Sodomy, American Style

Biblical Evidence That True Christians Support Health Care Reform Part Seven

As wealthy America continues to sodomize the poor by failing to provide universal health care, in hypocritical contradiction to the 'Judeo-Christian democracy' we proclaim to be, wherein the will of the majority would be heard and heeded, I thought I’d turn to the Bible and explain the real sin of Sodom.

The common misperception is that it was a city of sexually deviant mule shaggers and rapists who went about having violent intercourse with the nearest ass (hence the eponymous term sodomy). While no doubt some of those behaviors went on there, the real immorality of that city was her inhospitable treatment of strangers and her own people.

The Bible says so.

‘Behold, this was the iniquity of thy sister Sodom, pride, fullness of bread, and abundance of idleness was in her and in her daughters, neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and needy. And they were haughty, and committed abomination before me: therefore I took them away as I saw good.’ Ezekiel 16: 49-50.

When Jesus ministered, healing ALL the sick that came to him, feeding the hungry and bringing light into the world, he specifically mentioned the destruction Sodom. ‘And thou, Capernaum, which art exalted unto heaven, shalt be brought down to hell: for if the mighty works, which have been done in thee, had been done in Sodom, it would have remained until this day. But I say unto you, That it shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom, in the day of judgment, than for thee.’ Matthew 11:23-24.

The denizens of Sodom had innate human decency to guide them, and ignored it to follow after their own dark hearts. Capernaum bore witness to the wondrous miracles of Christ, and refused to see and repent of their evil ways. ‘Christian’ America has the benefit of the resurrection that followed Christ’s visit to Capernaum, two thousand years of his profound influence on history, and witnessing firsthand the fulfillment of all of Christ’s prophecies concerning the latter days, and STILL refuses to do what pleases God. How much more do you think you incite His wrath when you enable unholy devils to devour countless billions of dollars while your poor brothers and sisters live in misery and die for lack of the basic necessities of food, shelter and health care?

If Sodom was destroyed by a rain of brimstone and fire from heaven, and Capernaum was cast into hell, what fate awaits you American ‘Christians’ who oppose the will of God in the name of Christ? The rain that fell on Sodom will seem like a cool spring shower when God blesses America as she deserves.

How Reagan Brought Communism to America

I met a fellow WTBN Christian radio listener a couple weeks ago. He’s dating an acquaintance. He’s a huge fan of Hank Lindstrom, who I also enjoy.

As we chatted I quickly realized he is a right winger. Among other indicators was his opposition to health care reform. I told him that I believe the only Christian who could possibly oppose health care reform is one who calls himself one with his lips but is not truly in his heart. I then suggested that perhaps he was able to maintain his views because he’s in a position of privilege.

He acknowledged: “That could be.”

Hmm.

He then went to explain his fear of communism, and that government takeover of health care brought us one step closer to the one world government prophesied in scripture.

He was referring in part to Revelation 13:16-17 regarding the communism: ‘And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads; and that no man might buy or sell, save that he had the mark, or the name of the beast or the number of his name.’

And in part referring to Revelation 17: 12-13 regarding the one world government: ‘And the ten horns which thou sawest are ten kings, which have received no kingdom as yet; but receive power as kings one hour with the beast. These have one mind, and shall give their power and strength unto the beast.’

The interpretation being that the international government will be ruled by the devil.

There is another related and oft cited passage in Thessalonians, where is described the coming of a man of sin, the son of perdition. 'Even him, whose coming is after the working of Satan with all power and signs and lying wonders, And with all deceivableness of unrighteousness in them that perish; because they received not the love of the truth, that they might be saved. And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie: That they all might be damned who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness.' 2 Thessalonians 2:9-12.

That we live in a democracy is a strong delusion--and a lie. By definition, democracy is the majority rule of the people. Right now the majority of the Senate and the majority of the House of Representatives have voted for the health care reform legislation, and somehow it’s not enough to pass it into law. In the 2000 presidential election, Al Gore received 50,999,897 votes. George Bush received 50,456,002 votes. Howso is it that the will of the majority--that we take care of each other--is ignored? Howso was it that the will of the minority prevailed and George Bush became president? I have no doubt that Satan regards stealing the US presidency, with a little help from the Supreme Court, as one of his greatest hits. Those are just two examples of how the minority often holds sway over our government’s affairs; a little light research rapidly reveals many, many more.

The rah rah Republicans toe the party line in part from the fierceness of national pride. They view the democrats as weak, and the republicans as best able to fight terrorism and to safekeep the country from communist infiltration and takeover. Yet the REPUBLICANS are the very iron fist that just pounded open the door and invited communism in.

Last week the Supreme Court decided the Citizens United case, regarding presidential campaign contributions. In short, the result of the ruling is that there are no limits on how much money nor who can spend it on a campaign in a presidential election. It is a deplorable, and downright evil decision. The US presidency is now effectively for sale to the highest bidder. This means that Chinese, Russian, German and French banking concerns, and whoever else wants in on a piece of the US government, can form a conglomo-monster and try to pay a puppethead's way into the White House. Mitt Romney would be a good zombie candidate to have foreign hands up his wazoo—he loves his hundreds of millions and is already brainwashed by that false religion Mormonism.

Here is how the 5-4 Citizens United decision was rendered, with the president who appointed the justice in parenthesis. The five in favor were: Roberts (little Bush) Kennedy (Reagan) Scalia (Reagan) Thomas (Bush Sr.) Alito (little Bush). The four dissenting votes were: Ginsburg (Clinton) Breyer (Clinton) Sotomayor (Obama) Stevens (Ford).

So when the coming presidents strip the white and blue from our flag, leaving us all red, and history looks back, it will dandle our great great great grandchildren on its knee and tell them the tale of how Ronald Reagan helped transform America into an appendage of the one world communist nation.

O irony, how deep and bitter is thy sting! All hail the next president of the United States of America: Liu Chan Bykofsky Inc!

What And Where Is Your Heart?

Biblical Evidence That Republicans Are Not The Party of Christ Part Three

Over and over throughout the Bible God makes one thing crystal clear above all else: He wants your heart. When a lawyer tempted Christ by asking how he might inherit eternal life, Jesus answered: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and all your soul and all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment.” Matthew 22:37.

God’s desire for man’s heart is everywhere in scripture.

“For the eyes of the LORD run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to shew himself strong in behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him.” 2 Chronicles 16:9.

“But if from thence thou shalt seek the LORD thy God, thou shalt find him, if thou seek him with all thy heart and with all thy soul.” Deuteronomy 4:29.

“Who shall ascend into the hill of the LORD? Or who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive blessing from the LORD.” Psalm 24:3-5.

Consider the very first words of the New Testament. “The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David.” Matthew 1:1. David is the greatest king in Jewish history, and Christ the king of mankind. Christ descended directly from the line of David, and when God chose David, it was on account of his heart: “And…he raised up unto them David to be their king; to whom also he gave testimony, and said, I have found David the son of Jesse, a man after mine own heart, which shall fulfill all my will. Of this man’s seed hath God according to his promise raised unto Israel a Savior, Jesus.” Acts 13: 22-23.

The Republican philosophy at its core is heartless—despising health care reform, and spending on programs to educate, house and feed the needy—programs which they hard heartedly vilify as evil, socialist entitlements.

But in so doing they fulfill the wrong scriptures, such as:

“If there be among you a poor man of one of thy brethren within any of the gates of thy land which the LORD thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not harden thine heart, nor shut thine hand from thy poor brother.” Deuteronomy 15:7.

“Wherefore then do ye harden your hearts, as the Egyptians and Pharaoh hardened their hearts?” 1 Samuel 6:6.

And by ignoring the poor at whose expense they further enrich the already wealthy, Republicans disregard scriptures they should cherish and take to heart, as it were, such as Christ’s teaching:

“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” Matthew 6: 19-21.

So if your republican heart is a stone, or a block of ice, or a lump of coal, or a black hole wherein destroyed your soul, what can you possibly hope to find for treasure in the kingdom to come?

Pat Robertson, the earthquake in Haiti and the tower at Siloam

The Rev. Pat Robertson has offered an overtly judgmental explanation for the earthquake in Haiti. He said that many years ago the island's people swore a pact with the the devil.

"Something happened a long time ago in Haiti, and people might not want to talk about it," the controversial televangelist said Wednesday on the Christian Broadcasting Network.

"They were under the heel of the French ... and they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said, 'We will serve you if you'll get us free from the French.' True story. And so the devil said, 'OK, it's a deal.' They kicked the French out. The Haitians revolted and got themselves free. Ever since, they have been cursed by one thing after the other."

Robertson went on to note that though Haiti shares the same island with the Dominican Republic, it remains desperately poor while its neighbor is "prosperous, healthy and full of resorts."

"[Haitians] need to have a great turning to God, and out of this tragedy, I'm optimistic something good may come," Robertson said.

Hey Pat, have you read the story of the tower at Siloam, that Christ speaks of in Luke? "Or those eighteen, upon whom the tower in Siloam fell, and slew them, think ye that they were sinners above all men that dwelt in Jerusalem? I tell you, Nay; but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish." Luke 13:4-5.

