Not More than I Am Able

    I find Saint Bernard of Clairvaux to be both a compelling and disturbing individual in the history of Christianity.

    I appreciate his devotional writing. He wrote some eighty-six sermons from the Song of Solomon - and never got past chapter two! He was one of the co-founders of the Knights Templar. 

    He also stirred up enthusiasm for the second crusade by promising that it would be a means of grace and absolution for sin. And then, when the crusade failed, blamed it on the sins of the crusaders. Go figure. 

    Today's backyard recording is based on one of his writings. 

    My God, my help, I shall love you as I am able
    yet my love is less than your due
    not more, not more, not more than I am able
    for even if I cannot love you 
    as much as I should
    still, I cannot love you
    more than I can. 
    I shall only ever be able 
    to love you the more 
    when you give me more
    and still, you'll never find my love worthy of you. 

New Truths and New Knowings

    There are new truths and new knowings. There are revelations yet unseen. My imagination is active. My intellect goes forth to create according to what comes to mind. From the remnant of dreams, all the vapors and gasses of the night combined with a line upon line study of the scriptures. I’m putting together the outline and notes that will lead us, point to point, maybe not you would want to go, but to where you need to go - the end of knowing. Follow with me. All will be revealed.

    First, there are some who stand prepared at the gates. Always in readiness. Always in faith. Ethiopian Copts are guarding the Ark of Covenant in an undisclosed location, behind an unmarked door. The guardians have the key. The guardians have the lock.

    Let there be demonic dermatology for the warlock senator from Georgia. The curse of his skin be upon him.

    If you always follow the angel of prophecy, you’ll never be lost. This remains true – though I’ve stumbled occasionally. Usually somewhere in Daniel’s Seventy Weeks. The little horn, the tin horn dictator, shouting in my ear distracted me, but only for a time. Even among the wise rulers, those with understanding, some will stumble. A number of them will be purged. Purified and made clean. Purged and made white. White with fear and bloodless pale. Where is it leading? Follow on.

    Stalin has been spotted on Venus, his visage in the clouds.

    And now we come to the extraterrestrial, inter-dimensional, documentary entities – stepping between the registers of spatial timeslips and their spiritual machines – oft observed flying through our airspace. The chariots of God are twenty thousand, even thousands of angels. Observe the wheels within the spinning wheel. See it spin, high and dreadful above the surface of the earth and full of eyes, lifted up into higher dimensions. Ancient angels identified as aliens in our day, instantly transformed from magic to material by material magic.

    Finally, look closely at the seven resurrections of the American empire - no love and no lie - after years of dispute and negotiations and the successive waves of diplomatic “healing,” it will be destroyed by Christ at his coming. Count the multinational corporations and financial manufacturers that dominate every field, internet and satellite television – they illustrate the need for American independence.

    The whole global system is fractured. It cannot be saved. There is little time left – less than eight hours. Eight hours relative.

The Verisimilitude of Truth

    Ready now. This is all the warning we’re likely to receive, and we are already sinking. Check winds and tides and set sights for enemy lines. The right kind of people have the right kind of skills. Men of arms and a warrior ethos. Bear down and engage. Clear the fleet for fire.

    We hold these truths to be self-evident:

    The people of Iran want freedom – therefore we must bless them.
    The people of Iran are terrorists – therefore we must bomb them.

    The military has directed energy weapons, microwaves, and laser beams. We saw dragons and we saw drones. Sound waves and energy raves. Their heads were exploding inside their skulls. Bleeding from the nose. Vomiting blood. Moving helps with the pain, but they fell, incapacitated. Good show. Show death like a sleep and let them cry for water. No one has gone consciously unto heaven from death.

    Gunshots continue.

    Somewhere off the coast of Yemen, a U.S. reaper drone fires a Hellfire missile at a flying, glowing orb. A kinetic strike by Hellfire missile results in destruction. In explosion. Details remain unclear.

    45% of Precision Strike Missiles
    50% of THAAD Intercept Missiles
    50% of Patriot Air Defense Missiles
    30% of Tomahawk Missiles
    20% of long-range Joint Air-to-Surface Standoff Missiles
    20% of SM-3 Missiles
    20% of SM-6 Missiles.

