de civitate deo

My Uncle Rosco was strolling on the avenue with Mort Bilberry.
Mort is a fairly clapped out street dealer for the Sanchez gang.
His lifetime of alcohol and drug use have left him in the best sense of an old fashioned phrase, fairly f-ck-d.
Uncle Rosco was trying to convert him to Christianity.
The uncle reached for a flower in the hedge and plucked it.
"Look at that," he exclaimed earnestly. "Neither you nor any man could make that grow. Only God can make that grow."
"What are you f--king talking about?" rasped Mort. "Of course I can make it f--king grow. If I plant the seed, it'll f--king grow, won't it."
Ah yes.
Come back Thomas Aquinas, all is forgiven.