Resting in Pieces
Theology creates quite a ruse
When beliefs people do so confuse
Then lines drawn in the sand
Go to way out of hand
As texts and sermons folks do abuse.
Poor Karna Jonsson, chose not the fight.
Twas her hubby who deemed what was right
On Predestination.
Intense confrontation.
Without consent, this was now her plight.
For years she’d laid in her peaceful grave,
So why, dear Ben, was this now her rave?
A church’s inner war
What a heavenly bore
Could not they all just choose to behave?
But Ben could not have it be that way
That dear Karna could possibly lay
In heretical space
Cemetery disgrace
So shovel and cart, he grabbed that day.
Karna would soon be properly moved
To grounds theologically approved
The casket was loaded
The horses were goaded
And off to Dahlsborg Church, as behooved.
But poor Karna, a bump in the road
Caused the wagon to lose its fair load
So all across the ground
Her bones could now be found
A journey from which no blessings flowed.
Ben was now intensely distraught
Things had surely not gone as he thought.
He unhitched his best steed
And to his sons did plead,
“Finish this purification plot.”
Dear Karna, you no doubt want to know
Once again rests some six feet below
Waiting Jesus’ return
And departing her urn
Safely, this time, to glory go.
Next time you ponder a big church fight
Pause to consider poor Karna’s fright
Stay out of the mad fray
As they bicker and bray
For oft years later, feuds seem less bright.