The Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, my adult Bible study group was a bit smaller than usual, and so rather than continuing on with our current study of Saint Matthew’s Gospel and risking a good number of folks missing too much, I asked the ones who were in attendance if there were any other topics in particular that they’d prefer to consider together. There were various ideas, and we did eventually settle on one, but at one point, one of the younger members said jokingly, “Just go with whatever comes first to your mind, Pastor.”

Really?

Okay.

And so I shared the first free-floater that emerged.

“There are two kinds of people,” I said. “There are those who abide by the carpet level settings on their vacuum cleaner, and there are those who could care less, just vacuuming anything and everything on the lowest setting.”

They laughed, and for a minute or so, a few in the group started to describe which of the two they were.

I really don’t know where the thought came from. That’s just the way my brain works. But I was serious. And I should add that while such free-thinking liberties afforded to me could be hazardous in certain contexts, in that short moment, I’d already managed to plot how this might be carried around to a theological factuality worthy of our time. In fact, the first thing that came to mind was the Parable of the Good Seed in Matthew 13:24-30. Look it up. I bet you’ll be able to see the connection.

Anyway, we ended up talking about other things – namely, the current agenda items being contemplated by the Michigan Board of Education, and with that, we were able to think out loud, discuss the issues, and ultimately venture into the Scriptures for understanding. It was a worthwhile exercise. At least I thought so.

Still, the “two-kinds-of-people” vacuum cleaner analogy needs a home.

How about I change it up a little and suggest this instead?

There are two kinds of people. There are those who adore and defend Jameson Irish Whiskey, and there are those who want to tie those folks to railroad tracks.

I dare not say which of these I might be, although I will say that I cannot figure out why so many are devoted to this pigswill. I opened the bottle and set it aside, and then I stooped down to grab a glencairn. When I rose to where I was before, the air had been tainted by the obvious smell of rubbing alcohol.

Now, I know what you are thinking. You’re thinking that’s such a tired description for any booze with a medicinal smell. I’m serious, though. It really does smell just like the isopropyl alcohol I use to do what’s called the “kindling of the new flame” during our Easter Vigil service. And I should know because I’ve been performing that rite and ceremony for almost ten years now.

There really is nothing else to its scent.

It’s a bit of a different story when it comes to the palate. The alcohol is still there, but it is equaled, perhaps even slightly overcome by green apples, souring malt, and copper.

The medium finish matches the nose in that there’s a briny aftertaste of alcohol which allows very little room for what seemed to be a grapefruit struggling to emerge.

This certainly isn’t the best Irish whiskey I’ve ever had, although I suppose I might go ahead and sip it if that’s all that is available at the wedding, or bar mitzvah, or whatever. I’ll probably never buy it on purpose ever again. But considering the two kinds of people… How about you just consider me as one who wouldn’t ever consider tying anyone to railroad tracks, but depending upon the Jameson defender’s fervency, I might be willing to drop by Home Depot to get the rope.