    Depleted.

    Decades and centuries. I was there, strong and full of life… a threat to global peace and security… the most vicious of all the little Satans… Brutal new age powers. Richer. Stronger. Vigorous voices beg no forgiveness and make no apologies.

    We are scouring Hillary Clinton’s 30,000 retrieved emails for clues. I myself haven’t read them, of course, but I am familiar with the contents. I know all of what I need to know. The information I received had the verisimilitude of truth. I read it quickly enough, skimming for what stood out to my eye and my mind. I regret my confusion and wish to clarify...

Before the Money

 

    The other day I wrote a surreal sort of crime story: Money Makes Demands. I thought it was going to be just a one-off bit of writing, but today I've written a sort of backstory for that story. 

Before the Money

    How did it begin? First point – and on this he was very clear. Certain: I would give him an alibi for the time of the murder. And just like that, I was in for better, for worse. For risk and reward. For crime and punishment.

    I’d been a man without a safety-net for too long. Not destitute, not yet. But these were desperate times. The obvious shocks and lesions of international discomfort and internal abuse. Living in danger both foreign and domestic. And here he was offering me money for a job – a job that would cost me. Laurence had the notes, the books, the one remaining letter, and – importantly – the motive. I was to be a blind. A shield.

    I was to be the protection and security of division. What he hadn’t inherited, he’d taken. What he hadn’t taken, he’d destroyed. A known offender. There were stories of contacts in Italy and Spain. Trade in Eastern Europe. All the illusions of a criminal imperium of a mid-level boss. And me – just another day player. An unnamed extra in the night.

It wasn’t always like this. Golden nostalgia tells me things were in the long distant past. But too much time passed now. An ex-wife or two. A foundered business. My daughter – was she angry with me? The two of us alone for so many years and separated now.

    Thirty years ago, thirty-five, there had been adventure. Promise and challenge. There had been love – or the expectation of love. All of it unfulfilled. No champagne. No lunch at L’Adagio. I had the early trauma and long path of failure same as anyone. What secrets did I have? Laurence knew he could offer and knew I would have to accept. ­The bright light of youth had gone out years ago.

    Laurence gave me the list:

    -Theft from property
    -Homeless
   -Disappeared and unidentified
    -Apparent suicide
    and
    -No record of employment

    “What does any of this mean?” I asked but Laurence only raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t one to answer questions.

    “You want the money? You’ll follow instructions. Details will follow.”

    Money was transferred with a pen and a click. Payment message received. Now I was obliged to follow through. There was always a choice. Choices and options. There were choices that had to be made. But was I prepared to kill for them?

    The law firm downtown where Laurence held office was a false front. That was obvious. No investigation was necessary. I took the money along with the list. He motioned toward the door. But I hesitated to leave. Not that it was warm and dry inside – though it was. Not that it was pouring outside – though it was. But a reluctance. A reticence. I knew what I was getting into.

    Or thought I did.

    The night that followed, behind the Leslie Houses in the dark, working over the earth. Digging in the uneven ground. Soft earth and wet leaves. Dark but not silent. I could hear the murmur of voices, muttered prayers and intimate whispers. Screaming fathers. Laughing children. Televisions and barking dogs. I worked quiet, looking for the older graves. “This is the first test,” I told myself. “This is the first of what will come.”

    I crouched in the dark. He hadn’t said grave robbery. But would I have refused? Could I have refused? The world fell silent. And now it was raining again. Drenched and slipping in mud, I was nearly done when my phone rang.

    “Get the item and get out of there. Now.”

    Head beating. Surprised by tears. Somewhere between scream and sob. I couldn’t help myself It felt like a dream. Rush run faster. A kind of clarity in movement. Thrust. Double back dark but not empty. Across the field. A glance back and no one. The car was waiting. Drawn up and ready and away. I’d become another crime story. I would make the delivery and wait for the next assignment.

***

    The fact remains that I’d tried to call my daughter earlier that day. Truth, whole truth and whatever. She was always the one to charge in and change until things worked again. She was the one who looked after people She looked after me after her mom left us. And again, after her stepmom left. And then, somewhere along the way she’d left me to. Or I’d left her. Or both.

