My son, I see you’ve finished in part
Your studies of the divine art.
It is called theological,
But don’t see it as magical.
My son, I heard it’s not easy.
Your faith will be queasy.
But it’s the Lord who will lead you,
When it’s Him, you’ll make it through.
My son, disregard the liberals,
Don’t consider them heros.
They will destroy the subject of dogmatics
And deform the science of hermeneutics.
My son, make sure to guard your heart.
Search the Bible from the start,
So that theology of a human bent,
Does not mask the divine scent.
My son, a servant of mighty degree
Doesn’t really have need of a PhD.
You should have a holy walk.
About which all the others talk.
My son, work off your ass,
And pay attention in class.
Your parish will be more demanding,
Its growth won’t be subsiding.
My son, once you’ve graduated,
And your brains have been sated,
Sort out what is now in your head,
And the church will be in good stead.
By Moussa Bongoyok, Translation by P. W. Dunn (November 3, 2009) from CONSEIL D’UN PÈRE À UN FUTUR THEOLOGIEN