In case you'd forgotten.
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
U.S. Military Killing For Jesus
Be proud of these brave boys, doing the will of the man who said, Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be the sons and daughters of God.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Portals of Prayer - July 1, 2008
Today's Christianity is destructive and degenerate, but most people knew that.
The Portals of Prayer is a quarterly publication that focuses on providing a simple devotion corresponding to a Bible verse. It is meant to be read by Christians who may or may not be too busy to read the Bible, but want something encouraging to read. The Portals of Prayer is a small booklet, and each page represents a day, i.e. Jan 1st is one page, Jan. 2 the next page, and so on. For Christians, this small devotion provides a thought to be gnawed on by the mind throughout the day, and to give a little spiritual courage to the Christian soul that doesn't feel quite at home in the heathen, pagan-swelled world.
Having had the Portals of Prayer publication read to me since I was a small child, I had given it up after I left home, despite the encouragement and almost coercive pressure placed on me by my mother. So I picked it up again, July 1, today, and was nearly appalled by what I was reading. The Portals of Prayer is not a positive message, nor does it show Christians in a positive light.
The title of the devotion for July 1 is "Parading Trumpets." The opening paragraph hooks the reader by the placement of a historical fact. It says, in a nutshell, that Canada was created by the British North America Act in 1867, and that Canadians, "celebrate this anniversary with cricket, picnics, fireworks, and parades." This is a positive first paragraph, showcasing a simple, historical fact, painted with the feel-good images of celebrating Canadians. The pith of it, however, is that Canada, on July 1, 1867, was officially created. Now, I don't know how you like Canadians, or what your feelings are toward them, but this is something to be proud of. And Americans should know, since it is close to our Independence Day.
The second paragraph is where a drastic turn is taken in accordance with today's devotion. I understand that space is limited, since the Portals of Prayer publishes a mini booklet every quarter, and only gets about three, maybe four paragraphs with which to make their point, but today's segue goes from black to white, creative to destructive, positive to horrifically negative.
"With resounding trumpets and a great shout, Joshua's army brought down the mighty walls of Jericho, and the Israelites conquered and celebrated." Is this even close to the lure of the opening paragraph? The reader is transported from a sunny field, where Canadians are celebrating, to the sound of war trumpets, blown by the warriors of the biblical Joshua's army. The next line hammers home the realization that Joshua's army was not invading to have a cup of tea or shake a few hands. "Everything in the city was given to destruction by fire..." Violence has now officially stolen the stage from the birth of Canada, which was centered, and focused upon by the first paragraph, as a positive, creative event. But destruction by fire? The doesn't sound good for the citizens of Jericho. But the destructive act of ravishing everything in a city with fire is only given the tiniest glimpse in this devotion, as the reader is passed off to what should be the good news. The good news: ..."everything [was set on fire] except Rahab the prostitute and her family." Rahab was "set aside by God's Word" as she trusted in it, and was safely escorted out of Jericho and brought back to the Israelite camp for safe keeping. This sentence, then, confirms the fates of the her fellow citizens of Jericho. If Rahab was set aside due to her belief in God, then the other people surely perished, and probably with fire, as the devotion implies by incorporating the word, "everything," when mentioning the destruction of the city.
Is this what Christianity is about? Is this Christ's message of unforgiving love from his (and our) Father in Heaven? And what about that initial paragraph? Is the murderous and disastrous fire set in Jericho by Joshua and Co.'s hands supposed to be linked by the reader to the fireworks of Canada's July 1 celebrations? How can something so commonplace and, hopefully, enjoyable for human beings, such as celebratory recreation, be juxtaposed with such a ghastly, disgusting event as what went on in Jericho? Or is it the title, "Parading Trumpets," that links the first two astringently different paragraphs together as the former mentioned parades, and the latter mentioned trumpets? But how, might the reader ask, does this make anyone feel good, or deliver a positive message? Perhaps this devotion might have been kicked off in a more appropriate manner with an austere description of war-torn Iraqis, or the ruins of Baghdad. And THEN move into Joshua's war trumpets, and the flooding of Jericho with soldiers and warriors, come to do God's bidding by setting "everything" on fire.
