A Missouri colossus, not in physical size but in imputed importance, strode the stage as if inspecting troops. A bishop-of-the-moment addressed the men and women about to be ordained in the United Methodist Church and fired off questions -- part of founder John Wesley's historic questions for those entering the ministerial office.

This is some years ago, but my memory of one such question was:

"Do you know the General Rules?"

I recall shooting an upward glance at the ceiling at that moment. I didn't know them. I still don't. I know where to find them, which seemed to be the important thing. But the bishop-of-the-moment wasn't interested in my ability to consult a ready reference guide. He wanted all of us to nod our heads and to meekly reply, "Yes, bishop." We all obliged him.

It seems to me as if I've done a lot of dutiful nodding in my life. I'm quite a bit older now than that bishop who posed that query to intimidated confirmands in 1992. I've stopped nodding my head to things I don't know, don't agree with and don't understand.

I've stopped nodding my head when folks suggest we need more talk about heaven and hell in our churches.

As Quaker Philip Gulley once wrote, "The promise of heaven has not encouraged goodness. The threat of hell has not lessened evil."

It may be of some interest to realize while Jesus of Nazareth talked about heaven and hell in the New Testament, those two post-temporal life conditions were not the focus of his teaching. The pedagogical thrust of the first century Nazarene was directed at more earthbound concerns: bringing the kingdom of God closer to earth, the appropriate use of material resources (read: money), and hypocrisy. It seems to me that some contemporary preachers are much more concerned with heaven and hell than the Jesus of the gospels ever was.

I'm tired of nodding my head to such bromides as "evil is inevitable." Inevitable evil means we are powerless; there is little we can do. This writer refuses to accept that conclusion.

Martin Luther King Jr., a man I revere as a late-20th century prophet, once wrote, "the arc of the moral universe is long, and it bends toward justice." Stirring words. If King meant justice will eventually come, that justice will arrive if we wait long enough, I think he's wrong. I've stopped nodding. I believe in the possibility of justice, not the inevitability of it.

I've stopped dutifully nodding when a person with excellent intent suggests time heals all wounds. That's not my experience. The moment we sit back and attempt to allow the passage of hours, days, months and years to heal our hurt, justice recedes.

I've stopped nodding when folks present the story of Adam and Eve as a woeful tale of alienation, condemnation and exclusion. Eve ate of the tree, Adam did the same, directly breaking the solitary rule of the Garden of Eden. Genesis tells us the world's first couple was banned from paradise for their actions.

Candidly, the aforementioned plays well in children's Sunday school. I recall nodding my head in agreement when a well-meaning teacher explained the story this way: Adam and Eve put us in this pickle and now we all must live with the result. My head no longer does its patented up-and-down dance in hearing that long-accepted explanation.

An interpretation of the Genesis account that fires my enthusiasm is one that sees the Adam and Eve story as one of education, graduation and personal growth.

When the first couple ate of the tree, they graduated. When they bit into that forbidden fruit, they were pronounced ready for the world. If you recall the intricate details of the Garden tale, you'll remember a sword was placed to bar re-entry. Adam and Eve were shown they couldn't come back home. They must evolve, must grow into a new way of living. The Garden, then, was a kind of womb for the first couple. They emerged from it suddenly and without warning -- just as a baby emerges from a mother.

With the help of life experience and more recently, the words of a Quaker named Gulley, I've stopped dutifully nodding and started thinking for myself. It seems to me this is probably the way God wants it.