Phil and Izzy - A Parable - Sort of

Phil and Izzy - A Parable – Sort Of

It’s a story that started long ago with two men by the name of Phil and Izzy. Them two and their families was the only survivors of a ship wrecked in a mother of a storm on the Mediterranean Sea. The bad news was that they didn’t make ships them days like they do today. The good news though was that they was made out of wood, so they floated – more or less.

Well, there they was, afloatin’ on the choppy sea like a bunch o’ drowned rats, barely hangin’ on to life and limb – no food, no water – nothin’. For days they bobbed up and down in the waves on what was left of the boat like so much driftwood. And everyone was seasick to boot. Well – you would be too bein’ tossed around like that on an empty stomach.

Phil’s got to toss his cookies again, not that there’s anythin’ left to toss - when he looks up and suddenly sees a dark line on the horizon. He rubs his bloodshot eyes in disbelief and looks again. Sure enough that line is there and it’s comin’ closer. In fact, he thinks he spots a couple o’ little palm trees in the distance.

All of a sudden it hits him. “Holeeeee! Land!” he rasps at the top o’ his lungs.

Now you got to understand that these people have been on the water for days, fried by the sun, waterlogged by the waves and all that. And Izzy’s got an ear infection on top of everything else, so he don’t clearly hear what Phil is hollerin’ about. “What?” he says, pokin’ his grubby fingers in his ears to pop the water out.

Phil’s so excited he don’t even hear Izzy either. Pointing his hand at the shore, he yells it out again, “Holeeeee! Land!”

This time Izzy is payin’ attention, but what he thinks Phil is hollerin’ is ‘Holy Land!’ Soon as they get close enough, the two families swim for it, all kneeling on solid ground, thanking their maker for the miraculous rescue. For Izzy, its even better’n goin’ to heaven because not only is he still alive, but he figures he’s also in the Holy Land.

Well, it wasn’t long before they got things together and started to organize themselves in their new homeland. Not to belabor the whole begettin’ business, suffice it to say from there they went forth and multiplied. Man, did they multiply! Pretty soon there was so many people, nobody could keep track. So what they done to keep things straight was to call Phil’s descendants Philisteins, and Izzy’s bunch Izzyrealites. That seemed to solve the problem for the time bein’.

The Philisteins went into the transport business. They had a fleet o’ camels as long as your arm traveling the old Silk Route that no eighteen wheeler could ever manage even today, selling and delivering all sorts of things. It seemed a good business too, since they was always on the road.

The Izzyrealites on the other hand, went into sheep farmin’ since the parcel of land they picked when they first landed on shore had more pasture and water. It was a good business too. They raised flocks and flocks o’ sheep, and a few asses while they were at it. I guess I should call them donkeys, because today ‘ass’ don’t rightly mean what it used to. But you put one or two o’ them asses in a flock of sheep and they’ll kick the snot out of any predator or rustler comin’ within a mile o’ them sheep.

The reason I’m palaverin’ on about so much detail, in case you was wonderin’, is to show what happens when people go their own ways assumin’ their own self importance on points of contention. Take the business of the few watering holes right in the middle of the border that Phil and Izzy had drawn for their own properties. They was called oases. At first, there was enough for everybody – share and share alike. But the flocks bred like rabbits, using more and more water, and the camels – well you know how much water one camel can suck down at one gulp, never mind trains and trains of ‘em. The Izzyrealites got to complainin’ that every time a camel train pulled up to an oasis, it sucked up not only the water on their side o’ the hole, and took half of what belonged to the sheep to boot. The Philisteins told the Izzyrealites to go build a brick wall through the middle of the watering hole and they could keep their dammed water. Otherwise, just shut up and obey the laws o’ gravity.

I guess you can tell how that sat in the Izzyrealites’ craws. There was this scrawny little shepherd. His name was Dave. Spent all his time talkin’ to his flocks, singin’ songs to them and huckin’ rocks as far as he could, just for practice. He discovered that if he put stones in a sling that he’d invented, they’d travel at a hundred miles an hour, and soon he developed a wrist action the like of Tiger Woods or John Daly. He was so taken with his new invention that he kept on playin’ with it until he mastered a deadly aim. Well – he had a lot o’ time on his hands, what with them sheep just meanderin’ around out there.

