The praise, a pagan parable

Luthaneal Adams, Deputy District Manager for London, shares his parable:

When I was young, I was a farmer.  I learnt how to tend the crops and to bring in the harvest.  Each night, we farmers would sit down to eat the corn of our harvest and give praise to the Work Master for keeping the farm running.

As I grew, there was need of a new Work Master and I was appointed.  As the Work Master I learnt how to do business, how to use money and would travel to market to sell the fruits of the harvest to the people and then donate the rest to the soldiers at the barracks.  Each night, I would sit down to eat the corn of the harvest and give praise to the soldiers for keeping us all safe.

When war broke out there was need of more soldiers and so I enlisted.  As a soldier I learnt how to fight and be brave.  Each night I would sit down with my fellow soldiers and eat the corn of the harvest and give praise to the Generals for guiding our battles to victory.
Through prestige I became a General.  I learnt the art of strategy and how to fight my enemies from afar.  Each night, I would sit down with the other Generals and we would eat the corn of the harvest and give praise to the distant diplomats, for they did with words what we did with weapons, so that we may not be needed.

Through dedication and honour I was promoted to a diplomat and I learnt to negotiate and consider the good of the people.  Each night I would sit down and eat of the corn of the harvest and sing the praises of the Emperor, for he alone could guide our entire land.
When I was old, the Emperor died and my diligence and wisdom earned me his position.  As Emperor I learnt how to direct a country, lead the armies and tax the citizens.  But on my first night, I sat down to eat and found I did not know who to give thanks to, for there was no position higher than mine.

The palace priest led me to the highest tower, from where the whole land can be seen and he took me to a locked door.  He told me this was where the Emperor gave praise, and handed me the key.

I entered into a small circular room where I could see an altar at one end.  Sitting in the centre of the altar was a pot, from which there grew a single stalk of corn.  And I gave praise!

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    3 Responses to The praise, a pagan parable

    1. Julia Oboyle says:

      Interesting development.
      But to mis-quote a quote ‘Man does not live by corn alone’
      Or Does He? I know She does not.

    2. Tanga ---------- says:

      Perfect Luthaneal. Immediately printed off and filed in my teaching folder for repeated future reference. Thankyou.

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