    She didn’t answer, of course. Maybe her phone was turned off. Maybe she still didn’t want to talk to me. There wasn’t enough evidence to convince her of the better life. I already tried.

    Our last conversation was a shortness of breath. “I’m not really interested,” she said at the end. “You don’t have interruptions. You have objectionable characterization. You have the resistance of a moment.”

    “We need to talk,” I said to her voice mail and put my phone back into my pocket. I told myself that I would try to call her again later. But I knew it was unlikely.

    Meanwhile – Laurence…

    Someone was in charge, but I didn’t really think it was him. Strangers not friends, someone else was in charge. It could have been any number of blood sucking ticks from any one of the families that had moved into controlled territory. A pattern of abuse that led to the death of his victims. Hurt and humiliation. Hurt and burns. There were people chattering on the courthouse steps and women in the bathroom – but no one was talking about him. Whoever he was.

    The trial was over before it had begun. Betrayal was there. Say what you want. What now? More questions?

    I checked my phone for any sort of response and went outside for a cigarette. If anyone was going to find me, it wouldn’t be there. Walking away, unstuck and open. Skulking around outside. Chain smoking on the stairs. Worrying about everything. I was still trying to make sense of it all. Life in the past few days or months or years… I couldn’t make sense of any of it.

    What was I doing in this hotel room? This hotel room? I didn’t understand but maybe that was the advantage of disappearing problems. I was scared – an odd inglorious feeling. I was frightened. There was real trouble – of falling – of running from police. Released from the rails and real trouble. There were gunshots and breaking glass outside and the crash of falling bodies. I hooked the chain on the door and turned off the lights. I lay on the bed and starred at the ceiling.

    Spiders and sex workers running through the night. The mercurial mercy of doctors, cops, ministers. It was all betrayal. Betrayal and murder. And I still had to set up that alibi.

    Kicking myself now.

    What could I say? I knew the despondent feeling of wanting the consolation of a woman. The remembered past was locked away. All you could do was deal with the pressure brought to you. I might have made mistakes. You make a lot of mistakes along the way – but there had to have been a few good decisions too, right?

    More gunshots and the sky broke.

Crickets, Fireworks, and Christian Perfection - An Ascension Day Sermon

    Tiff and I weren’t here last week – some of you noticed. Joyce sent us a copy of the bulletin to make sure that we knew we were missed. Thank you, Joyce. I was doing what I’m doing today, filling in for an absent pastor, across town. But here I am today and here you are. So as we celebrate Mother’s Day

    Well, you didn’t hear it last week. I thought I could get away with reusing the same sermon.

    Actually, today is Ascension Sunday. One of my favorites in the church calendar – though it doesn’t get the pomp and splendor of Easter, or the emotional saturation of Christmas. It doesn’t get page after page of psalms and hymns and spiritual songs like the other High Holy Days. In fact, if you check the index in the back of The United Methodist Hymnal, under the Christian Year heading, there are only six listings – and two of those are All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name, under two different melodies.

    In some denominations the clergy may switch to white or gold vestments. Whoa… way to really party it up… I recently learned that in Florence, Italy they celebrate the Festa del Grillo - the Cricket Festival - on Ascension Day. Crickets are sold in tiny little cages and then the children release them into the streets. Loki – who wants to be an entomologist – will appreciate that one. And in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, people often hike up into the mountains on Ascension Day – like the disciples following Jesus up the Mount of Olives to witness his ascension.

    But I think we need something like fireworks for Ascension Day. Shooting up into the sky in a blaze of brilliant glory, cascading colors, the sky ablaze with sparkles and spangles. It’s a joyful, brilliant day to be celebrated with song and explosion. Loud songs and small explosions…

    For forty days he continued to show himself alive to his disciples after his Passion – that is to say, after his pain. For passion is pain. And pain is death. He showed himself to them after his death. For forty days he showed signs, and wonders, he showed them many demonstrations, evidences, and proofs. He spoke to them of many things: of shoes, and ships, and sealing-wax, of cabbages, and of carpenter kings. He spoke to them of the coming the Kingdom and of God¹.

