“A who a what?”
“A dissertation.” He sat back behind his desk. Two piles of books flanked him. “I’m finishing my Ph.D. work. I have ordered myself not to leave my office until I have made significant progress on it this evening.”
“What’s a dissertation?”
“If Satan gave you instructions for writing the book report from Hell, it would closely resemble those of a Ph.D. dissertation.”
She scrunched up her face in sympathetic disgust.
“I wrote the book report from Hell last year on Jane Eyre and the wife in the attic. I called it ‘Jane Versus One Crazy Bitch.’”
“An interesting topic.”
“What’s your topic?”
“‘The theology of pain and suffering in the letters of Saint Ignatius.’”
“Is that as boring as it sounds?”
“More.”
“It needs a better title.”
“Better than ‘The theology of pain and suffering in the letters of Saint Ignatius’?”
“How about ‘Hurts So God.’ It’s a riff on that John Cougar song ‘Hurts So Good.’”
Søren rested his chin on top of the nearest pile of books and narrowed his eyes at her.
“Your mind must be the most marvelous playground.”
“I think my mental swing sets are rusty.”
“We should fix that.” He got up from behind his desk, grabbed his Bible and left the office.
“Hey, whoa there, big papa.” She followed him as he strode toward the sanctuary. “You aren’t supposed to leave your office.”
“I made the rule. I can break it.”
“Can I break your rules?” she asked.
“No.” He stared down at her. “Come with me. Bring your Bible.”
She grabbed her Bible from her backpack and made her way to the choir loft in the sanctuary.
“What are we doing today?” she asked once she reached the loft. “Are you going to make me meditate on Jesus again?”
“You don’t want to? Meditating on the life of Christ is a vital part of the Spiritual Exercises.”
“I know,” she said as she threw herself down in a pew and stretched out long ways. “But Jesus always looks like Eddie Vedder in my meditations, and I don’t like finding Jesus sexy. It’s uncomfortable, like seeing a picture of your grandfather when he was eighteen and thinking he was a babe.”
“I’m sure Jesus would be honored that you picture him as attractive. There is no sin in finding someone attractive.”
“You said that before, but I don’t think that rule applies to Jesus.”
“Well, do you have any questions you want answered?” Søren asked, slapping her thigh with a Bible to make her sit up. “Meaning of original sin? The prophecies regarding Christ found in Isaiah? Anything?”
“Yes, I have a question.” She looked up at him.
“Ask.”
“Why are you so damn tall? You’re what? Six foot something?”
“Six foot four.”
“That’s ridiculous. Is it necessary you’re this tall or are you doing it for attention?”
“This is your theological inquiry?”
“God created you. He created you tall. This is my theological inquiry.”
“Very well, then. Tall people are closer to God. Since I’m tall I can hear Him better, which is why you should always listen to me when I tell you something.”
She glared at him.
“That is the biggest pile of bullshit anyone has ever dumped on me.”
“Prove me wrong, then. Using the Bible.”
“This is my assignment? I have to prove to you that you’re full of shit?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t give me a good Bible assignment? Like read all the sexy parts?”
“You can do that, too, if you wish.”
“Song of Songs it is, then. I like that he describes her tits as being like antelopes.”
“I prefer the Book of Esther. More plot. Fewer bizarre metaphors involving ruminant mammals.”
“Esther’s a sex book?”
“It is if you can use your imagination. Which I’m certain you can.”
Eleanor blushed. She had a feeling he referred to that little incident on his desk.
“What do I get if I prove you’re full of shit?” she asked, desperately wanting to change the subject.
“Enlightenment.”
Søren left her alone in the choir loft with her Bible and her assignment to prove him wrong. That shouldn’t be too hard. She doubted there was a single verse in the Bible that said God preferred tall people. Of course, she’d have to read the entire Bible to make sure there wasn’t. That would take a while. Easier to prove God liked short people. Wasn’t there something Jesus said about suffering the little children? She flipped to the back of her Bible and found the concordance.
Little … little … little children … little ones.
Little ones? She flipped to Psalms and found the verse.
The Lord is the keeper of the little ones; I was little and he delivered me.
Bam. Perfect. Easy enough.
God liked little people. She won. Søren lost. Now what?
She flipped a few more pages in the Bible to the Book of Esther. She’d heard about Esther but she didn’t remember ever hearing any homilies about the book. They hadn’t covered it in her religion class at school yet, either. All she remembered about Esther was that she was a queen and there was something about a beauty pageant? Didn’t sound sexy to her. But Søren said he preferred Esther to the Song of Songs, so …