The third and last paragraph skips ahead to the future, when Jesus is going to return to earth, and a "trumpet will sound with the voice of an archangel." So the trumpet theme has been preserved from the second to the third paragraph, but a happy day out with the family is left far behind. When Jesus comes, "everything...will be given to destruction...everything save the holy Bride of Christ." How, though, do we become a member of the Holy Bride? It's not a secret society, so don't worry, you haven't been missing anything. The advice is to "Listen for the trumpeting of God's Word, for in it is your rescue and relief." That's a positive message, sort of, considering the majority of the second paragraph.
Questions arise, however, such as: What if you're deaf and you cannot hear that trumpet. What if you have a predilection against the nasally sound of a trumpet? What if you're simply not listening? What if you were born and live in a country whose music has never featured the trumpet? What if every trumpet seems to be that trumpet? What if you sincerely prefer the saxophone?
These questions are not in jest, and are not trying to dodge the so-called "good news" of Christ, or even of this devotion. Seriously, what if one misses the metaphorical trumpet call? Is the sin of not believing in Christ as Savior worth a firestorm, set upon us by other Christians? Or even by the hand of God? And can an all-loving, eternal being really not think of a better way? After all, he created us, did he not? As far as humanity knows, nobody is asked if they want to be born, and to which earthly location assigned. How is anything in this July 1 devotion positive, or comforting? And even if one is certain in his/her belief in Christ, and "knows" of the guaranteed salvation, how can that person live with the fact that everyone else is going to be set ablaze due their logical thinking, ignorance, deafness, or their geographical location? I guess that accounts for the individuals on the street handing out their version of salvation printed on little booklets.
Why doesn't the Portals of Prayer just omit the first paragraph and start with the second paragraph. Don't give Christians nice mental imagery, and then hurl firebombs into their peaceful thoughts with references to biblical passages.
This might not be fear-mongering, as the writers of these dubious devotions no doubt genuinely believe what they are preaching, but the text certainly lies in a bed of fear. Why do we love Jesus? For the Christian awaiting the trumpet call, it's because of fear. Fear of the purported firestorm. Fear of not being included in the Holy Bride of Christ. If that fear is taken away, do the majority of "believers" still believe? Do they still love Christ if the reality to life is that death is the end of body, mind, and soul?
Maybe we should only read the first paragraph in the July 1 Portals of Prayer entry and leave it at that. That's a nice enough image, even if it is simplified and completely devoid of facts or intelligence. It might be worth skipping over the Portals of Prayer publication all together.
The Portals of Prayer is a quarterly publication that focuses on providing a simple devotion corresponding to a Bible verse. It is meant to be read by Christians who may or may not be too busy to read the Bible, but want something encouraging to read. The Portals of Prayer is a small booklet, and each page represents a day, i.e. Jan 1st is one page, Jan. 2 the next page, and so on. For Christians, this small devotion provides a thought to be gnawed on by the mind throughout the day, and to give a little spiritual courage to the Christian soul that doesn't feel quite at home in the heathen, pagan-swelled world.
Having had the Portals of Prayer publication read to me since I was a small child, I had given it up after I left home, despite the encouragement and almost coercive pressure placed on me by my mother. So I picked it up again, July 1, today, and was nearly appalled by what I was reading. The Portals of Prayer is not a positive message, nor does it show Christians in a positive light.
The title of the devotion for July 1 is "Parading Trumpets." The opening paragraph hooks the reader by the placement of a historical fact. It says, in a nutshell, that Canada was created by the British North America Act in 1867, and that Canadians, "celebrate this anniversary with cricket, picnics, fireworks, and parades." This is a positive first paragraph, showcasing a simple, historical fact, painted with the feel-good images of celebrating Canadians. The pith of it, however, is that Canada, on July 1, 1867, was officially created. Now, I don't know how you like Canadians, or what your feelings are toward them, but this is something to be proud of. And Americans should know, since it is close to our Independence Day.