Here's another scripture for you to ponder the next time you're being powdered for the camera in your Armani suit and Gucci leather shoes. "Judge not, that ye be not judged, For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged." Matthew 7:1.

The Fox And The Tiger

Fox News political analyst Brit Hume recently called on Tiger Woods to embrace Christianity as a way of obtaining forgiveness and ultimate redemption for his well known transgressions. Hmm, Brit, let's take a look at your Christian self and the Bible, shall we?

Let's start with 2 Corinthians 14-15. "Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? And what concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth with an infidel?"

Brit, you do consort with those devils and liars and hypocrites who nest at Fox News, and are one of the first officers of that ship of fools known as HMS Teabagger. You do oppress the poor--in direct contradiction to the Bible--with your rabid opposition to social programs and health care reform; you give voice to liars--in direct contradiction to the Bible--and broadcast their falsehoods worldwide; you enable those who make mischief and wage war--in direct contradiction to Christ, the Prince of Peace--by fomenting fury and rage with your broadcast of their bloody hatespeak.

This brings about occasion for me to address something I've been thinking about since John McCain appeared with Obama at Rick Warren's Saddleback forum during the election. Here's a transcript of the exchange that's been nagging in my thoughts.

Rick Warren: "You've made no doubt about the fact that you are a Christian. You publicly say you are a follower of Christ. What does that mean to you and how does faith work out in your life on a daily basis? What does it mean to you?"

John McCain: "It means I'm saved and forgiven. And we're talking about the world, our faith not just encompasses the United States of America but the world. Can I tell you another story real quick?"

Does Jesus save? Indeed. Does God forgive? Absolutely. But to distill the glory and wonder and majesty and mystery of Christ into two words, saved and forgiven, is a vast oversimplification. It's wrong to say, "I declare Jesus Christ to be my personal savior," while lying, stealing and committing all manner of wickedness and sin with impunity, and under the presumption that all is forgiven in the end. Faith is more profound than that.

So Brit, while you may consider yourself saved and forgiven, I don't think it's well that you profess to be in Christ while consorting with the disciples of Belial, namely, your colleagues at Fox News. Consider when the denizens of Jerusalem and Judaea came out to be baptized of John in the river Jordan. "But when he saw many of the Pharisees and Sadducees come to his baptism, he said to them, O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bring forth therefore fruits meet for repentance: And think not to say within yourselves, we have Abraham to our father." Matthew 3:7-9.

Just as the Pharisees used their lineage from Abraham to justify their self-righteous and sinful ways, so do today's hypocrites profess Christ with their lips thinking it cloaks and protects them from their own evil deeds.


Here's a little more Bible for you, Brit. It's from chapter 59 of Isaiah, verses 2-8: "But your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you, that he will not hear. For your hands are defiled with blood, and your fingers with iniquity; your lips have spoken lies, your tongue hath muttered perverseness. None calleth for justice, nor any pleadeth for truth: they trust in vanity, and speak lies; they conceive mischief, and bring forth iniquity...their feet run to evil, and they make haste to shed innocent blood...the way of peace they know not; and there is no judgment in their goings."

Remarkable how precisely those words describe your cohorts in the Fox den. One or other of those nasty traits is attributable to just about every person I've ever seen or heard opine on Fox News. Since those are the foxes you run with, maybe you should check your own fur before concerning yourself with repainting the stripes of a tiger.

Drifting With Jesus -- Chapters 1-3

Drifting With Jesus is a novel about Jeremy, a disenchanted Catholic priest who pockets his collar and goes on a penniless faith journey across America. While exploring the various manifestations of Christianity in our country he examines and resolves his own questions about Catholicism. My own mystifying personal experiences blended with my curious imagination, and my profound love of the Word, set me Drifting With Jesus.

In Christ,

Bob


To read about some of the mystifying personal experiences just referenced, follow the link and read how it started raining five dollar bills in my life while I was writing New Clear Days, my first Jesus novel, which is about the Earth and the Second Coming of Christ.


DRIFTING WITH JESUS


Chapter One
The Wine

‘I sought in mine heart to give myself unto wine, yet acquainting mine heart with wisdom.’ Ecclesiastes 2:3


In the early nineteenth century a beautiful church was erected in the name of Saint Jerome in downtown Holyoke. Aside from ministering to the regular needs of its congregation--marriages, funerals, baptisms and guidance in daily affairs--it also served the community at large in the capacity of emergency shelter, soup kitchen and general distribution center of necessaries to the needy. Thus was it both spiritual fortress and friendly social place.

Because of its proximity in the heart of the city, and that several days a week free dinner was offered to all who wished to eat; and because the stomach so influences world affairs, there were always at least a couple of people milling around the doorway outside the rectory awaiting when it was transforming into a dining hall. These were mostly street folk, among whom were a fair number of winos, one of which was a particularly good natured man named Chet.

He could have been an old thirty or young fifty as far as one might have guessed his age, and he was so fastidious about his fashion that but for his greasy hair, grizzled beard and ever present brown bag in hand, any passerby could as easily have mistaken him for student, professor or banker.

Having lived all his life in Holyoke, he knew its ins and outs like the knuckles on his hands; and having passed so many hours of so many days and nights imbibing there on the steps of Saint Jerome’s, his discovery of the sacrament of the Eucharist was inevitable. He made it one lazy summer evening when both his flask and pockets were empty, and not being one to pass up free wine, went in ostensibly to hear the sermon on Daniel and the lions. He remembered how he enjoyed the story, and never forgot it, but all the time was anxious for the part of the mass for which he truly had come, and smiled with delight when at last it was announced.

But the moment he was in line between the pews he was overcome by the hundred imagined pairs of staring eyes, and bowed his head not in prayer, but in shame. He immediately regretted setting foot where he felt he didn’t belong, and wanted to vanish in that instant; but was frozen by his own self-consciousness, and the line slowly inched him up to his turn.

Finally he was next, and the distance between he and the priest seemed an impassable gulf, as though they gazed at one another from adjacent mountain peaks. He was giddy with trepidation as he warily crossed the red carpet. Then he noticed the other priest refilling the holy chalice with wine, and suddenly could have reached his end in a single leap of the heart. He restrained himself, yet nonetheless completed the last few steps with great confidence, and muttered within himself--yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s on with it!--as the wafer was placed on his tongue and blessed as eaten of the body of Christ.

He hastened on to receive his share of the blood, and as the rim of the vessel was pressed to his lips, softly inquired: “How much should I take?”

“As much as you feel the need,” came the whispered reply.

Thereupon he took a deep draught of the rich, golden wine, and as the glowing warmth flowed through him head to groin, filling him with exhilaration, he grasped the bottom of the cup, and without inhibition tipped the rest into his mouth. He returned to his pew under the dismayed gaze of all who had seen him drink so copiously, and passed the rest of the service in distraction, relishing the incredible feeling that no other wine had ever filled him with before. From that day he was hooked, and began looking forward to the communion ritual with the same childish anticipation that his mates greeted the approach of check day.

For many months he kept the sacrament wine a secret from his friends; and though there were many times he wanted to ‘spill the beans’ when he had to slip away from them abruptly without explaining where nor why, he maintained his secret mostly from fear of their ridicule. Moreover, every time the wine was actually on his tongue, he was seized with the urge to return to the end of the line for a second sip from the chalice, which temptation he resisted for fear of scorn.

The secret was revealed and the temptation triumphant in one fell swoop one brittle autumn evening. Chet hadn’t tasted a drop of any wine in three days, and was in desperate need of its warming virtue, and fired by the vision of his reward for sitting through a sermon, entered the church openly, and after announcing to his friends that he was about to have a taste of the top shelf wine ever fermented. They watched him go in wonderment; he proceeded to seat himself in the center of the first pew, where he patiently drifted in a reverie during the sermon on Paul’s scriptures of love.

When that was finished and the time for receiving the sacrament finally come, he was on his knee at the altar to receive his wafer before the rest of the congregation had even begun to form a line. He swallowed it whole and hurried onward to the cup, which, having been freshly filled by Father Brian, afforded him a long and satisfying drink of the hot, golden blood. He craned back his neck and rolled his head, staring at the majestic ceiling while enjoying the dizzy ecstasy that spread from his heart to the ends of his fingers and toes, and even his hairs. Then the elderly man who was next snapped him out of it with a nudge, and driven by Father Brian’s hard eyes, Chet hurried away.

He passed right by his pew with purpose, and positioned himself squarely at the end of the file, to proceed directly for a second taste from the body and blood of Christ. As it happened, there was precisely one wafer in the bowl for each mouth in the congregation, so that the last was served to the young girl just before him. This was all the better for Chet, who was glad to bypass the superfluity and cut straight to the cup.

He bent his knees, and Father Brian looked down, gave him a quizzical look, and pausing the cup inches from his lips, softly said: “Haven’t you already taken the sacrament this evening?”

