Hello; my name is Cuttlefish, and I am a versaholic. (Hi, Cuttlefish!) It’s been just a few hours since my last “Rejected Canon” hymn (ok, a little more than a few–I did have to work, after all!), but I’ve fallen off the wagon! Another hymn it is… this one in 6/8 time, for those who care.

Oh, Lord, we really prefer not to know
We’ll take it on faith
No evidence needed
Lord, cognition we’ll gladly forego
And as the Lord sayeth,
His Word shall be heeded.

Knowledge is best when revealed from on high
And who’d prefer truth to a comfortable lie?

Lord, we really prefer not to know
We’ll all attend mass
And heed to your ruling
Lord, just call me enlightenment’s foe
Biology class
Is fun with home schooling!

Scientists wonder, “how ancient is Man?”
Far more important–he’s part of God’s Plan!

“In the beginning” my textbook begins
With Adam and Eve there in Eden
Knowledge is clearly the greatest of sins
The minimum’s all that we’re needin’

Lord, we really prefer not to know
Concern for our souls
Takes precedence ever
Lord, whatever you’d like to bestow
Our knowledge has holes
Still we think we’re clever

Is there a future attractive as this:
Spending our lives in an ignorant bliss?

Oh Lord, we really prefer not to know!

*****

edited to add….

Looks like this was the straw-hymn to break the camel’s back. This was great fun, and I thank the Making Light hosts for the opportunity to write these, but I think this will be the end of it. Do read their comments, though- #80 is far, far better than any of mine; it is, in my opinion, the only verse of the lot to come close to (let alone achieve) the potential stored in the title itself. This was a wonderful little exercise, and I thank all involved.

One more from the “Rejected Canon” (I can’t help myself–they’re like potato chips–I can’t stop!). This one will be considered offensive by some who defend the nastier bits of organized religion. Consider yourself warned.

I thank thee, God, for buttocks firm
For skin of alabaster
For pouting lips
Eyes dark as pips
Which rouse me all the faster

I thank thee, God, for rosy cheeks
For slender, active fingers
For winsome smile
Where, for a while,
My roving glance still lingers

I thank thee, God, for perfect voice,
A clear and pure soprano
The angels long
To hear a song
In forte or piano

…

I thank thee, God, the Bishop said,
For this small piece of heaven
So dear to me
Too bad that he
Will soon be turning seven

Ok, last one. I promise. But these things are like heroin to someone like me…

You have to admit, this sounds pretty far-fetched
Certum est, quia impossibile
But my mem-o-ry has it indelibly etched
Certum est, quia impossibile
There once was a garden, with Adam and Eve
Along came a serpent, with plans to deceive—
What part of this tale am I s’posed to believe?
Certum est, quia impossibile

Lot’s Wife was transformed to a pillar of salt
Certum est, quia impossibile
The bible implies she herself was at fault
Certum est, quia impossibile
The sinning in Sodom, it made the Lord sore-eyed
She didn’t obey; now she’s sodium chloride—
A message which all of the “sinners of yore” eyed
Certum est, quia impossibile

Some children once pestered a man with no hair
Certum est, quia impossibile
Who prayed for revenge, and so God sent two bears
Certum est, quia impossibile
Which mauled all the kids in a terrible fight
And killed every one, with a blow or a bite,
So that next time, the children will act more polite
Certum est, quia impossibile

Then God gave us Jesus, to die for our sins
Certum est, quia impossibile
To re-write the books, so a new age begins
Certum est, quia impossibile
And Jesus was tortured and nailed to a cross
To render us clean, through his terrible loss
(Or maybe his dad was just showing who’s boss)
Certum est, quia impossibile

And ever since then, why, the message has spread
Certum est, quia impossibile
That mankind will live, because Jesus was dead
Certum est, quia impossibile
I have to believe them, they urge and implore,
For ethics, for morals, for peace evermore…
Then battle each other, in bloodthirsty war
Certum est, quia impossibile

It’s a nice simple form, in 3/4 time; feel free to add your own verses!

“Holy” like a donut, “Holy” like Swiss Cheese,
“Holy” like creationists’ own brand of expertise
“Holy” like a leper with some flesh-eating disease,
“Holy” like My Saviour’s feet, beneath his holy knees.

“Holy” like a colander, or like a piercéd ear,
“Holy” like a fishnet blouse, that’s so much more than sheer
“Holy” like a movie’s plot (The Bible’s, too, I fear)
“Holy” like My Saviour’s side, through which was thrust a spear.

“Holy” like a lake’s thin ice, a helpful signal warns
“Holy” like a matador who did not dodge the horns
“Holy” like John Dillinger, whom everybody scorns
“Holy” like My Saviour’s brow, beneath a crown of thorns.

“Holy” like a bagel, or like a leaky pail
“Holy” like security protecting your e-mail
“Holy” like my engine block, which leaves an oily trail
“Holy” like religion, just a grown-up fairy tale.

As with today’s earlier post, a bit of context.

God of Wisdom; God of Beauty
God of Water, Wind, and Flame
We, your subjects, do our duty:
Even cripples praise your name.

God, who cured the lowly leper,
Plays with mercy like a game–
Eking praise from each twelve-stepper
Even cripples praise your name.

Mangled feet and withered fingers
Malformed faces hung in shame
Still this love of God still lingers
Even cripples praise your name.

Thanks to Salk and vaccination
Fewer children now are lame;
Still, I see to my frustration,
Even cripples praise your name.

God, who could have cured the sickest;
God, who chose instead to maim;
Here is where the bullshit’s thickest:
Even cripples praise your name.

God receives Earth’s bounty’s credit,
Satan, only Evil’s blame–
Hordes of faithful zombies spread it:
Even cripples praise your name.

God, it’s really hard to swallow
You’re as good as you proclaim;
Now, to me, it all rings hollow:
Only cripples praise your name.

Cuttlecap tip to HP (glad to edit in your name, if you prefer), for pointing me to a bit of fun on Making Light. The idea is to take one of Molly Wilson’s “Rejected Titles for Hymns“, and … write the hymn. I may have to have fun with a few more. You should, too!