The second paragraph is where a drastic turn is taken in accordance with today's devotion. I understand that space is limited, since the Portals of Prayer publishes a mini booklet every quarter, and only gets about three, maybe four paragraphs with which to make their point, but today's segue goes from black to white, creative to destructive, positive to horrifically negative.
"With resounding trumpets and a great shout, Joshua's army brought down the mighty walls of Jericho, and the Israelites conquered and celebrated." Is this even close to the lure of the opening paragraph? The reader is transported from a sunny field, where Canadians are celebrating, to the sound of war trumpets, blown by the warriors of the biblical Joshua's army. The next line hammers home the realization that Joshua's army was not invading to have a cup of tea or shake a few hands. "Everything in the city was given to destruction by fire..." Violence has now officially stolen the stage from the birth of Canada, which was centered, and focused upon by the first paragraph, as a positive, creative event. But destruction by fire? The doesn't sound good for the citizens of Jericho. But the destructive act of ravishing everything in a city with fire is only given the tiniest glimpse in this devotion, as the reader is passed off to what should be the good news. The good news: ..."everything [was set on fire] except Rahab the prostitute and her family." Rahab was "set aside by God's Word" as she trusted in it, and was safely escorted out of Jericho and brought back to the Israelite camp for safe keeping. This sentence, then, confirms the fates of the her fellow citizens of Jericho. If Rahab was set aside due to her belief in God, then the other people surely perished, and probably with fire, as the devotion implies by incorporating the word, "everything," when mentioning the destruction of the city.
Is this what Christianity is about? Is this Christ's message of unforgiving love from his (and our) Father in Heaven? And what about that initial paragraph? Is the murderous and disastrous fire set in Jericho by Joshua and Co.'s hands supposed to be linked by the reader to the fireworks of Canada's July 1 celebrations? How can something so commonplace and, hopefully, enjoyable for human beings, such as celebratory recreation, be juxtaposed with such a ghastly, disgusting event as what went on in Jericho? Or is it the title, "Parading Trumpets," that links the first two astringently different paragraphs together as the former mentioned parades, and the latter mentioned trumpets? But how, might the reader ask, does this make anyone feel good, or deliver a positive message? Perhaps this devotion might have been kicked off in a more appropriate manner with an austere description of war-torn Iraqis, or the ruins of Baghdad. And THEN move into Joshua's war trumpets, and the flooding of Jericho with soldiers and warriors, come to do God's bidding by setting "everything" on fire.
The third and last paragraph skips ahead to the future, when Jesus is going to return to earth, and a "trumpet will sound with the voice of an archangel." So the trumpet theme has been preserved from the second to the third paragraph, but a happy day out with the family is left far behind. When Jesus comes, "everything...will be given to destruction...everything save the holy Bride of Christ." How, though, do we become a member of the Holy Bride? It's not a secret society, so don't worry, you haven't been missing anything. The advice is to "Listen for the trumpeting of God's Word, for in it is your rescue and relief." That's a positive message, sort of, considering the majority of the second paragraph.
Questions arise, however, such as: What if you're deaf and you cannot hear that trumpet. What if you have a predilection against the nasally sound of a trumpet? What if you're simply not listening? What if you were born and live in a country whose music has never featured the trumpet? What if every trumpet seems to be that trumpet? What if you sincerely prefer the saxophone?
These questions are not in jest, and are not trying to dodge the so-called "good news" of Christ, or even of this devotion. Seriously, what if one misses the metaphorical trumpet call? Is the sin of not believing in Christ as Savior worth a firestorm, set upon us by other Christians? Or even by the hand of God? And can an all-loving, eternal being really not think of a better way? After all, he created us, did he not? As far as humanity knows, nobody is asked if they want to be born, and to which earthly location assigned. How is anything in this July 1 devotion positive, or comforting? And even if one is certain in his/her belief in Christ, and "knows" of the guaranteed salvation, how can that person live with the fact that everyone else is going to be set ablaze due their logical thinking, ignorance, deafness, or their geographical location? I guess that accounts for the individuals on the street handing out their version of salvation printed on little booklets.