“Yes Father, I have,” was his rehearsed, mechanical reply; “but I have sinned so horribly this month that I need a second cleansing.” Like Napoleon crowning himself emperor, Chet promptly tipped up the holy vessel and emptied all the remaining wine into his throat, moaning: “Aaaah...”

“Ahem!”

“What’s the matter?” Chet replied innocently, gazing up at the priest with wide eyes.
He casually set the cup behind him, and sternly whispered: “Your behavior seems most inappropriate at the moment.”

“What? Taking the eucharist sacrament?”

“Twice.”

“But Father,” he said suavely, “if you know what I’ve been doing and with whom, you’d understand how desperately I need His blood at this time in my life. My recent sins are immense.”

“I know you,” Father Brian answered, slightly raising his voice, though it was still hushed. Then he shrugged away the stares of the other church officials, and ignored those of the members of the congregation, all of whom were ready and waiting to move on to the benediction. “I’ve seen you many times on the steps of this church with a bag in your hand, and I’ve noticed that you only come to worship on the days the sacrament is offered. I’m not one who claims to have the power to read the hearts of other men, but I can make an educated guess....”

Chet felt like a cornered animal, but having sensed a hesitation, seized the moment to take the offensive. “Good Father! Are you doubting my intentions?”

Father Brian paused to contemplate for a moment, then responded: “Only you and God know who you are, while I know only what I can see, which is often wrong, but it is written in scripture that drunkards are among the unholy who shall not attain the kingdom of heaven, for excess of wine is one of the worldly desires that sets the flesh against the Spirit. That is the word of God written in the book on which I, and my fellow priests, and all our brethren here base our beliefs, which book also says that our works testify of themselves. And that is my answer to you.”

“Well Father, here’s my answer to that,” he replied. “I’ve learned a little about that book in these past few months I’ve been coming to Saint Jerome’s to take the sacrament. To what did Christ change the water at the wedding in Cana? Was it orange juice? Chamomile tea? Castor oil? Beer? No! It was wine! Very fine wine! In fact, as I recall, a better wine than the host was serving to his guests before he ran out and needed Jesus in the first place! And what was the affect of that wine Jesus made by the finger of God? It inspired the levity and merriment that enabled that marriage celebration to be just that--a celebration. And what did Christ serve to the apostles at the last supper? Was it mint julep? Coffee? Lemony soda water? No! It was wine, sacred and holy, with which he both purified they who would carry on his good work while establishing the sacrament we have just partaken. It fills me with warm joy to have his blood coursing through my veins, and at this particular juncture of my life I needed a second cup. God who made us knows we who frequently drink too much are not all bad people, and if you reckon what I have done a sin, then feel free to cast the first stone.”

Father Jeremy came over and said: “Is there a problem here? We’re all waiting to resume mass.”

“He took the sacrament a second time,” Father Brian said.

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Okay, I did, but I also explained why I had to do it,” Chet responded.

“Well, why don’t you return to your pew so we can get on with the service,” Father Jeremy calmly suggested.

“Because I’d first like to settle this little conflict,” Chet replied with respectful indignance. Both priests were taken aback, so he continued before they could interrupt the flow of his inspiration. “As I understand it, Father Brian is implying that I am somehow condemned for my fondness of wine, and to support his belief he produced a couple of quotes from the Bible; but I see it differently, and can also cite scripture to my purpose, as I already have. For example, what says the book of Ecclesiastes? According to my reading it tells that all our fleeting days under the sun are numbered even before given to us by the Lord, and being in such limited supply, to be cherished. Therefore Ecclesiastes does not instruct us to shun the good gifts of the earth that God has provided for our enjoyment, but rather says: ‘Eat your bread with happiness, and drink your wine with a cheerful heart, for God has already approved your good works.’ Which verse can also be applied to the taking of the sacrament, I do believe.”

“You’ve articulated your point quite well,” Father Jeremy politely said, “so if you would now return to your seat, there’s a whole congregation patiently waiting to continue worship, as you can see.”

Ennervated by the wine, Chet continued unabated. “Anyone who’s ceased their prayer because you’re here speaking with me, probably wasn’t worshipping in the first place. Now, the trappist monks of Bulgaria brew and sell beers among the finest the world has ever known, and have been doing so for centuries. There must be some reason they are the very best, and those holy men can’t all be damned because their blessing is abused by a few unworthies. My point is this: those monks see in Ecclesiastes what I believe you’re missing, that wine is to be drunk with cheer and a smile, not funereal solemnity.

"Therefore I suggest that you take a lesson from them and start bottling and marketing the sacrament wine. Call it Christ’s Blood, and make it available to the masses for daily consumption. Every sip I take fills me with the glow of the Spirit of the Lord; it makes me feel fantastic! If a lit candle is not placed under the bed but on a lamp stand, that it gives light to the whole house, why then do you hide such vintage bottles in the vaults of the church? Share it with the world! Let everyone taste it, and tell them what it is, so sweet on the tongue and satisfying to the soul. You’ll spread the word of the gospel around to your own, as well as to those who don’t know anything other than the bad wine they’ve been drinking all their lives, and who’ll all surely recognize its superiority as quickly as I did. You can even put some of your favorite bible quotes on the label.

"And beside that, the church could make a tidy profit--it can’t be averse to that, as attested by the rather large plates you pass among the pews. So give the people something more for their money than this beautiful house they have built but must journey to appreciate; let them have it in all their homes to enjoy at their leisure, and to be constantly reminded that the Lord is with them every moment. What do you say? A bottle of Christ’s Blood on every dinner table! I know it’ll fly, and I’ll gladly help you write the business model and design the labels.”

“The eucharist is a very sacred rite,” Father Brian answered, “and to command the respect it so worthily deserves, the affect of the wine used therein should not be cheapened by accessing it to the public through liquor stores. If you don’t like or agree with the way things are done in this place, maybe you should leave.”

“Is that what you would have?” Chet rejoined, raising his voice to echo and be audible to all. “One less member in the flock under the roof? Yet again we differ on interpretation, for my understanding is that God would want one more--nay, three!” He walked down the aisle to the front doors, and threw them open. “Hey fellows!” he called to his friends there on the outside. “Charles, Edgar, Russell...come in here for a moment.”

“Chet! What have you been doing inside that church?” Charles asked.

“Come over here, man,” Edgar said. “We just got two nice bottles of applejack.”

“Come on...have a drink with us,” Russell added, holding out the bag.

“I’m tired of that rotgut,” Chet replied. “Follow me, and I promise you’ll taste the best wine that exists on the earth.”

“Really? The best?” Charles said, perking his eyebrows.

“Really and truly...better than anything you could ever imagine...but you have to hurry!”

Charles bounded up the steps, with Edgar and Russell hesitantly straggling behind. The winos had never seen the inside of the church around which they had spent so many hours of their lives drinking, and marveled in amazement at the architecture and artwork while also cordially nodding their heads and greeting the onlookers as they passed, saying: “Hello...good evening...how you doing...beautiful church you have here...thanks for having us....”

“Fear them not,” their leader announced boldly as they approached the altar. “You all know the angels rejoice more for the one lost sheep recovered than the ninety nine who never strayed from the field, and I have brought in three more.”

He took them to the empty wafer bowl, near which Father Jeremy was standing, to whom he said: “Do you have any more bread--wait! Nevermind! I have something that’ll do.” He produced a few crackers that he happened to have in his pocket, and asked Charles, Edgar and Russell to kneel.

“What are you doing, man?” Charles nervously whispered. “You said you were bringing us to taste some fine wine. What’s with these crackers?”

“Shh,” he answered. “The wine is coming, but first you must eat these.”

There was a remarkable calm upon the congregation, the result of shock. They all waited in patient silence, allowing their priests to handle the delicate situation.
Father Brian came over to the men, and said to Chet: “This is most unorthodox, and I think it might be best if you stopped right now.”

“Let them proceed,” Father Jeremy softly instructed. “They will be judged whether or not the work is good.”

“Thank you Father, it is,” Chet answered. He then ministered the crackers and blessed his friends. That done he brought them to the chalice, and asked Father Jeremy for permission to refill it with a look and a motion of his hand, to which the priest nodded consent. He did so and put it to each of their lips, making certain they imbibed only moderate mouthfuls.

“That is good! Real good!”

“Wow! Mm, mm, mmmm!”

“Where can we buy it?”

Chet looked down and pondered taking a third sip, but declined and put the cup away when he caught Father Brian staring severely.

Then Father Jeremy said: “Now, would you please take a seat so we may finish today’s service?”

“Yes, Father, we certainly shall,” Chet replied, giving the cup one last longing glance. “And we’d like to thank you again for your patience and understanding. You’re a good man.” He led his friends quickly and quietly to the front pew, where they sat down and listened to the benediction with their hands folded across their laps.

After the conclusion of the service, Father Jeremy came and took Chet aside. “You’re all always welcome here, and not just on days the sacrament is given, but I would ask one thing.”

“What’s that, good Father?” he replied. “Anything you want.”

