
Armour: (n) 1. the metal coverings formerly worn by soldiers or warriors to protect the body in battle. 2. (v) provide someone with emotional, social, or other defenses.
In medieval times if you showed up wearing armour, people got the idea that you wanted to fight. Even though many of the knights were proud of the quality of their outer wear, it was usually worn for battle.
I point this out because when I was in high school sitting in a Sunday School class in a very conventional church and a scripture was read which gave direction to “put on the whole armour of God,” I raised my hand and questioned the prudence of such an endeavor.
I explained to the Sunday School teacher that since Jesus told us that we didn’t need to be afraid of evil, nor did we need to resist it, what was the sense of showing up in life looking like you were ready to kill people, seemingly convinced they were ready to destroy you?
The gentleman in charge of the class, probably not wanting to take on the teenage conclave in the first place, cleared his throat, commented to me that it was “an interesting question” and began to move on to the next point.
Possessing the combination of an inquisitive mind and an ass-hole stubbornness, I interrupted and said, “Well, I know it’s interesting or I wouldn’t have brought it up, but what do you think about it?”
His cheeks turned red, he gulped and said, “It’s the Bible. It must be right.”
Well, I wasn’t convinced.
I’m still not.
Christianity suffers from one fatal contradition.
How do we love our neighbor as ourselves and still live the defensive life of trying to kick the crap out of the devil? It’s just too easy to think that the devil is in the people we’re supposed to love.
It’s a great copout.
So even though some guy named Paul thought, many centuries ago, that he had discovered a clever analogy by using armour to describe awareness, I refuse to walk into life clad in metal garments which communicate that I’m scared to death of the world around me.
So I suppose if people want to hurt me they can.
But if they want to hug me, they will get flesh and blood … instead of tin.

Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) — J.R. Practix
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