Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Goldilocks.
- She went for a walk in the forest. Pretty soon, she came upon a house. She knocked and, when no one answered, she walked right in. At the table in the kitchen, there were three bowls of porridge. Goldilocks was hungry. She tasted the porridge from the first bowl. “This porridge is too hot!” she exclaimed. So, she tasted the porridge from the second bowl. “This porridge is too cold,” she said. So, she tasted the last bowl of porridge. “Ahhh, this porridge is just right,” she said happily, and she ate it all up.
- Once upon a time, there was a church in Laodicea, and, much like Goldilocks, the people in this church … well, they liked their porridge in just a certain way, not too hot and not too cold. They had begun their culinary journey by eating whatever was sent out from the kitchen by the Master Chef, accepting that he knew what was best concerning their porridge. But one day they realized that they were much too wise for this, and they began deciding for themselves what porridge was good for them and what porridge was not.
- So they refined their taste, assumed more and more control of their diet and found an exquisite balance. Hot porridge was obviously out, far too controversial, and cold porridge was, well, cold, but that sweet spot in the middle was lukewarm perfection. They called it balance, finding the correct proportions of truth and life. They concocted recipes that fit their culture and times, sophisticated and discriminating. And in the process they achieved a foolproof blend of religion and life, and it showed in their dazzling success. They were now rich and in need of absolutely nothing.
- So stunning was their success that they were sure that even the Master Chef would be impressed. And why not? Were his recipes not the basis for their work? Surely he should receive some of the credit for their success. And surely he must be pleased with their work.
- And then one day a messenger hand-delivered a letter from the Master Chef himself.