Harry Zenz patted his arm. “Oh, you, Don—you’ll always be a monk. But if you don’t believe it, Fislinger, look at the statistics of the five thousand odd crimes committed by clergymen—that is those who got caught—since the eighties, and note the percentage of sex offenses—rape, incest, bigamy, enticing young girls—oh, a lovely record!”
Elmer was yawning, “Oh, God, I do get so sick of you fellows yammering and arguing and discussing. All perfectly simple—maybe we preachers aren’t perfect; don’t pretend to be; but we do a lot of good.”
“That’s right,” said Eddie. “But maybe it is true that—The snares of sex are so dreadful that even ministers of the gospel get trapped. And the perfectly simple solution is continence—just take it out in prayer and good hard exercise.”
“Oh, sure, Eddie, you bet; what a help you’re going to be to the young men in your church,” purred Harry Zenz.
Frank Shallard was meditating unhappily. “Just why are we going to be preachers, anyway? Why are you, Harry, if you think we’re all such liars?”
“Oh, not liars, Frank—just practical, as Elmer put it. Me, it’s easy. I’m not ambitious. I don’t want money enough to hustle for it. I like to sit and read. I like intellectual acrobatics and no work. And you can have all that in the ministry—unless you’re one of these chumps that get up big institutional outfits and work themselves to death for publicity.”
“You certainly have a fine high view of the ministry!” growled Elmer.
“Well, all right, what’s your fine high purpose in becoming a Man of God, Brother Gantry?”
“Well, I— Rats, it’s perfectly clear. Preacher can do a lot of good—give help and— And explain religion.”
“I wish you’d explain it to me! Especially I want to know to what extent are Christian symbols descended from indecent barbaric symbols?”