“This is a house of God, and should be treated with every respect; and though I don’t particularly care how you dress for mass, your friends smell like they haven’t bathed in some time, which can be offensive and distracting to the rest of the congregation. If you need a place to wash I’m in the rectory behind the church for two hours before every service, and you’re all welcome to stop by and use my sink.”

“Some of us just may have to do that,” Chet replied, turning toward his mates. “And thank you again; you’re tolerant and wise, the way all men of the cloth should be. I may not have added three thousand to the rolls as happened at the Pentecost, but I have brought three to the threshold.”

“Ah, I see you’re at least somewhat familiar with the Bible,” Father Jeremy remarked.

“Yes, you have gotten some return on your wine,” Chet replied.



Chapter Two
Setting Forth



‘But rather seek ye the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.’ Luke 12:31


Many years earlier, Father Jeremy had formed a theatrical group comprised of the younger members of his congregation. That afternoon they were putting on a production about Peter and some saints in heaven. The play was being staged in the space behind the rectory, and the setting was an enormous pearly gate standing upon a shaggy, white carpet, with a few fake shrubs interspersed with a dozen stunning fresh flower arrangements.

For his thick, curly hair and his wisdom, Father Jeremy was cast as the keeper of the key, Saint Peter. Through the weeks of rehearsal and the years of studying the gospel to get into character, the role had actually seethed under his skin and transformed him. Day and night, eating and sleeping, he pondered into his heart the words and deeds of the apostle made the rock of the church. The most difficult of all his contemplations was whether or not he would have denied Christ in that fateful morning hour, and when all other details and nuances of character had been resolved in his mind, that one lingered, tormented and consumed him.

He was the first to arrive to open the hall, and was in quite a chipper mood. He fondled the key as he bounded up the steps, and with a symbolic flourish slipped it into the lock and flung open the door. He passed through Eden in his imagination as he slowly made his way to wardrobe. There he was, stretching his body to a cross in donning his costume, a plain white robe. There he was, now all but Peter himself, proudly strutting across the empty stage, gatekeeper of the endless heavenly realm, at last smug with the understanding that he would never deny the Lord were he put to that test. Then he was startled back to reality when someone suddenly collapsed in the doorway he had just opened.

It was an old man, indiscernible whether alive or dead, grizzly in face and shabbily dressed, with a finely-carved walking stick lying beside that had rolled from his right hand. Jeremy instantly recognized him as one of Chet’s drunken friends who’d ventured in for communion that morning. The father stared in shock, convinced it was a divine response to his arrogant thoughts, and dreading the outcome. He knelt down to examine the man, praying he was just inebriated, and only passed out. But he was by all appearances already passed on; the father could detect no pulse nor the slightest puff of breath. He was torn whether to let lie what the Lord had ordained, or to try and revive what might be a dying man. He dispensed with the ethical dilemma and prepared to perform cpr to the best of his memory.

He quickly double checked the man, and reluctantly lowered his open mouth slowly, in the last hope that he would awake--which was exactly what he did, with the sound of a rumbling that became the thunderous belch that mushroomed into Jeremy’s mouth. He jumped backwards gagging. The elderly man moaned, burped again, then mumbled: “Through the jungle...I seek the plain. Am I really so large?”

He got to his feet and staggered. The good father took a moment to stop heaving and gather himself, then hastened and guided him to one of the first row chairs. He asked him several questions, but the man continued babbling without giving the least clue to his rantings until the father simply asked his name.

“Uh, Russell,” he replied groggily. “Yeah, Russ, at least I used to be. I think I’m dead now.” His wide eyes seemed to be far away, and looked in awe at the eight foot cardboard gate before them. “And you’re...Peter. Peter! I’m sorry! O forgive me Lord!” He fell down and smothered Jeremy’s bare feet with kisses.

“No, no, you’ve got it wrong,” Jeremy replied, stepping back in shame. “I’m not Peter. I’m a member of an acting troupe--”

Russell crawled after the toes with puckering lips. “Peter! O Peter please! Please let me pass! I’m feeling cold already. And lonely.”

He stepped back again. “I just told you, I’m not Peter! My name is Jeremy, and I--”

“Peter!” Russell persisted, grasping his ankles and slobbering with all his heart. “Tell me what to do. Anything! Only let me go under that ivory arch, most reverend and holy saint!”

Jeremy lifted Russell’s head and patted his cheeks. “This is not heaven, and I am not Peter!”

Immediately realizing he had just uttered his third denial, Father Jeremy’s heart sunk; he lowered his head and began to tear.

Meanwhile Russell returned to his senses. “Where am I?” he asked, looking about in confusion.

“I’ve been trying to explain,” Jeremy sniffled. “This is the stage on which my young friends and I are going to act out a play in a short while.”

Seeing his deep grief, Russell touched a consoling hand to the father’s forearm, and was about to speak some comforting words when a young girl said: “Good afternoon Father Jeremy. Why are you crying?” She was Alicia, innocent and pure as the angel she would soon portray.

“You couldn’t understand, and won’t need to for a few years yet anyway,” he sniffled, struggling to compose himself. “Why don’t you go along and get into your wings.”

“O my!” Russell said, shaking his head.

“What? What is it?” the father softly inquired.

“My wife’s linguine with shrimp. I feel awful.”

“Yes, I gathered that,” Jeremy said, wrinkling his mouth and nose. “But if it’s any consolation, I feel worse than you at this moment.”

“Howso is that?” Russell replied.

At that moment Father Brian entered the hall and greeted the two men. He clearly recognized Russell, and failed to disguise the faint look of disdain that subtly creased his face. Nevertheless he politely offered his hand then asked Father Jeremy if he was ready to perform.

“How well do you know Peter’s lines in the play?” Jeremy bluntly asked Brian.

“I know every word by heart,” he answered. His dour expression instantly changed to curiously hopeful. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m not going to be able to perform today,” Jeremy replied. “Something came up and I’m in no spirit to do Peter justice.”

Father Brian reacted with unconcealed glee. “I’ll be happy to do it, but what exactly happened?”

“I really don’t want to go into the details right now,” Jeremy explained. “Please just make sure our guest Russell has a good seat for the play should he wish to stay and watch it; and if not, that he knows he’s welcome here anytime. I’m going to leave this robe in the dressing room. Good luck playing Peter, and I’ll see you in a day or two.”

And on that note Jeremy shook both their hands and hastily departed. He walked a couple miles to his childhood home, into the woods behind, and ascended into the tree house that he and his father had built many years before. He was emotionally crushed and profoundly ashamed at having three times denied being Peter.

He stayed there three days in fasting and prayer, reading scriptures and meditating upon them. He’d always maintained perfect confidence that he loved the Lord with the whole of his heart and to the core of his soul; but now his simple encounter with Russell had opened the door and allowed doubts to creep in. He wandered amongst the fields and trees that were so familiar from his boyhood, pondering and questioning the true sincerity of his love for the Lord.

On Wednesday morning, after returning from a long walk with that same conversation tormenting himself, he returned to the tree house and opened his Bible to the last chapter John, twenty one, which describes Jesus appearing to the disciples on the shore of the sea of Tiberias after the resurrection. He reached the place in the chapter where Jesus three times asked Peter: ‘Lovest thou me?’ And Peter answered: ‘Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee.’ And Jesus said to Peter: ‘Feed my sheep.’

With those simple words, Jeremy’s heart moved. It was time to return to his duties at the church, so he stopped feeling sorrowful and started thinking about the day ahead. The evening service was at seven, and he had a one o’clock appointment with the dentist. Since it was nigh noon already, he decided to go straight to the dentist, then from there to the rectory to prepare for the evening service.

Visiting the dentist was the one thing in life he dreaded more than any other, but after tonguing the pasty film of yuck that encased the decaying battlement of his mouth, the good father swallowed his fear and cautiously entered the office of Stuart Krasdough, his lifelong friend, parishioner, and regular dentist. To his surprise the reception area was barren but for himself, so he tapped the bell on Nurse Lambert’s desk and went to hang his coat.

She appeared at once looking flustered and rushed. “Good afternoon, do you have a--O, Father. The doctor will be right with you.”

He sat down by the door while she vanished whence she had come, and had only begun perusing the latest issue of Living Water magazine when a harrowing scream curdled his blood. The pages flew from his hand, and he instinctively rose to leave. He was on his feet before he stopped and recalled that Stuart was one of the gentlest men he’d ever known; he decided to let his faith in that leave him blind for a time, and so retrieved the magazine from the floor and sat back down to wait. He got lost in the words of an article, which daydream was disrupted when someone said: “Good father, so nice to see you. Please do come in.”

Jeremy looked up, and involuntarily shuddered to see that the voice was not his trusted old friend Stuart’s, but that of Stuart’s nephew Stanley, who had just passed dental school and all its exams with barely acceptable grades. “What do you need today? bridge fitting? root canal? Heh, he--sorry, just a joke.”

“Is your uncle here?” Father Jeremy nervously asked.

“He’s on vacation this week, so I’ve hefted his patient load onto my own capable shoulders...do come in,” Stanley invited, encouraging and welcoming him with a sweep of his arm.

