If, as a young man, you spent a fair amount of time in Sunday School (as I did) being educated by ladies, you might have found yourself rushing, Paul Ryan style, to their defense, only to find they didn’t really need it — or want it.
You know how it goes. Some strutting, sandy-haired Norseman in a letterman’s jacket walks into the party and brazenly appraises the girl you’re trying to impress with your knowledge of Paul’s epistles. You can’t believe it. His eyes are doing an elevator from the breast to hips and back up to her eyes and then he says something you wouldn’t dream of saying in a million years, something like “those are some pretty bumps, girl.”
The whole thing is so tasteless and vulgar and transparent, you grimace. “Hey, let’s keep it classy,” you say, and the girl puts her hand on your arm and coos a “thank you” in a way that makes you melt, but THEN, when the banty rooster walks away, you catch her smiling at him. Smiling at him. She likes this sort of thing. So do the other girls. They are laughing, elbowing her in the waist, and, try as you may, you just can’t get the conversation back to the Pauline epistles.
Or I remember an anonymous bachelor auction years ago, in a young adult church group. One anonymous young buck described himself as a first-year attorney. The women’s top bid was $10 for a date. The next one was a CPA. They bid $5. The next one simply described himself as “a rebel and a scoundrel — and you don’t want anything to do with me.” The top bid was $95, after a depressing shriek-fest of women who had just turned into breathy bobby-soxers.
So spare me your indignation, Paul Ryan, at Donald Trump’s crude hot mic banter. Any honest man in America has heard that sort of thing, dozens of times, and so have most women. Does it represent our best and brightest moment? Of course not. Is it a crime against women? Get a life. This is precisely the sort of crude comedy that earns Sarah Silverman a spot at the Democratic National Convention.
The apostle Paul (let’s get back to those Pauline letters, shall we?) was faced with a generation of first generation Christian legalists, the Galatians. They were taking the simple, redeeming message of Christ and turning it back into a baroque burden of rules and regulations — religious feasts, dietary laws, and even circumcision. Paul was irritated by their false holiness, in the extreme. He called them “stupid Galatians.” (Would Paul Ryan approve?) He told them anyone who preached “another gospel” should be “cursed.” (Would Paul Ryan approve?) He even said that anyone dumb enough to attempt to please God by cutting off his foreskin should go ahead and cut the whole thing off. (That sounds something like Paul grabbing them by the p***y, doesn’t it? Would Paul Ryan approve?)
Before anyone accuses me of comparing Donald Trump to St. Paul, ease back off for a minute and look at the context here, people. We are being asked to choose one of two individuals for leadership of the free world. Hillary Clinton’s corruption is so complete she can be bought off to prevent a raise in the Haitian minimum wage from $3 to $5 a day. Hillary Clinton wants 33,000 more babies killed a year through a repeal of the Hyde Amendment. Hillary Clinton, in the 2nd presidential debate, couldn’t even bring herself to mention defense of the Constitution in her criteria for supreme court justices. She is so supremely arrogant, she can’t be bothered to protect government secrets, and her incompetence has caused the death of thousands of Christians in the middle east. As evil goes, she’s as close to a modern Jezebel as any reasonably informed believer could imagine.
But Paul Ryan is so concerned about an eleven year old joke, made in poor taste, already apologized for, that he “just can’t” endorse the nominee of his own party. Our run-away welfare state, our gargantuan national debt, our faltering military strength, and even the lives of the unborn have fallen prey to ungentlemanly bra-and-panty talk. And if you can believe it, this decision takes place over and against the enabler of Bill Clinton’s serial sexual assaults and the pecker-pimping of Huma Abedin’s husband. Yes, you read that right: Paul Ryan’s Sunday School sensibility declares that Donald Trump’s words have rendered him unfit. In a world where the feminist Hillary Clinton wears a veil and makes polite conversations with Islamic delegations that justify female genital mutilation, Paul Ryan is worried about Donald Trump’s words.
The Prophet Isaiah warned of this Pharisee spirit when he lamented a condition where “children are their oppressors, and women rule over them.” Men are ruled by the home brood because they ignore “the weightier matters of the law.” They hide great sin by taking solace in small virtue. Cowardice masquerades as peace-keeping and gentle communication covers outright deception. Somewhere in their lives a shrew is barking at them to create a polite-speak zone, while other women are being burned alive on the other side of the globe. Voters with feminist sensibilities are worried about Donald’s theoretical crotch-lunging, but unconcerned about the lives of real babies he’s pledged to protect. Somewhere a Lutheran church lady is saying, “well, yes, Paul Ryan defends the death camps, but he always has something nice to say to the ladies.”
You were never defending the ladies, Paul. You were abandoning them — and the real women know better.