There once was a man named Pastor Hidas.

He had a young son: Sophistocles.

Pastor Hidas had a wealth of theological knowledge, but he was continually perplexed that his congregants hated him for it.

He would have a conversation with the bakers about Christ’s body and blood being present in their bread at the Lord’s Table — and they would look askance.

He would mention to the scientists that the Lord had created the cosmos lo ’round six thousand years ago — and they would snicker to one another.

He would explain to the grandchildless widows that their sons ought not be conducting themselves in untoward ways at the bathhouse — and they would take umbrage.

He sought counsel in a visiting scholar.

“My parish is wonderful, yes. A gift from God. But it could be better! If only my people thought more well of me, then it would be perfect.”

“Hidas, it’s really a simple fix, my fellow,” replied the scholar. “Keep the hard things as abstractions, my good man, and no one need be offended at what you say ever again.” Then the two parted, the scholar back to his ivory tower, and Pastor Hidas to his parish.

When next Pastor Hidas came upon the bakers, this was his remark on their bread: “Ah! A fine unleavened cake. The body of Christ will be quite at home when this is on the altar — in some kind of spiritual sense, of course.” The bakers smiled graciously and complimented Pastor Hidas on his fine theological education.

When Pastor Hidas came upon the scientists, he said: “Excellent to be walking around breathing the fresh air today, eh? It smells like you might imagine the air of Eden — if,” he hastened to add, “such had been a real place.” The scientists clapped Pastor Hidas on the back and complimented him on his exquisite knowledge of the foundations of the world.

When Pastor Hidas came upon the grandchildless widows, he said: “So wonderful to see you all! And how are those boys — still practicing the second greatest commandment? You know, Jesus’ ministry was all about love!” The widows curtsied politely and complimented Pastor Hidas on his marvelous understanding of the richness of the Gospel.

When Pastor Hidas finally came to his home, young Sophistocles emerged from the front door to greet him.

“Father, I have a theological question,” said the boy. “Did Jesus really rise from the dead?”

Ah, thought Hidas to himself, what a wonderful opportunity! If following that scholarly gentleman’s advice could turn those who were so put off by me before into devoted admirers, then how much more should it improve my relationship with my boy, who already loves me?

“Son,” he said. “The fact of the matter is that he need not have risen in history — it is that he rises every day in our hearts that truly matters.”

“Then what the other people say is true,” said Sophistocles. “For a man who could not rise from the dead could neither be truly present in mere bread. Nor could a power that could not raise him have made the heavens and the earth. It is not enough for God to be real in my heart, if He is not real in fact and in deed. Thank you, esteemed father, for speaking the truth to me — I would not have believed it had I not heard it from your own mouth. Now, it’s time I’m on my way; I’m off to join the other young men at the bathhouse tonight.”

Caught by the heart, Pastor Hidas from that moment forward always preached the fullness of the council of God, speaking with the scriptures and being careful not to let his confession fall into meaningless abstractions. The hard-hearted congregants returned to jeering at his “primitive” and “simple” beliefs; and now, his son mocked with them.