“What was that scream I just heard?” the anxious father justifiably inquired.

“What scream? O, that before. One of our patients must have seen the drill--I mean, bill...ha, ha.”

The priest reached one of those moments in life where a person closes their eyes and lets the Lord choose the direction they take on the fork ahead; and the next Jeremy knew his faith had brought him into a swivel chair, wherein he squirmed while an overeager young dentist probed in his mouth. As he worked Stanley babbled about the latest advances and procedures he’d learned in school, but succeeded only in distracting himself, so that he was constantly wedging his pick too far into the gums, and yanking the jaw up in tugging it out.

“Stanley! Please be careful!” Jeremy protested at last. “I’m getting to be an older man, and my bones aren’t as strong as they once were.”

Stanley muttered a hasty apology and carried on hacking as before, so that by the time Father Jeremy’s choppers were clean the whole lower half of his head ached like one gigantic, bad molar. Stanley turned his back and started fumbling with some instruments; Jeremy rubbed his cheeks, postured himself to get up, and was about to do so when an eight inch needle rose up before his nose like a sword. He crossed his eyes, saw two, and cried: “What are you doing with that?”

Stanley angled the tip into the father’s mouth and replied: “You have a deep cavity on a left side bicuspid, and I’m going to anesthetize you before I fill it.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind!” Jeremy exclaimed, seizing Stanley’s wrists and pushing them away. “In the first place, I’ve never taken medication to kill any pain, and I’ll not start now.”

“Then I’ll do it without novocain!”

“No! I, I think I’ll speak with your uncle first.”

“As you wish,” Stanley replied; “but that tooth is just days from requiring a root canal, and no man ever truly knows the pain the body can produce until he’s undergone that procedure. It is the mother of all agonies and the fact is that it may be the only recourse my uncle will be able to take. I am the other hand. With the employment of my updated skills, a little pinprick today will save an excavation tomorrow.”

The father’s veiny eyes bulged. But then something moved his spirit, and whether it was willing submission to punishment for his denial of being Peter, or that he wanted to let the green Stanley practice his craft, he clenched his eyelids, gritted his teeth, leaned back, and as politely as possible grunted: “Very well, fill it.”

Stanley set to the task with impassioned zeal. The first whinings of the drill made the father faint, and when it started spitting bits of white gravel inside his lip, he passed into an hallucination inhabited by the most grotesquely possessed demons his imagination had ever seen swimming in bile in the bowels of hell. His tooth was a six foot pillar upon which all the hideous creatures crawled up out of the slime and muck to sharpen their own teeth and claws. Torturous ages later he came back to himself in the chair. He was intensely groggy and disoriented, yet still somehow felt strengthened unto greatness for having survived the ordeal. Then the enormous, gleaming pliers popped up into view, and Jeremy slid ten inches deeper into the chair. “What--”

Those wisdom teeth have got to come out, and what better time than the present?”

Father Jeremy looked in terror, and saw Stanley’s leering grin as fangs gushing drool. “What are you...that thing looks like a stump remover!”

“Funny you would say that. We had a group of loggers sitting in on some of our extraction classes.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry,” Stanley replied. “Another failed attempt at levity. Please remember, I’m still learning. Now lean back, tilt your head, open wide, and we’ll have her out roots and all in no time.”

A sudden wave of great pain pulsed through the father’s inflamed jaw, and in his delirium he thought himself filled with and about to deliver a revelation. He leaped to his feet and cried: “Avast, minion! Get thee and thy pitchfork hence! This mouth is my livelihood and my life; it sings and speaks, worships and teaches, counsels, consoles, rejoices, praises and prays for every morsel it eats. The Lord God made it, and a man shall not alter it, least of all by removing the wisdom that anchors its corners!”

“Would you like to schedule another appointment for tomorrow?” Stanley innocently suggested.

“Of course not! Do you know anyone who would come to judgment without first reviewing his notes? Aaaah! Get me out of here!” He looked about for escape, and started to panic like a cornered animal. Then Nurse Lambert came in; her white uniform struck his eyes like a beacon, and he clung to her like a savior. “O angel from on high, from far heaven sent, rescue me from this and never again shall I be truant! I swear!”

The bewildered nurse assisted the good father out of the office; he was speaking in tongues. Stanley gazed stupidly at the wall for a moment, then went to the door and called after: “See if he wants to schedule for tomorrow or early next week; and if not, be sure to get his address and put him on our monthly reminder mailing list. Then bring in my next appointment.”



Father Jeremy slowly walked to Saint Jerome’s with one hand periodically scratching his head and the other wrapped under his throbbing jaw. He entered the church office to find Father Brian seated at one of the two desks. There were some pages spread out before him, upon which he was busily scribbling. He looked up at Jeremy, and said: “And on the third day he returned. We were beginning to wonder….”

“I should have called or come by sooner,” Jeremy explained. “I’ve been preoccupied, and I apologize. How did the play go?”

“Very, very well,” Father Brian replied. “I portrayed a marvelous Peter, if I say so myself. Others complimented my performance, so I’m not just being prideful.”

“I’m sure you played him well,” Jeremy replied. “What are you working so furiously on there?”

Father Brian casually gathered the pages together as if to hide them, then sheepishly explained, “We didn’t know where you went nor when you were coming back, so I was preparing a sermon for this evening’s service—just in case, of course. Since he’s so fresh in my mind, I thought I’d speak about Peter.”

“What a coincidence, I had the same idea,” Jeremy responded. “To speak about Peter, that is. Why don’t you finish what you’re working on, and we’ll compare notes before the service.” Jeremy retrieved a Bible from the shelf behind Father Brian. “I’m going to sit in the sun and do some reading.”

“There’s something else you need to know,” Father Brian said as Jeremy started walking toward the door.

The tone in Father Brian’s voice made Jeremy’s heart bristle as his feet halted. Jeremy paused, them calmly asked: “What’s that?”

“His excellency Bishop Tashburn is coming to speak with you. If he’s not here in time to hear your sermon tonight, he’ll be here tomorrow to be certain. He’s probably going to reprimand you on some level. Your administering the holy sacrament to those non catholic…men, was a serious breach of church protocol, and he’s quite upset.”

“Is he now?” Jeremy replied. “It’s good for his excellency Bishop Tashburn that Jesus wasn’t biased towards any particular groups--or non members thereof--at the last supper. Even Judas was allowed to dip in the sop.”

“What does that mean?” Father Brian said, clearly puzzled.

“It’s all in here,” Jeremy replied, holding forth his Bible. “I’ll be outside preparing my thoughts for my sermon, and for my defense against the bishop as well, I suppose.”

Father Jeremy spent the next couple hours lying in the hammock in the churchyard, praying, reading and ruminating on scripture, and catnapping as his painful mouth would allow. The Wednesday evening service started at seven; about five thirty he wandered up to his longtime friend and parishioner Felix’s neighborhood grocery store.

The store was empty, and Felix there behind the counter. “Jeremy, my friend,” he cheerily said with a warm handshake. “I’m always glad when you come to see me just before I come over to see you. What can I do for you today?”

“I need to put a couple of things on the church account.”

“Help yourself old friend,” Felix answered, stepping from behind the counter. “You know I regard my humble store as Saint Jerome’s pantry.”

“We’ve all got pipers to pay,” Jeremy replied as they stood together looking about the shelves. “So let’s put it to the account, as always. Let me start with a bottle of water. I’ve got the Staming baptism this weekend. What runs from the taps inside the church stinks, there aren’t enough priestly blessings to make it holy, and I’d hate to christen that newborn into the world with the smell of chlorine, though it would better prepare him for the reality of it all.”

“It’s a baby girl,” Felix corrected.

“Uh,” Jeremy groaned. “They must have given her one of those gender indifferent names, like Lesley or Lindsay.”

“Suzannah?” Felix remarked. He fetched the water bottle and chuckled while setting it on the counter. “And what else?”

“Some small cookies...do you have vanilla wafers? I’m administering first communion to the third grade class next week; I want Christ to be savory on their palates, and I won’t accomplish that with those dry dusty chips the dry dusty elders ordain from their dry dusty books. They may be tolerable for adults who understand sacrifice, but I won’t have the children turned off.”

“There you have them. What else?”

“A piece of good Swiss chocolate,” he answered. “Edwin Rogers recited the ten commandments to me last week, word for word, King James version, He’s only eight, and I want to give him a little reward.” Felix had his hand in the candy drawer when Father Jeremy, all but smacking his lips, corrected himself: “You’d better make that two good pieces of chocolate.” Felix started to set the candy on the counter, but the Father stayed his arm, took one piece and tucked it up his sleeve.

Then Father Jeremy noticed some stationary. All his thoughts of the recent days coalesced in a moment of epiphany. “Do you have a pen?” he asked. Felix produced one from his shirt pocket, and Jeremy sat down and scribbled.


Dear Father Brian,

Please go ahead and deliver the sermon on Peter you prepared for this evening, and plan to take over my reins indefinitely. The Catholic doctrine states that bishops are properly addressed as his excellency, cardinals as his eminence, and the pope as his holiness. But the Bible states that there is none good but one, that is, God, and that hypocrites love to be called by titles of other men. Feel free to show him this note as my explanation for my actions.