    “And don’t leave Jerusalem,” he told them while he was sitting down to eat with them, “until you receive what was promised.” They were sitting around eating and drinking, sharing a communion of fellowship with the risen Lord. I like to think that his favorite post resurrection meal was broiled fish and honeycomb.²Those privileged to share that meal with him would remember it always. “John baptized with water,” he reminded them. But not too many days from now you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit – and this is a baptism by fire - and this is where the sprinkling versus full immersion debate gets interesting…

    And the disciples asked him, “Lord, has the time come for you to restore the Kingdom to Israel?” They were thinking perhaps of the Maccabean glories, and Solomonic marvels, and Davidic victories of the past. “Are you going to, in this hour, make Israel great again?”

    But Jesus said “No,” or rather, “It’s not really for you to know.” He commissioned them instead to be his witnesses in ever-expanding circles – in Jerusalem, throughout Judea and Samaria – and to the remotest parts of the earth. And the commission is given with another promise of the Holy Spirit.

    Meanwhile the disciples were still trying to figure out when the Kingdom would be restored even as Jesus was lifted up from the ground. A glorious sight - he rises up and up and up through endless ranks of invisible angels, until he is disappeared in a cloud. Up through obscuring clouds. Gone. Vanished. Disappeared from their eyes. Two men in white step into view and announce that this same Jesus will come back in the same way he went.

    And here we are - celebrating the ascension of the risen Lord. Let’s sing another hymn and where are the fireworks and the crickets? Today is a day to celebrate.

    The risen and ascended Christ is the promise of something extraordinary and it rarely gets discussed – at least on this side of the Eastern Orthodox / Roman Catholic / Protestant divide. It is the promise of theosis or divinization or even deification– to use some of those heavyweight theological words.

    And this might sound a bit alarming – as if the substitute pastor were saying that we all get to be God, or little g gods. But he’s not. You don’t have to send Pastor Mark a concerned email.

    The word Theosis is a two-part Greek word: theo being God and the suffix -osis which means a process. Think of a white cloth being saturated with red dye by the process of osmosis. In the same way we are filled and saturated with the presence of God by theosis.³ Theosis is the end goal of our salvation. It is what we were created for. It is what we are redeemed for.

    We were created in the image and likeness of God – and this isn’t just our physical, fleshy bodies. We were created to be good, as all of creation was called good. Very good.

    Since we’re good Methodists here, lets quote John Wesley:

“In the image of God was man made, holy as he that created him is holy, merciful as the author of all is merciful, perfect as his Father in heaven is perfect. As God is love, so man dwelling in love dwelt in God, and God in him. God made him to be ‘an image of his own eternity’ an incorruptible picture of the God of glory. He was accordingly pure, as God is pure. … He ‘loved the Lord his God with all his heart, and with all his mind, and soul, and strength.’ … Such then was the state of man in paradise. By the free, unmerited love of God he was holy and happy, he knew, loved, enjoyed God, which is (in substance) life everlasting. And in this life of love he was to continue forever if he continued to obey God in all things.”⁴

    But sin broke that goodness and death destroyed that life. We were enslaved by fear and lust and shame and wrath and hate. Christ came to restore what had been destroyed, to return what we’d traded away, to revive what was dead.

    The second century Bishop, Irenaeus of Lyons wrote, “The only true and steadfast Teacher, the Word of God, our Lord Jesus Christ, through his transcendent love, became what we are, that he might bring us to be what he is himself”⁵

    Saint Augustine of Hippo said: “We carry mortality about with us, we endure infirmity, we look forward to divinity. For God wishes not only to vivify, but also to deify us.”⁶

    In the second letter of Peter we read: By his divine power he has lavished on us all the things we need for life and true devotion, through the knowledge of him who has called us by his own glory and goodness. Through these, the greatest and priceless promises have been lavished on us, that through them we should share the divine nature and escape the corruption rife in the world through disordered passion.”⁷

    Paul said it over and over again in his letters: If anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation… For me to live is Christ… It is no longer I that lives, but Christ that lives in me… Christ in you, the hope of glory… And we all, with unveiled faces like mirrors reflecting the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the image that we reflect in brighter and brighter glory.⁸

    Ascension Sunday is not some weird appendix to Easter. Ascension Day is not an afterthought. The Ascension is not just Jesus going away with a promise to return. It is Jesus enthroning a redeemed and restored humanity in the presence of God the Father through the power and presence of the Holy Spirit.