Why doesn't the Portals of Prayer just omit the first paragraph and start with the second paragraph. Don't give Christians nice mental imagery, and then hurl firebombs into their peaceful thoughts with references to biblical passages.
This might not be fear-mongering, as the writers of these dubious devotions no doubt genuinely believe what they are preaching, but the text certainly lies in a bed of fear. Why do we love Jesus? For the Christian awaiting the trumpet call, it's because of fear. Fear of the purported firestorm. Fear of not being included in the Holy Bride of Christ. If that fear is taken away, do the majority of "believers" still believe? Do they still love Christ if the reality to life is that death is the end of body, mind, and soul?
Maybe we should only read the first paragraph in the July 1 Portals of Prayer entry and leave it at that. That's a nice enough image, even if it is simplified and completely devoid of facts or intelligence. It might be worth skipping over the Portals of Prayer publication all together.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
HEY Hey! Lemon Tree...
Beyond introspection, circumspection, and overt suspicion, rising mightier than footfalls of egregious thunder, planting and tending dismay in the hearts of former derelicts and prized-fighting pinheads, along with the other more illustrious, lucrative individuals, bent on traveling with a macrocosmic understanding of something rather microscopic, tends to unravel anyone's finest sweater, and begins to tug on the hem of the old Jesus robe tighter than expected.
And everybody cringes.
Make it work.
Build a dome and shield everyone's head, as long as that head belongs to a normal, societally functional trunk and set of appendages, with a smile, then inclusion comes at last. For under that dome, held up by highly technological walls that breathe in good air and exhale the used, dirty stuff. It's a tiny sanctuary of unrivaled safety, and above all, more hallowing and noteworthy is its predictability.
For this sanctuary only exists in the minds of certain peoples, and sometimes like the rain can be controlled with a switch. Every Thursday, at 9PM, it rains. Miss clear weather?
Miss Clear Weather.
Missy Weather Clear has a problem with that time? Well, when would SHE like it to rain?
And everyone is safe.
Basically, it's become evident that people, each individual, wants a personal bubble, maybe constructed out of lambskin, so it still feels good, but offers a standard type of protection. Right? Of course, there are tiny viruses.
Oh.
Lambskin has flaws, after all. It allows flow, don't you agree? How tightly woven is tight enough? A tight, genetic bundle of over-under weaves would keep out the most ghastly decorated illnesses.
And this is why I do what I do in my spare time.
Repeat: This is why I do what I do in my spare time.
Random things from which I once suffered: lemon trees, rubber bands, bygone memories. It took the effort to stop trying to save myself that eventually granted liberation. The lemon trees, I thought, were obvious in their quest to strike me with grief. All of that vivid yellow on green. The luminous yellow orbs, alive and overwhelming, decorating a solid leafy green with such force and efficacy that lesser men than I might have simply been swallowed. I persevered, but with twitches and spasms more grotesque than any horror flick. Frighteningly, as I imagine it, walking down the street, seeing my face from a distance, and, upon taking a closer look, viewing dancing eyebrows, jerky ears, and an ever-settling mouth. That was I thinking about lemon trees. How much uglier it became with a strong cup of coffee is a figure or estimate that remains elusive to me. I knew I was twitching my face almost inside out and imagined the skin on my nect stretching while the front of my face migrated in jerks and skips to the back of my skull.
And, yet, the ears, due to their location, would have been more or less all right.
Thinking like that is childish, and too imaginative, easily overstated, and drunkenly cliche. Like Jack Kerouac? Nah, not like Jack. Like Neal? Cassady? Jack Cassady. Neal Kerouac. A match...made in Heaven. Piano, cue.
