed in: "And they killed. They killed for their country." "Yes Patrick, that's right," Dr. Newguy replied, "Soldiers were courageous enough to die, but they were also courageous enough to kill. They were killers, selfless killers, who gave up their lives and ended the lives of others, but for us. They were given guns and munitions, which they used to achieve objectives (for us) such as subdue enemy forces (for us) which meant kill (for us). Yes they killed, and they killed, and they killed—for us!" "They were other reasons..." "Patrick, thank you, you're right. We weren't their only reason; there were other reasons too. There are always other reasons, so many reasons to kill. And here's the bottom line: People die. This is inevitable. We can't stop people from dying, but we can make them die sooner, and that's what the soldiers did. They killed; they had their reasons, and they killed. You, Ian Stapp, were one of those reasons. You are a depraved, evil little man. You have no friends, yet still, you were one of their reasons. They killed for you." "What about me cheating in class today? Where the hell am I?" Again, Dr. Ridley spoke: "Don't forget, Ian. Don't you dare forget: Sometimes people just need to die. I've told you this before, though you likely weren't listening, bastard. People need to die sometimes. Maybe they're evil, or maybe they have stuff we want, or maybe they hate freedom, or maybe they deserve sweet justice, or maybe they hate living, or maybe we're only defending ourselves, or maybe we're sick in the fucking head and need to make people die once in a while to feel better about ourselves—like therapy, but with death—maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe! All the same, sometimes people just need to fucking die. I don't expect a social paraplegic like you to understand, but we kill because we must. And on any other day I would ignore your cheating and bank robbing, but today, Ian Stapp, is Memorial Day. Something must be said." Dr. Newguy nodded in approval. "Indeed." "Today is not Memorial Day. This is ridiculous." "Ian, you're right!" the Dean interjected. "This is ridiculous. Actually, this is worse than ridiculous." To the Professors: "Patrick, Wilford, exactly when did we become so flippant about death? When did we (we, the theologians!) become so cavalier over the destruction of life, one of God's most precious gifts? It is right and good for Christians to mourn the loss of life, but we do not mourn! We are unfazed, unhurt, unkilled by killing. Where is our grief?" "Michael..." "Patrick, don't interrupt me; I'm not finished. Our grief is nowhere, or if it is anywhere, it is invisible. We are unlike the grieving Christian, who mourns the death of men, and shows it in his face; who pays no lip service to the God who kills, but prays to Him instead; who supplicates this God, a God who has put us here for His purposes, who can remove us for the same, and who does; a God who listens to His people, who can mourn among them, and who will; a God who is not powerless to act—the grieving Christian prays to Him! This is the Christian we should be. Patrick, your reasons for killing (self-defense, justice, spreading freedom, economic gain, therapy[!]) are atheistic at their very foundation, when listed without reference to the all-establishing God who could endow them with real force. You pretend to teach the Theology of Kill. I ask you, Dr. Ridley, do your reasons constitute a theology of anything? At least you, Wilford, speak of sacrifice and substitution, sort of. You would do well, however, to consider why you speak this way (and for Whom) lest you credit the echo with praise due the Source. Finally, to both of you, why do you say such nasty things of young Mr. Stapp? The boy has problems, sure, but there's no need to be cruel." Long pause, awkward. "Can I go now?" "Ian, you're free to go. Whether or not you cheated on your test—" "I didn't." "—I can hardly hold you accountable for finding fault with the unfortunate, and ugly, worldview of your professor. Have a nice Memorial Day. And don't worry, young man. Many others have family problems just like you. Friends or no friends, you're not alone." 
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