The more deeply I become familiar with it, the more I recognize the Catholicism as what resulted when the gospel fell into Roman hands. It is a doctrine based on the Bible devised to gather wealth on earth rather than the harvest into heavenly barns; and when it’s not being wielded to gather wealth, it is used by some humans to dominate others while their egos struggle against God. I’ve long dreamed of setting forth with nothing by my faith, and now that day has come in the fullness of time. I don’t know where I’m going nor how long I’ll be gone. I go with Jesus and leave him with you, in peace.

Your brother Jeremy.


He folded and handed it to Felix, saying: “If you would, please read this then take it right over to Father Brian.”

Judd quickly perused it and answered; “Where are you going?”

“I’m taking a leap of faith into God’s palm to let it carry me wherever. I’m going out a penniless disciple to do some work in the harvest. You will see me again.”

He hugged his friend then left his store. He wandered for miles as darkness fell, and finally came to rest in a bus station. He looked up at the schedule, then approached and asked how he might board a bus without any money. The clerk fixed his eyes on Jeremy’s collar and replied: “Father, you’re welcome on any bus you like.”

Jeremy looked down and answered: “Oh, I don’t want any special privilege.” He removed the collar and tucked it in his pocket.

“Well, anyone who mingles with the patron saint of travelers is always a good thing to have on any bus.”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” Jeremy conceded. “Pick one to put me on, and I’ll get on.”

“The overnight to Lancaster isn’t even half full, and you could sleep in the back,” the clerk replied. “It leaves in an hour.”

“Very well,” Jeremy replied. “I’ll take up the offer, and thank you very much.”

An hour later Jeremy was stretched out at the back of the bus and snoring.




Chapter Three
An Amish in Cumorah



“Behold, I am against them that prophesy false dreams, saith the LORD, and do tell them, and cause my people to err by their lies, and by their lightness; yet I sent them not, nor commanded them: therefore they shall not profit this people at all, saith the LORD. –Jeremiah 23:32.

Note: This chapter was inspired in part by the BBC Religion Documentary ‘Trouble in Amish Paradise.” Special thanks to Ephraim and Jesse Stoltzfus, who were the subjects of the show, and were immensely entertaining and informative.

Father Jeremy’s overnight bus arrived in Lancaster early the next morning. He alighted and went into the station. A clerk directed him to a map on the wall of the local area, with general directions to where the Amish dwelled. He’d always known they were an austere Christian faith, and farming people who didn’t drive automobiles and lived apart from the modern world, but little more.

He walked a couple miles west, and felt such a peace about the land that he decided to take a long wander therein, keeping lookout for a church or shops. He had gotten on a good ten miles when he crested a hill. He was getting very thirsty. About a quarter mile ahead he saw an intersection, and a figure approaching along the road toward it from the north. They were each a speck in the horizon when they espied one another, and reached the corner at the exact same moment.

There was nought they could do; they had to acknowledge each other. Father Jeremy was met by a lad about twenty, who extended his hand and said: “How do stranger? My name is Ephraim.”

“Jeremy,” he replied. “Much obliged.”

“You’re not from around here,” Ephraim observed.

“And you are,” Father Jeremy rejoined.

“Water?” Ephraim asked, offering the canteen he carried.

Jeremy was parched, and could hardly conceal his relieved delight. He drank copiously then thanked him. “I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.”

“Have as much as you want,” Ephraim answered. “I can refill it from the brook if you want more. Are you headed west?”

“I am,” Jeremy replied.

“I’ll walk with you awhile,” Ephraim said, and they commenced. “What brings you to my part of the world?”

“I’m just curious about the Amish and their church and your way of worship,” Jeremy said. “That’s what I came to see.”

“I can tell you all about the church. First of all, don’t wear the wrong suspenders into the wrong district. They’ll excommunicate you.”

“Excommunicate?” Jeremy exclaimed.

“That’s what they just did to me. That’s why you see me out walking the road instead of working in the field. I’m supposed to be out thinking about what I’ve done.”

“And what was that?” Jeremy asked, at the height of curiosity.

“They have all these rules, nothing but rules, and lots of them don’t make sense. There’s over two hundred different Amish districts each with their own regulations about suspenders. You can imagine the confusion. Some wear two suspenders down the back, some wear one suspender in the back and two suspenders down the front, some wear one suspender going from the one side of the back to the other side of the front….”

“And?”

“And I was adjusting them on leaving one district and entering another, and they broke. I had to hold my pants up so I used them as a belt. Everyone likes wearing belts the best and no one is allowed to wear them because of the rules, so I think they were even madder because they were jealous that I was comfortable. Sing a couple hymns in English, preach the word of Jesus, have your suspenders accidentally snap and you’re excommunicated. That’s my life, and this is my house up ahead. Do you mind if we stop in there?”

“Not at all,” Jeremy replied. “Lead the way.”

“I had to face the elders yesterday,” Ephraim continued. “The bishops of the church. It was terrible, heartrending, silly, boring and tiresome. All we want is to serve God, and the church is saying, ‘You can’t go to bible study, you can’t go to prayer meetings, you can’t speak to other people about Jesus, and because you refuse to quit, we are going to put you away from us, you wicked person.’ We don’t commit adultery, idolatry, fornication, hatred or drunkenness, but they count us with and treat us like those who do.”

“How did you explain yourself?” Jeremy asked.

“I confessed that I was going to prayer meetings and bible study. They asked me if I was willing to repent of these things and admit that I was wrong. I can’t, I’m not willing. I said ‘God, thy will be done,’ they kicked me out, and here I am, excommunicated and shunned.”

They crossed a covered bridge over a mossy creek and up to the farmhouse. It was enormous, like a castle in the country, and appeared to be empty. They could see a figure guiding a yoke of workhorses, about half a mile away. “That’s my pa. Come on.” Ephraim brought him to the open tent behind the house, where about one hundred chairs were arranged in rows. “This is the church. It’s like a tabernacle. It’s part of our home for the next couple weeks, then it’ll move along. This is where they held my hearing this morning, where they kicked me out of every house I know in one fell swoop. I just have an idea to…come on, let’s go inside.”

He brought Jeremy into the kitchen. There was a pie on the counter. “Now you see this. Even then Emily Cubbins gives me a pie. They excommunicate you and shun you, but still make sure you have lunch. They are such kind people, just stuck to these weird rules. Are you hungry?”

Jeremy was famished. “I’ve been walking a few miles, and I could eat a bite.”
Ephraim cut two heaping slices and poured two glasses of milk. He set them down on the table, then said: “Don’t wait on me, I’ll be right back. And don’t worry about no one coming in on us, they’re all out in the fields and the first won’t be back till near sundown.”

Jeremy didn’t have to be told twice when to dig in.

Ephraim returned momentarily with a small bag slung over his shoulder. He set it down on the bench, then sat down beside and quickly outpaced Jeremy in gulping down pie and milk. “So where do you reckon you’ll go tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Jeremy replied. “I’ve thrown myself into the wind to let it blow me withersoever it listeth.”

“That’s exactly what I’m minded to do,” Ephraim exclaimed. “They try to hide the Bible from me, and when I read it for myself I only find Jesus. They punish me for daring to read a book they should be forcing us all to read. Why would they hide Jesus from me? And then punish me for reading it on my own? It makes me wonder why they don’t want me to know the outside world. It must really be something, and I’m going to go see it for myself. They can’t turn their backs on me if I’m already gone.” He picked up his bag, moved to the door, fetched a Bible off the shelf thereby, and said: “I’ve got my bag and I’m armed with my sword, which is the word of God. Do you want to come along?”

“I’m not one to say no when beckoned by the Bible,” Jeremy said. He followed Ephraim outside, and they walked back over the bridge and out to the road.

So I’ll tell you everything you want to know about the Amish. We are quiet people of the land. We came here three centuries ago from Switzerland and Germany to escape religious persecution. My ancestors brought with them a love of God and the land, a desire to work hard, and a complicated set of strict rules called the Ordnung. The Amish are experts with rules—at organizing and enforcing them, and making new ones.”

“I’m very familiar with the strictness of church law,” Jeremy said. “I am a catholic priest.”

“Then you would know. They read the Bible in German, and don’t want anyone to read it in any other language. We are told to not ask questions and to obey the rules to have any chance of getting to heaven. But we can’t help but be curious, and are reading it English, and beginning to question interpretations, and some of the rules, while openly preaching Jesus to our own people who haven’t read the Word. Some of my own people are ignorant about Jesus! The church says that anyone who breaks their rules risks eternal damnation, but if the church or law of the land goes against the word of God, you’ve got to obey God; and we know salvation is through faith in Jesus, and not by obeying Amish rules. It is sinful to keep the people in darkness, by giving them a Bible written in a language that they do not comprehend, and warning them not to read it in English. God have mercy!”

“Ironically, that sounds very much like what happened to the man who translated it into German centuries ago,” Father Jeremy remarked.