One day, Dave has his flocks out on a pasture that crosses over the Philistein boundary and figures he’s goin’ to get even for the water business, so he lets his sheep graze on Philistein land. Wouldn’t you know that just then this giant of a man called Goliath who is head of the Philistein border patrol, is passin’ by.

“Get them sheep outa here!” he hollers. “This here’s camel country!”

Dave argues that it’s part of his own pasture that seems to have grown further than was intended and he’s just tryin’ to put it back where it belongs. Well – nobody’s goin’ to tell Goliath such a load o’ manure and get away with it. He goes to fetch his camel and stomp Dave into the dust, not noticing that Dave’s got his little sling with a rock resting in the pouch. When he turns to face this little pipsqueak, Dave lets her rip. Bull’s eye – right between the eyes! Goliath goes down like a lead balloon and, just to make sure that that big sucker don’t get up again, Dave ups and hacks his head right off with Goliath’s own sword. Needless to say, that don’t sit too well with them Philisteins. They see old Goliath lyin’ there, his head not where it’s supposed to be, caved in right between the eyes by a rock.

Well, if the Izzyrealites want to play that game they reckon, the Philisteins can play it too! They can huck rocks as good as any Izzyrealite, they figure. So now it comes to the two families throwin’ rocks at each other and the fight’s on.

That all started four or five thousand years ago. And they’re still at it, only now they’re usin’ hand held rocket launchers, ground to air missiles, and air to ground missiles. And it’s all over layin’ claim to a useless piece of desert they came upon by chance or by providence, that don’t belong to either one or the other. It belongs to the one who made it and will be there long after Phil and Izzy’s gang has become extinct. That’s the law of nature – the circle of life, if you will.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah – nowhere in particular. Anyway, in the evolution of the Philisteins, they developed a permanent mad-on for Izzyrealites. You tend to do that talkin’ to the wrong end of a camel day after day – makes you downright ornery. Besides, them puny little Izzyrealites are always inventin’ somethin’ or other to show up the Philisteins. Who wouldn’t be grouchy?

And the Izzyrealites veered off in a different direction. I mean; they just got lucky with Dave and Goliath. It could easy have gone the other way. Same with Samson when he pulled the temple down around everybody’s ears. But then apparently somebody told them ‘knowledge is power’. Somebody else had already told them they were ‘the chosen people’. They took all this kind of seriously and started buildin’ what they called Schuls and universities and studyin’ and prayin’ like all get out.

First thing you know they’re turnin’ out scientists, doctors, lawyers, musicians – you name it and they’ve got it. There seems no limit to what they can do. They can turn ocean water into fresh water; they can irrigate their pastures and gardens, turning the bald-faced desert into a beautiful garden. ‘Ha ha’, they laugh. ‘Look at them poor slobs walkin’ behind their crummy camels! We’ve got it made.’

First thing you know a few of them hot shot scientists are playin’ with stuff like DNA and genetic tinkerin’ and such. Before you can say ‘King Solomon’, they’ve put together a sheep out of a test tube. Is there no end to what they’re capable of? No wonder they’re the chosen people they tell themselves, and livin’ in the Holy Land to boot!

One day a swarm o’ scientists are workin’ away in the laboratory, makin’ a human person - confident as all get out, when who should show up but God his self.

“What do you want here?” the head honcho bellers out. “This is a restricted area.”

“You know who you’re talkin’ to, sonny?” asks God.

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbles the head honcho. “But we don’t need you no more. We can do everythin’ ourselves. Look and see, we can even make our own humans – just like you done!”

“Oh, really!” smirks God. “Just like me huh? Do you really even remember how I done it in the first place?”

“Oh yeah,” says the head honcho. “Nothin’ to it. Here in the lab, we can do everything.”

“Just like I done it?” God wonders out loud.

“Of course.”

“So show me, smarty pants,” says God.

The head honcho takes God outside into the garden and picks up a mitt full of dirt to take back in with him.

“Hey, hey, hey!” God hollers. “Get yer own dirt!”

Okay – now do you get the parable – sort of?