The Babo Gospels

This book of “gospels” and ”parables” is not a translation of some recently discovered fragmented papyrus manuscript from the first century A.D. that theologians and biblical scholars will pour over seeking to discover if John the Baptist complained of hemorrhoids, or if Mary Magdalene caught the bouquet at the Marriage Feast of Cana. It is composed from many years of thinking and writing about religious belief that only goes back to when the author first got the courage to allow doubts and questions about faith to creep out of his subconscious into the light of reason. So it is only the result of (to be a little biblical about it) a requisite “forty years” in the desert of metaphysical cognitive struggle. Hence, the tenor of its chapters, and even within, will sometimes change, from somewhat scholarly, to memoir, to satire, to philosophical, to historical, owing to the fact that it takes or engages, every facet of intellection to make one’s way through a journey from the indoctrination of innocent childhood into the insistent doubts of late adulthood. At times I have employed my authorial “poetic license” to the point of revocation, but I hope the tonal variation serves to spice things up and provide some variety in a work that threatened to get biblical in length. Maybe someday in a far, far distant future some aliens will find their way to a ruined and depopulated Earth and start digging for evidence of past life. They might chance upon a fragmented copy of The Babo Gospels and like the discoverers at Qumran or of other ancient texts be given to wonder who its author was and where he came from. Perhaps in the confusion of translation and fragmentation they will conclude that the book was written or inspired by a god named Babo and they will adopt him as their “one, true” god and worship him for thousands of years. Why not. I hope not; it’s not a responsibility I would want.