I recently joked with my law school classmates, that, having been in Fundy schools since kindergarten, I’ve been drinking Kool-Aid since 1966.
It isn’t true, is it?
Because it wasn’t the listening that equaled “drinking the Kool-Aid.”
It wasn’t the moving to Guyana that equaled “drinking the Kool-Aid.”
It wasn’t the hanging on every word the Man preached that equaled “drinking the Kool-Aid.”
It wasn’t the devoting of one’s life to serving the Man’s cause that equaled “drinking the Kool-Aid.”
Drinking the Kool-Aid happened when the Man turned on his followers and said, “Drink this and die, because that is better than living. Because the world out there hates us and is coming to get us and wants to shut us down. And, while you’re at it, make your children and old people drink and die, too.”
Almost a thousand—almost a thousand—obeyed, most without question.
But some, knowing what was coming, fled into the unknown, into the jungle. All the listening and admiring and working for the cause did not cause them, when saw the writing on the wall—when they saw what was inevitably coming—to throw away their lives at the word of a Man who said he spoke the Word of God.
They ran. They lived.
My only point is that perhaps we throw around the Kool-Aid accusation too quickly. We joke that anyone who is listening carefully and trying to pattern his life after someone else is “drinking the Kool-Aid.” (Pauses to hear someone yell, “It was Flavor Aid, man!”) Listening, taking notes, obeying might be fine.
But be very careful, my dear friend, when the listening turns into doing something or countenancing something that has harmed or will harm you, your friends, your children, or your old people, or anyone else.
Then run like crazy. And don’t look back.