    This is the entire sanctification, the Christian perfection that John Wesley described. That we are so filled with the love of God and a love for God that “no wrong temper, none contrary to love, remains in the soul; and that all the thoughts, words, and actions are governed by pure love.”⁹

    The disciples, having watched the risen Lord, rising into the sky, went back to Jerusalem worshiping and full of joy, continually praising God.¹⁰ When we leave from this chapel, we should go out into the world like bottle rockets, shooting up into the sky in a blaze of brilliant glory, cascading colors, the sky ablaze with sparkles and spangles of holy joy. We go out, transformed in brighter and brighter glory. We should explode in love for each other, for our neighbors, for our enemies, for the world. We should be brilliant bursting bodies of love for God.

1Lewis Carrol - The Walrus and the Carpenter

2Luke 24: 42 (not all of the early manuscripts include the honeycomb. It’s probably rightfully omitted from our translations, but I still like it.)

3Frederica Mathews-Green, Welcome to the Orthodox Church, Paraclete Press, pg. 68

4John Wesley - Sermon 5, “Justification by Faith,” I.1.4, Works, 1:184-85.

5Against Heresies, Book 5,

6Sermo 23B

72 Peter 1:4

82 Corinthians 5:17, Philippians 1:21, Galatians 2:20, Colossians 1:27, 2 Corinthians 3:18

9Thoughts on Christian Perfection (1760), Q. 1, Works, 13:57.

10Luke 24: 52-53

Prophecy Club Minutes - 05.16.26

Prophecy Club
05.16.26
7:34 pm
First Bethel Baptist Church Basement

ATTENDANCE
Present Members: Brothers Haggai, Joel, Daniel, Jonah, Ezekiel, and Agabus
Absent Members: Brother Micah
There were no guests
There was a quorum present

ORDERS OF BUSINESS

The meeting opened with our standard invocation: “Open our eyes that we may see wonderful things in your law.” Open our eyes now, Lord. Amen.

Brother Joel read the minutes of the previous meeting. Brother Agabus pointed out that in the discussion of Secrets of the Freemason, “Ordo ab Chao” had been misspelled as “Ordo ab Kayo.” Much laughter ensued.

Unfinished Business

Brother Agabus reported on his investigation into the socialist roots of the Pledge of Allegiance. He reported – it IS true that a socialist wrote the pledge and that the original version did NOT include the phrase “one nation under God.” Brother Agabus reported that he continues to investigate whether or not we should continue to recite the pledge in light of these discoveries.

New Business

Brother Haggai presented part 15 of his series on the satanic connections between the Pope and the coming of the Mahdi. Spirited discussion followed.

Brother Ezekiel of the Man of Perdition Committee reported that they had no new Antichrist Candidates to consider this month.

A question was raised about whether angels and demons are bodies with DNA of some sort. Brother Daniel said no. They are spiritual beings, not physical. Brother Ezekiel insisted that “there are celestial bodies and terrestrial bodies” and that bodies have DNA. Discussion was tabled after several minutes.

Brother Joel presented a report from the UFO Committee. There have been (at least) three sighting of possible UFOs circling the Saint Louis Arch this month. Brother Joel requested funds for overnight watch groups. Motion was made by Brother Daniel. Seconded by Brother Jonah. The motion was passed with five Ayes and one Abstention (Brother Agabus)

Brother Joel also discussed the change in nomenclature. UFO is less standard. UAP (Unidentified Aerial Phenomena) has replaced it. Brother Joel requested money to change the Committee’s letterhead and business cards. Motion was made by Brother Daniel. Seconded by Brother Jonah. The motion was passed with five Ayes and one Abstention (Brother Agabus)

Brother Agabus was questioned about his abstentions. He said: “I refuse to recognize the authority of this group until it distinguishes between the Zionist state and the Israel of God.”

CLOSING

Brother Joel led us in the closing prayer: Lord, You are our refuge and fortress. Guard our hearts and minds. Protect us from demonic attack, physical harm, and emotional wounds. Keep us safe in the shadow of Your wings. Amen.