What actually needs to be said is taht my face was hardly able to be still, due to all of the overstimulation of lemon trees galore. Garish, spindly, ingrates. ! Especially in conversation to another living being. It was just lemon trees, and their beauty. Lemon trees fuck with all the senses -- sight, they burst in taste lik an exploding chunk of DayGlo rock, touching lemons' lightly goosebumped skin, or scratching your face on the bark of its trunk, and the smell, oh the smell, causes me, at least, to suck in and in until my nasal passages are raw, my sinuses spitting venom, and I know, somewhere under that plethora of citrus, true cleanliness lies. The lemon tree's dynamicism really, truly, brings forth a human's mortality, and screams, "you will NEVER be able to experience ME fully (FULLY!), you FOOL!" And you think, oh, that's right, I am going to perish, and really, on a larger, more expansive world scale, I'm going to experience a fraction of the smallest percentage of everything. And the lemon tree becomes a metaphor, turning into a portentous, and beautiful boil. Nei! Oh...
Mr. Kerouac. You haven't escaped. I've mentioned you, too. Lemon, anyone?
And everybody cringes.
Make it work.
Build a dome and shield everyone's head, as long as that head belongs to a normal, societally functional trunk and set of appendages, with a smile, then inclusion comes at last. For under that dome, held up by highly technological walls that breathe in good air and exhale the used, dirty stuff. It's a tiny sanctuary of unrivaled safety, and above all, more hallowing and noteworthy is its predictability.
For this sanctuary only exists in the minds of certain peoples, and sometimes like the rain can be controlled with a switch. Every Thursday, at 9PM, it rains. Miss clear weather?
Miss Clear Weather.
Missy Weather Clear has a problem with that time? Well, when would SHE like it to rain?
And everyone is safe.
Basically, it's become evident that people, each individual, wants a personal bubble, maybe constructed out of lambskin, so it still feels good, but offers a standard type of protection. Right? Of course, there are tiny viruses.
Oh.
Lambskin has flaws, after all. It allows flow, don't you agree? How tightly woven is tight enough? A tight, genetic bundle of over-under weaves would keep out the most ghastly decorated illnesses.
And this is why I do what I do in my spare time.
Repeat: This is why I do what I do in my spare time.
Random things from which I once suffered: lemon trees, rubber bands, bygone memories. It took the effort to stop trying to save myself that eventually granted liberation. The lemon trees, I thought, were obvious in their quest to strike me with grief. All of that vivid yellow on green. The luminous yellow orbs, alive and overwhelming, decorating a solid leafy green with such force and efficacy that lesser men than I might have simply been swallowed. I persevered, but with twitches and spasms more grotesque than any horror flick. Frighteningly, as I imagine it, walking down the street, seeing my face from a distance, and, upon taking a closer look, viewing dancing eyebrows, jerky ears, and an ever-settling mouth. That was I thinking about lemon trees. How much uglier it became with a strong cup of coffee is a figure or estimate that remains elusive to me. I knew I was twitching my face almost inside out and imagined the skin on my nect stretching while the front of my face migrated in jerks and skips to the back of my skull.
And, yet, the ears, due to their location, would have been more or less all right.
Thinking like that is childish, and too imaginative, easily overstated, and drunkenly cliche. Like Jack Kerouac? Nah, not like Jack. Like Neal? Cassady? Jack Cassady. Neal Kerouac. A match...made in Heaven. Piano, cue.
What actually needs to be said is taht my face was hardly able to be still, due to all of the overstimulation of lemon trees galore. Garish, spindly, ingrates. ! Especially in conversation to another living being. It was just lemon trees, and their beauty. Lemon trees fuck with all the senses -- sight, they burst in taste lik an exploding chunk of DayGlo rock, touching lemons' lightly goosebumped skin, or scratching your face on the bark of its trunk, and the smell, oh the smell, causes me, at least, to suck in and in until my nasal passages are raw, my sinuses spitting venom, and I know, somewhere under that plethora of citrus, true cleanliness lies. The lemon tree's dynamicism really, truly, brings forth a human's mortality, and screams, "you will NEVER be able to experience ME fully (FULLY!), you FOOL!" And you think, oh, that's right, I am going to perish, and really, on a larger, more expansive world scale, I'm going to experience a fraction of the smallest percentage of everything. And the lemon tree becomes a metaphor, turning into a portentous, and beautiful boil. Nei! Oh...
Mr. Kerouac. You haven't escaped. I've mentioned you, too. Lemon, anyone?
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