“Well, we’ve got nothing but grass and road before us,” Ephraim replied. “Say on.”

“He was a German monk named Martin Luther, back when the catholic church only allowed the Bible to be read in Latin, Hebrew or Greek. They didn’t want the masses to see it for themselves and declared it heresy to translate the Bible into any common tongue. That was early in the sixteenth century, and by that time the church had authority in much of the western world, and controlled monasteries, universities, armies and empires and wealth, wealth, and more wealth. The church controlled every stage of life, from baptism to burial, and its coffers were overflowing. When people asked how they could save their own souls, Catholicism offered itself as the only path to salvation.

“Where gold and power are, the devil is everywhere, and by that time he had infested and taken over the church, donning priestly robes like wolves in sheep skin. As a result the papacy had become more a political position than a prayerful holy seat. Pope Alexander the sixth was a monster. He increased the church’s wealth by imprisoning and murdering people, and then seizing their property. The church was also amassing wealth through the sale of letters of indulgence with which people paid for their sins and were guaranteed a place in heaven. On October 31, 1517, Martin Luther tacked his ninety five theses onto the door of the church in Wittenberg. He denounced the selling of indulgences, arguing among other things that they condemned buyer and seller both—the seller for the obvious reasons, and the buyer for his lack of faith. His deed sparked an uproar that reverberated throughout the world and history; and his words spawned Protestantism, revolts and wars. Luther translated the Bible into German, then turned the printing presses that had been used for indulgences to print them.

“In 1521 Luther was brought before the Holy Roman emperor Charles the fifth, a devout catholic and the most powerful man in the earth. Luther had to answer to elders, just like you, and his response was the famous words: ‘I am a prisoner in conscious to the word of God. I cannot retract, and I will not retract.’”

“’It is better to obey God than man.’ Acts eighteen, nine. That’s exactly how I felt,” Ephraim said.

“Luther was declared a heretic and excommunicated.”

“I know how that feels too, and just for reading and sharing the Bible in English.”
“Actually, it was first translated into English by a guy named William Tyndale. He was a true martyr for Christ. When I first heard his story he was my hero. He devoted his whole life and soul to Jesus. And he knew Luther. Tyndale learned German, so he could read Luther’s translation, then left England and met Luther in Wittenberg. He then learned Greek and Hebrew, so he could translate it into English. He then had to print pocket size copies in Belgium and smuggle them into London on cargo boats because the church in England controlled the printers.”

“How did that go?” Ephraim asked.

“There was a lot of fire,” Jeremy explained. “The bishop of London denounced Tyndale’s book for containing thousands of errors. There was no pope or saints in the new testament. There were no relics and no purgatory, no lent and no catholic church. The Tyndale new testaments were ritually burned on the steps of St Paul’s Cathedral, and many of their owners publicly humiliated and eventually burned as heretics. Tyndale too was brought before the Holy Roman Emperor Charles the fifth and then burned alive. It was as Christ spoke in the gospel, ‘But before all these, they shall lay their hands on you, and persecute you, delivering you up to the synagogues, and into prisons, being brought before kings and rulers for my name’s sake.’”

“I would die for Jesus,” Ephraim declared. “If I could go be with Jesus I would lay down right here. I hope to some day find a way to prove my love, like Tyndale did.”

They walked many miles and chatted for hours, and just as the sun was going down they entered the outskirt of Elizabethtown. They came upon a roadside diner, and stopped in to rest and refresh. They ordered dinner and coffee, and were occupied with that when a couple of younger guys about Ephraim’s age took up the booth beside them. In the course of their conversation, Ephraim spoke a verse of scripture in his native tongue so Jeremy could hear its sound, and one of the guys leaned over and said: “I recognize that language; that’s Pennsylvania Dutch.”

“Very good,” Ephraim said. “Do you speak it?”

“Oh no, I just recognize it,” the lad replied. “I’m TrinityJosef, and this is my friend Arville. We’re on our way to Cumorah from Tahoe.” He offered his hand and finished saying: “Pleased to meet you.” Ephraim shook his hand and the four introduced themselves.

“Mormons?” Jeremy remarked.

“Indeed we are,” Arville answered.

“Cumorah in July,” Jeremy observed. “You must be going to the pageant.”

“You are correct, sir,” TrinityJosef said. “That we are.”

“I’ve heard of the Mormons, but I don’t know the first thing about them,” Ephraim confessed.

“Well, you’re talking with two right now,” Arville said.

“Cumorah Hill was the birthplace of the Mormon church,” TrinityJosef explained. “It’s where the great prophet Joseph Smith received The Book of Mormon from the angel Moroni. It’s the holiest place in Mormonism, and we hold a pageant there every year and make the pilgrimage to celebrate God’s gift to us.”

“And what exactly is The Book of Mormon?” Ephraim asked.

“Another testament of our Lord Jesus Christ,” TrinityJosef answered. “It’s not in the Bible, but it’s every bit as real and true. It’s the story of a lost Hebrew tribe, led by a righteous man named Lehi. Around 600 BC, just before the Babylonian conquest of Israel, Lehi led his family and followers out of Jerusalem. They journeyed by boat to North America, and settled in the New World long before it was the New World. Lehi’s favorite son was his youngest, Nephi, who was a just and upright man. When Lehi was old he passed the mantle of leadership to Nephi. This greatly angered Laman, Nephi’s bad apple black sheep older brother, and the tribe fractured into two clans, the Nephites and the Lamanites. The Nephites were a righteous, light-skinned people, while the Lamanites wicked and iniquitous, wherefore they fell out of favor with God, who cursed them with dark skin.

The two clans warred bitterly for hundreds of years until Christ appeared to them after his resurrection, and graced with the gospel, they lived in prosperous concord for several centuries. The Lamanites gradually backslid into idolatry, and around 400 AD slaughtered the Nephites, and the land fell into the hands of the red sons of the lost tribe of Israel. The leader of the Nephites during these last battles was Mormon, and his son Moroni was the last Nephite victim of the genocide, and the angel that delivered the golden plates containing the Book of Mormon to Joseph Smith.”

“Golden plates?” Ephraim said incredulously.

“The book was inscribed on golden plates and buried in the hill Cumorah for centuries,” TrinityJosef explained. “The golden pages were engraved with Egyptian characters and bound with three rings like a book. The angel Moroni visited our great prophet Joseph Smith and finally revealed its location to him, and also provided him with a pair of powerful spectacles called ‘interpreters,’ which enabled him to decipher the ancient text.

He translated and published The Book of Mormon, formally established the church in 1830, and within a year boasted over a thousand members who called themselves latter day saints in the Lord’s One True Church, who were preparing the earth for the Second Coming of Christ. There are millions of us today. Hey, you know what? Why don’t you two come along with us to the pageant?”

Jeremy and Ephraim both reacted with slight surprise.

TrinityJosef continued. “We’ve got an empty back seat, and once there you’ll have no trouble finding somewhere to stay. If nothing else, you can stay at my aunt’s, which is a mighty fine place.”

Arville pointed out the window to the motel across the street. “We’re staying there tonight, and driving the rest of the way tomorrow. It’s less than three hundred miles. You’re really more than welcome to join us.”

Jeremy and Ephraim conferred, and agreed to get a room in the same motel and go along. They finished dinner, paid and tipped, then walked across the street, where Ephraim let out a room with some money he’d brought. They then arranged to meet their new friends in the morning and said good night. They returned to their room, which was large with two small beds, and started readying to retire.


“They seem right nice enough,” Ephraim said. “I’ll have to take a look at that book of Mormon.”

“Feel free,” Jeremy answered. “But keep in mind that it was written by a villainous, lying shyster.”

“Really,” Ephraim remarked with surprise.

“Joseph Smith was a false prophet who started out as a graverobber. As a young man he took up interest in black magic and crystal gazing, and sought his fortune through money digging, the art of excavating artifacts from Native American burial mounds.

"Then he discovered what were called peep stones, or seer stones—small rocks which, when placed in an upside down hat and looked in upon, revealed visions to the gazer. He also described himself as a scryer and a necromancer--elegant words for a crystal gazer who communicates with the dead—and expanded into charging fees for his psychic services, locating buried treasure for landowners. His renowned spread, and when he was twenty one he was summoned into court by the state of New York found guilty of being a disorderly person and an imposter.

He was a viper who used the word of God to satisfy his earthly lusts. He married his first wife Emma after telling her that the angel Moroni had told him that the golden plates would be withheld from him forever unless he had married a girl named Emma Hale. He went on to weave a lie of his own dreams, and used them to accrue wealth, rule weaker people, and to satisfy his lust for women by declaring that polygamy had been divinely ordained, then committing adultery with other men’s wives, and then marrying them himself. He was killed in a shootout with authorities after they chased and trapped he and his small gang in a cabin in Missouri.
“Hardly the type of man you would expect to be a messenger from God,” Jeremy concluded.

“Why didn’t you tell them what you really know about their great prophet?” Ephraim asked.