We will hold the next board meeting on 06.16.26 at 7:34pm. The meeting will be a top-secret Strategy Briefing. The password will be: hoy al-ha N’viyiym ha N’yaliym. Do not share with nonmembers.

The meeting ended at 10:16pm

[Signatures of minute taker and board president]

Doesn’t Doctrine Mean Anything to You? – Another Troll Conversation

    “What are you doing, Carter?”

    It was late in the afternoon; the sun was setting and long shadows stretched across the lawn. I was sitting on the porch looking across the street. “I’m waiting for Sorrow to return.”

    Gunner raised an eyebrow above his slightly hyperthyroid eyes - a particularly strange look considering the way the left eye drooped. “You are a weirdo, aren’t you?” he said, but I didn’t bother to explain that Sorrow is one of the stray cats we’ve been feeding on our porch. He used to come around and mew at us with his tired, smoky cat voice, but we haven’t seen him for several days. And when last we saw him, he was looking pretty weak. I’m afraid he went off somewhere to die.

    “Why are you here, Gunner?” I asked.

    “First we need to talk about your hair.” He flicked the ends of my hair.

    “What about my hair, Gunner?” I said, flinching slightly.

    “You know you need a haircut. Up in a femboy, manbun like that… ‘Doesn’t the very nature of things teach you that if a man has long hair it is a disgrace to him?’”

    I laughed a little and then said, “Yeah. My dad used to quote Paul at me too. But that verse doesn’t really cut the way you think it does.”

    He didn’t seem to notice the pun. But that was okay.

    “The Nazarites were actually required to have long hair, remember?”

    Gunner scoffed. “Are you saying you’ve taken that vow, Carter? Can’t drink any more of that IPA beer you like. Can’t make any more of your homemade wine...”

    “No. I’m just saying that Paul’s argument isn’t universal there. It’s cultural. ‘Contrary to nature’ doesn’t automatically mean ‘morally deviant.’ Miracles are, by definition, ‘contrary to nature’…”

    He glared at me for a second and then waved me off. “Fine. You’re wrong. But whatever. That’s not really why I came here. It just bugs me, your womanly locks. Man up and get a haircut, Carter.”

    I sighed and asked again. “Why are you here, Gunner?”

    “I want to return to something you said in one of our previous conversations. You said that in the context of salvation, ‘All means all.’ Did I get that right?”

    I affirmed it.

    “So, tell me, Carter, who's a Christian? A true Christian? Roman Catholics?

    “Yes,” I affirmed again.

    “Jehovah's Witnesses?”

    “Yes.”

    “Mormons?”

    “Yes again.”

    So doctrine means nothing to you? You don’t discriminate at all, you’ll just let anyone and everyone in?”

    “Well it’s not up to me to let anyone in, as you said. Or to keep anyone out, either. But no, I don’t think that doctrine is meaningless, irrelevant, or pointless. Some doctrines are healthier and better realized than others. I think the Word of Faith folks are unhealthy and unhelpful with their brand of prosperity gospel. And I think the Latter-day Saints have a particularly weird theology. Some churches have doctrines that I think are clearly mistaken. Seriously so. But if they call Jesus Lord and trust him for their salvation, that’s enough for me. Yours for example. I know your Christian Reformed Church wouldn’t welcome me. That’s your theology and you believe it. I still count you as a brother. Estranged, maybe, but a brother in Christ.”

    “But…” Gunner began to object.

    “No buts. But one caveat. Not everyone who calls out ‘Lord, Lord’ is recognized by the Lord. The true disciple is the one who does the will of the Father – feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, welcoming strangers, clothing the naked, visiting the imprisoned, healing the sick.”

    “But…”

    “It’s not a matter of orthodoxy versus orthopraxy. But the true test of orthodoxy is orthopraxy.” I said over his objection.

    “Don’t give me your liberal college words,” Gunner said. “Answer the question plainly.”

    “Maybe the question isn’t who is a true Christian but rather, what is pure religion, undefiled and unspoiled in the eyes of God – and that question is already answered for us. We don’t have to wrestle it. Pure religion is coming to the aid of orphans and widows in their hardships – the poor and defenseless, the outcast and the outsider.”

    “And keeping oneself uncontaminated by the world!” Gunner insisted.

