My dear Theophilus (what a great way to start a column!)

In the previous issue (copies available at any good old-style fish ‘n chip shop) I gave you some account of the New Zealand part of the New Earth. You and others were so enthusiastic in your adulations thereof, I was quite whelmed. So, I’m pleased to tell you more.

When we left off, Dear Theophilus, we read of Saints Peter, Paul (but not Mary), Andrew, Jonah, Adam, Eve, Enoch, and Noah enjoying a meal and some food, bevvies, and chat at Andrew’s favourite Greek establishment in the sunny climes of Nelson, New Earth.  During the evening the gathered saints had become aware of a significant commotion out on the veranda, raised voices, vigorous gesturing, rising aggro. What could it be? All is now revealed …

Sadly, Euodia and Syntyche were at it again — or, possibly, still at it. The indoor diners, now noticing some apparent difference of opinion between the two verandaed saints, sent Paul outside to engage with them. He did a bit of beseeching, as in his Philippians days, that they be of the same mind in the Lord.  (Parenthetically, this time round Paul made no mention of his mates Syzygus — what a name! — and Clement). Euodia and Syntyche made up, finally, and it sure had taken a while, Peter reckoned, as he and his mates returned to their dining and imbibing. Our investigation reveals that the two women subsequently became quite good at "agreeing in the Lord" and in fact opened a dispute resolution service for employment matters. New Earthers were not eligible to use the service because, understandably, they were not expected to have any disagreements. But back to the story …

“Hey gorgeous, aint seen you round here before,” Jonah said to the purple-clad woman sitting at the next table. “My name’s Lydia,” she replied, “and yes, we haven’t met, I actually turned up quite a few hundred years after your infamous fishing expedition (as it were).” Lydia and Jonah chatted amiably about old times — and even older times, in Jonah’s case. 

In time (in a manner of speaking, it ran a bit differently here), the saints concluded their wining, dining, and general conviviality and reminiscing. Agreeing to catch up again the next day (or in the next thousand years, as the case may be), they headed for the door. “No payment required,” their host informed them. The saints already knew that, but all the same it was nice to be reminded of how good things were in the new here and now. As they crossed the road heading for their respective mansions, they espied Lazarus leaving his office at Lazarus’ Funeral Services. The rooftop giant screen display promoted four-day money-back guarantee to those not completely satisfied. “Lazarus is clearly showing his own experience,” observed Andrew.

Next morning dawned a fine, sunny, beach-enticing day, so that’s where they went — to the Tahuna version. A surprise fellow beach-loafer turned out to be Moses, recognisable of course by his long beard, plus his habit of ostentatiously taking his tablets. For the entertainment of those who hadn’t seen it the first time (none of them in fact), Moses strolled across the beach to the water’s edge. With a dramatic raising of both arms, he walked straight into the waves. As of old, the waves immediately parted, and Moses strode forth some 50 metres, turned and with a broad smile, raised his arms again in a repeat of his triumph.  As if on cue, a thunderclap, well, clapped, the two parted sides of the sea re-joined themselves, and Moses went under. A throaty chuckle emanated from the cloud floating immediately above. Moses sheepishly squelched from the shallows back to the beach and wrapped the proffered towel around his shoulders. His gathered mates were clearly amused by the whole exercise, and Peter — the non-believing lake-walker, of all people — couldn’t restrain his merriment. “Well, it worked last time,’ Moses told them. “I should have realised it was a one-off.”

That evening the saints repaired to the Trafalgar Centre for an evening’s variety entertainment. First up was the well-known satirical writer Samson, who with his recitation of a couple of columns brought down the house.  Goliath was scheduled next with his sword twirling routine, but when due onstage the producer found him still in his dressing room surrounded by an illicit range of chemicals. Stoned for sure.

Thomas presented a remarkable list of almost incredible facts in his “Believe It or Not,” gig, and was followed by Delilah who provided 10 immaculate haircuts to 10 hairy men in 10 minutes. “Sure is a fine show,” remarked Lydia, “but I really wasn’t expecting Delilah to be here.”

“God works in mysterious ways,” Paul told her. “And you can quote me on that.” She declined, in her view Paul already had more than his share of wise sayings, second only to Shakespeare. (Or possibly third, after Churchill).

Straight after the interval it was time for David and his harp, accompanied by the King’s Tin Trio, a ragtag assortment of percussionists. A couple of Uriah Heep’s numbers got the punters dancing, and in a surprising twist, a clearly wound-up David expressed regret at the circumstances of the passing of the original Uriah — an event which had led to a very profitable career for Nathan a while back. We understand the original Uriah, described by Wikipedia as merely a ‘minor figure in the Bible’, much to his chagrin, is still dead.

To be continued next issue, as we learn of Onesimus’ (or is it Onesimus’s?) new career, Nitzevet’s (who?) review of her son’s greatest hits, Judas’s numismatic business – and much more.

© All rites reversed. The editors gratefully acknowledge the copyright holders of original material sourced from Christianity Tomorrow, Newstub and the Nelson Male.