Okunskap eller flodhästar är väl också kristna?

Jag vet inte vad jag ska skriva om idag. Har faktiskt inte en aning, jag skulle kunna skriva om fotboll eller Fugelsang i rymden, kanske kunde jag skriva om mat eller hösten. Eller varför inte om höstig mat som soppor och sånt. Jag vet helt enkelt inte men som plåster på såren så får ni en väldigt diffus dikt av T.S Eliot som handlar om flodhästar och den kristna kyrkan...

THE HIPPOPOTAMUS

by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)

THE broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.

Flesh-and-blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.

The hippo's feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.

The 'potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.

At mating time the hippo's voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.

The hippopotamus's day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way--
The Church can sleep and feed at once.

I saw the 'potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.

Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.

He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr'd virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.

Jag är lite osäker på tanken med dikten, jag har liksom aldrig gjort den kopplingen mellan kyrkan och flodhästar eller ens mellan religion överhuvudtaget och flodhästar...