    “Yes. And keeping oneself uncontaminated by the world,” I assured him.

    “You’re still a Universalist. You’re still a heretic. You’re still a deviant.”

    “Maybe,” I said still looking up and down the street for Sorrow. “But you keep coming back, don’t you?”

An Imaginary Conversation with a Real Troll (the first of the series) 
I Will Not Fight the Argument (the second)
Supermarket Wrestling (third conversation)
Do You Even Pray (the troll returns)
All Means All (A fifth conversation)
The Doctrine that Cannot Be Challenged (sixth conversation)
Toward Sodom - (a halfhearted seventh conversation)
Millions of Years of Death (the eighth conversation)
Truth with Untruth (the ninth conversation)
Bulls, Dogs, and Villains (the tenth conversation)
The Righteous Forsaken (the eleventh conversation)
A Sabbath Garden (conversation number twelve)

Money Makes Demands

    It was both later and earlier than I realized. It must have been some time after midnight. I was in a thin corridor, crowded and cluttered with posters framed photographs – all the artifacts of a rich man’s gilded and spoiled history, that led away to the left. I considered the hallway a potentially useful exit, especially as they approached. Laurence would be here soon with a list and inventory of demands He was expecting another fourteen grand from me, but I didn’t have the money. I never had it, any of it. The whole deal was skunked from the beginning. Confound him and his perpetually raised eyebrows.

    Yet, let it be said, the old man did, in some ways, remind me of the moon.

    Looking around, I saw little in the way of any other help or aid at the far end of the room. One victim was still there on the wall. Flashed and slashed. Beside the body was an old television on a stand, pointed at the corpse. Some silent film noir played upon the screen. A man in a fedora, a woman with a gun… Beyond the archway was an open-plan ceiling. Moonlight but no escape.

    And at the far end of the hall, yet unnoticed by everyone, a room without a view. I stared into the blackness and felt the faintest rush of morning air. Something breathing. A way out? Or was it just another way further into the dark? There was no time for this or any of the other old debts.

    “Why am I here?”

    I stepped and staggered over the unmade bed, ignoring the blood on the bed sheets, withdrew the key from my pocket and told myself to breathe. And breathe again. When I arrived, I had expected something to happen, but not like this. And now it was too late. Treacherous panic reared up within me. I narrowed my eyes and, despite the stench, breathed in through my nose.

    The old man’s lower body was gone but not through the open door. Exposed from the waist up. Arms pinwheeled, hands pinned. A body posed in perpetual tumble. Mickles and muckles on my mind, I must have missed much. Like the fact that one of his eyes was smaller than the other. The other had been gouged out. He was old and severed by a vicious knife wound. The cause of death couldn’t be clearer.

    Two years ago there had been another the same. Slashed and flashed. Left in the basement surrounded by pornography and filth. Laurence had come back sober. His share of horrors was particularly dark. After the fire, no one attributed it to coincidence. Burning old news and secrets. So many secrets.

    “Why am I here?” Drop everything. Go. Follow. Flee. Get out.

    There were additional stab wounds, but I didn’t have time to count them. White, now desaturated. I’d taken too much time getting here. Clearly too weak, too feeble. Too late to form an opinion. Trying to think. Trying the door handle.

    One last time, “Why am I here?”

    I thought once more of my family, my daughter and all the notes and maps in her room. She knew about this. Probably. All that research in the libraries of Europe, she had to have known. Right? Either it hadn’t registered or she didn’t want to risk telling. Was it all my fault? I wouldn’t doubt it. I had failed her too often. The last time I’d seen her was at the carpet shop, abandoned there. I couldn’t expect her to wait anymore.

    I paused. Was that the elevator? Someone upstairs? Down? I opened the window and peered out. Moonlight was spread across the lawn like silver milk. There was nothing in the unsupported air. Had someone called the police? Where were the lights and sirens? Why the delay?

    I buried the key beneath the books and journals and newspaper cuttings inside my backpack. Laurence would demand it. Money makes demands. Always. Eternally insistent. Another pause and I shoved my backpack behind the bed. Further behind.

    “I heard that you’d called,” Laurence said from the door, annoyance in his mouth and that superior arched eyebrow. The man standing there in that silver three piece suit and silver revolver in hand. “And now you are going to...”

