Conversations on Magic: ‘Muscles Marty’

Conversations on Magic: ‘Muscles Marty’

‘Muscles Marty’ moved into my personal space and flexed, but strangely he was not threatening. One might say he was even friendly. Yes, I think perhaps his posture was one of pity even. His brotherly smile carried with it something unspoken, something that, had he given it words, might say, ‘I see you are quite a slight fellow, especially when compared to my tremendous bulk. Don’t worry I shall protect you.’ As I said, he wasn’t threatening, and now I even felt somewhat comforted. But then things changed. My take on his demeanor went from the realm of supposition to that of hardened fact: he gave voice to that look of his. With a deep baritone, he said, “Ah, I see young brother, that you are one of those … those weaker brethren.” Well, I’m not saying it was right of me, but hearing myself called weak in a public fashion like that, well it brought up some of those nasty fruits of the flesh. I bristled. I had done a fair deal of soul searching on this weaker brethren idea in the past, so it was not entirely a new concept for me to wrestle with. It seemed quite possible a weaker brother might not realize that he was in fact weak. Could it be true then? Was I weak? Thankfully I could see from Scripture that God loved and accepted the weaker brethren. Still, I did not want to remain one. I would much rather be in that other camp, the one with the strong muscly types. And now that I was bristled, could I be humble...