“I can whenever I like, and there’s a time and place for everything,” he answered.
“Well, I’m going to read more about the Mormons in the morning, but right now I’m going to close my eyes and pray myself to sleep,” Ephraim said, then did.


In the morning they all met back at the diner, had a quick breakfast and left. Arville and TrinityJosef had placed a copy of The Book of Mormon in the backseat, and after they four were settled in for the long ride, Ephraim settled into a few pages. After only five minutes or so he said: “This doesn’t read anything like the Bible.”

“Give it a few pages, brother,” Arville urged. “It truly is a fifth gospel of Jesus Christ. If you live according to that you’ll grow to become a god and at your death you will become the deity over a planet elsewhere in the universe.”

Ephraim silently closed that book and opened the Bible. A while later Jeremy asked him where he was reading. “In Deuteronomy,” he answered softly. “And listen to what I just read. ‘There shall not be found among you any one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch. Or a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer. For all that do these things are an abomination to the LORD.’ Deuteronomy 18:10-12. Necromancer is the exact word you used to describe him last night,” Ephraim pointed out.

“Then you can be sure he’s an abomination,” Jeremy replied.

A few hours later they rolled into Palmyra, New York. As TrinityJosef drove the car Arville played tour guide. He pointed toward a place in the trees and said: “That is the Sacred Grove, where the great prophet Joseph Smith received his marvelous vision of God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ.” A little further along, and as dozens of people suddenly began appearing, they reached a forty foot monument, stopped and got out and looked up at the statue of the angel Moroni atop a twenty five foot pedestal. “There’s about a hundred of the same design and dimension all over the world,” Arville explained.

“It looks like an idol to me,” Ephraim said, shaking his head in dismay, not awe.
“You’re right, it is idolatry,” Jeremy affirmed.

“Father, I really feel like Deuteronomy is speaking with me,” Ephraim said. He opened the Bible that he’d kept in his hand. “Listen to this: Deuteronomy chapter eighteen verse two. ‘But the prophet, which shall presume to speak a word in my name, which I have not commanded him to speak, or that shall speak in the name of other gods, even that prophet shall die.’

“That is unusual,” Jeremy said.

“No, it’s pulling on me. Remember when I said I want to prove my love to my lord. Deuteronomy is tugging inside, and urging me to something.”

“If God is calling, you must obey,” Jeremy offered. "You just said it yourself."

TrinityJosef and Arville returned, and the four were quickly overwhelmed by the festivities called America’s Witness For Christ. They walked a little way into a field where thousands of people were crowded in the stifling summer air. There was an elaborate stage festooned with thousands of lights. As the day waned into twilight several fireballs were accompanied by explosions. The orchestra and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir began to play and sing, manmade fog billowed out upon the feet of the hundreds of actors who marched onto stage dressed as biblical figures and pre-Columbian North Americans, some even wearing headgear antlers.

Suddenly a loud voice like God Himself boomed out: “This is the true story of a people who were prepared by the Lord to be ready for the coming of the savior, Jesus Christ. He came to them in the Americas, but their story began in the Old World, in Jerusalem….”

At different points in the performances a prophet was burned at the stake, and Christ appeared and descended from the night sky. Then a high tech, special effect volcano erupted and fireworks filled the air.

“This is so loud. I talk to God in the silence,” Ephraim shouted. “If this is the way they worship in the outside world, then I don’t want to leave my home, and I miss it already. I’m going back there tonight, but before I leave there is something I’m going to do. If you’ll follow me, I don’t want your help, but I do want you to witness.”

He led Jeremy through the crowd toward the stage. There he climbed up unnoticed in the sea of people, went behind the corner of the curtain and slung over his shoulder the coil of rope that he’d noticed there. While up on stage he spotted a sheathed axe; at first he thought it strange to see, but then presumed it was being used for the ropes, hefted it also into his possession and led Jeremy, through people walking in every direction, to the statue of Moroni. They paused and looked up. Then Ephraim opened his Bible and read, by the bright street light. “’But thus shall ye deal with them; ye shall destroy their altars, and break down their images, and cut down their groves, and burn their graven images with fire.’ Deuteronomy chapter seven, verse five. Would you keep this please?”

He handed Jeremy his Bible, then lengthened the rope and expertly threw one end of it up over the statue. It landed over a crook in Moroni’s neck and came back down, and he took both ends and used it to help himself nimbly shinny the monument. With a quietly amazed crowd quickly gathering, he climbed up onto the statue and securely wrapped the rope about its neck. He rappelled down and dropped the end. He went and entered a golf cart he’d espied there when they first arrived, and backed it up to the rope, which he tightly secured to the bumper. He drove it full speed until it was met by Moroni’s resistance. He circled around and back and forth wildly until he suddenly shouted, “Clear the way!” as the statue toppled off its mount. It speared the ground headfirst, then crashed with a thud.

While the crowd was rippling with curiosity, they were also blanketed by a surreal calm, and many followed when Ephraim ripped the sheaf off the axe and started walking the road toward the Sacred Grove. That place was not lit, and he entered the darkest corner and started blindly cutting and clearing everything in his path. “I’m coming Lord Jesus!” he shouted repeatedly. “I’m coming home!”

Ephraim chopped for hours, almost through the night. In the morning they came to see that he had single handedly leveled the sacred grove. Jeremy never saw him again.

The Preposterous Prosperity Gospel

“When they took those jeezobucks and ran to the bank, to the bank, to the bank, to the bank, where every night we can hear them thank their buddy up above, for sending down his love, while you all smell the glove.” --from the magnificent song “Jesus Thinks You’re A Jerk,” by Frank Zappa.

Oral Roberts’ death on December 15th followed on the 21st by the celebration of Frank Zappa’s birthday raised the aforementioned song in my head. I thought back to a time of air conditioned dog houses, Swaggart’s lies and Tammy Faye's cries, and Pat Robertson’s 700 silk ties. Oral loved his money too—in January 1987 he took to his tower and extorted his followers with exhortations of “unless I have eight million dollars by March, God will take me up and—boo hoo hoo—I’m just not ready to go be with the Lord.”

Today it’s the Graham family’s Samaritan Purse wingnutting Sarah Palin around in their private jet, and the Focus on the Family hypocrites lamenting the economy destroyed by the despicable politicians they passionately endorsed, then begging for smaller five and ten dollar donations to pay themselve six figures salaries. See some of these Christian executives' compensations, as reported here, compiled from December 2006 till January 2008. Andrew Wommack, Woodrow Kroll, Lowell Davy, William Franklin Graham, Jack Van Imp, Cynthia Swindoll, William Skelton, David Jeremiah, Richard Roberts and two dozen more reported healthy six figure salaries.

Megachurch prosperity gospel preacher Joel Osteen flies around in style promising blessings of riches here and now. (His wife Victoria paid the FAA a fine of $3000 for verbally abusing a flight attendant, but that's a story for google.) In the video clips I’ve seen Joel is inarticulate almost to the point of incoherence, but it’s working for him, so y’all be blessed and buy another book so you’ll be blessed some more.

Then on Christmas this Reverend C Thomas Anderson rears up in the news singing his carol that Jesus couldn’t have been poor—he’d been given gold at birth, Roman soldiers gambled for his expensive garments and even Mary and Joseph traveled in style. “Mary and Joseph took a cadillac to get to Bethlehem because the finest transportation of their day was the donkey,” said Anderson. “Poor people ate their donkey. Only the wealthy used it as transportation.”

It’s so ridiculous that it wouldn’t merit address it if it weren’t so prevalent. So gather round everybody, it’s time for some Jesus 101. First of all, nowhere in the Bible does it say that Mary and Joseph were conveyed to Bethlehem on the back of an ass; that is a sort of urban legend that arose in the early centuries AD. Jesus did make his kingly entrance into Jerusalem upon an ass, but contrary to being a luxurious mode of travel, it was in fulfillment of prophecy, and as an aspect of his ultimate display of humility before his exaltation.

Jesus repeatedly denounced the evils of worldly wealth and its corrupting influence over the soul. Matthew 6:24 “No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and man." (Mammon is an Aramaic word meaning ‘wealth.’)

Another fine teaching is Luke 18:22-24. A certain ruler asked Jesus how he could inherit eternal life, and Jesus answered him saying: “Sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me.’ And when he heard this, he was very sorrowful, for he was very rich. And when Jesus saw that he was very sorrowful, he said, how hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God!”

I detect hypocrisy here. Was it Jesus, lining his robe with gold while serving God? I don’t think so. Could it be those whose love of money is the root of their evil, and who shamelessly satisfy that lust by preaching the word of God, the word which they pervert by soliciting cash from their faithful listeners and followers who think they’re giving charitably, in the names of Jesus and God, but whose donations are used to fly their recipients in private jets and pay fat six figure salaries, salaries that in the real world are even higher if tax free with religious exemptions; salaries that are more than most of the people make whose donations pay them.

Jesus also gave these people fair warning in Matthew 7:21, saying: “Not everyone that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven. Many will say to me, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name have done many wonderful works? And then I will profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.”

Don't these jerks understand that there are no jerks in heaven?