    “I’m sorry,” I blurted out, spinning round. “I have to you,” I stuttered, words spilling out of my thoughtless mouth. “I mean, I have to tell you. There can be no excuse. A full report, properly. In person.”

    “Why are you here?” Laurence asked. “It can’t be because of Franklin, can it?”

    Silence.

    “Was it something to do with Franklin? It’s very important that you tell the truth. Don’t lie to me, my boy. My good boy.”

    Silence. And then “I can’t tell you that right now, but if you’ll give me, if you’ll let me…”

    Sudden gunshots and armed intruders, masked, crashed through the door. The military police had finally arrived. Splintered boards clattered across the room. From where I lay, prone upon the floor, I watched as Laurence turned his gun upon the police. He fired once, twice before a salvo of automatic gunfire ripped him to shreds.

    I screamed my way into the darkest levels of hell.

Topics for Discussion – Prophecy Club – Meeting May 14

    The European Union has ten member states, now eleven. Count the number of stars in the flag if you don’t understand. The Prophecy Club has all this information. We know the identity of the all-seeing eye.

    JFK’s assassination was a Masonic symbol enacted in life – or death, rather. Strike him on the left breast. Strike him on the neck. Strike him on the head. Dead.

    Remember the exploding teeth of the 19^th century? Metal fillings generated a galvanic effect, filled with hydrogen and exploded like a gunshot.

    Ground penetrating radar was used to discover subterranean rooms and chambers in a ‘boat like’ geologic anomaly in the mountains of Turkey. Ron Wyatt found it and nearly a hundred other Biblical artifacts. Explain that one if you can.

    The Parthenon of Greece has forty-six pillars. The human body has forty-six chromosomes. Do you see it yet? It’s all there if you know how to see. If you know how to count. 

    The James Webb telescope is already discovering galaxies that should not exist. Aren’t you even curious as to why?

    Pale as a ghost and dressed in black, the rulers of darkness know only the lust of the eye, the lust of the flesh and the pride of life. Lawless and loveless.

    We are concerned how the prosperity of the community will be affected by the proposed construction of a Muslim cemetery. It will bring unwanted traffic into the neighborhood – traffic that puts school children at risk. Sign the petition to keep the dead Muslims out of our community.

    The secular humanist misunderstands biology so that he can better misunderstand theology. History, the same. Mathematics too. Precept upon precept, it all adds up. But he refuses the call of Wisdom.

The Articles of Faith of Trump Brand Christianity

    1 – The Trumpet of God is the trumpet of faith, true and living. Thank you, President Trump, harmonious in power, just in wisdom, empathy, love, and truth.

    2 – No subscription, no price. A pure estate Printed free. Your deposit will not be returned.

    3 – We believe we are a chosen people, of a favored nation, on these blessed shores unto salvation and eternal life. Particular and unconditional. America first and amen.

    4 – Utterly depraved with no desire for freedom. Failed and fell, our desire is to be deceived. Nothing is less expensive. No one is safer. We voted for this.

    5 – This is our obligation to good works. Appearing and disappearing from our reality dimension, a new faith. Forever cursed by law though the courts are on our side. To change the laws and times and seasons is our reward.

    6 – Power is for control. Power is for external and internal use only. These are the ordinances of the church. Immersion is the only mode and none but those who have been baptized thus are to be admitted. DHS will determine if deportation is warranted.

    7 – We are stubborn and obdurate. Everlasting to everlasting without question, without doubt, without turning, without treason. Humiliating hopefuls and rivals alike. The perfect ticket has little to offer.

    8 – Who are the vulnerable? What systems of injustice? The punishment for resistance and dismantling initiatives will be swift and eternal. Federal ecclesiastical authority is clear.

    9 – The Scriptures are best preserved in the only authorized King James Version, fully licensed and endorsed with the Presidential Seal, embossed in gold. This is how to govern in full faith and practice.

    10 – The Great and final days will come with the full weight of the American military. Thrust and counter-thrust. Strike and counter-strike. The righteous will live in America forever. The unjust will be crushed with iron and sold to recoup our losses. A regency of fear forever. Amen.

Uniformed Pentagon Officials and Witchcraft Lesbians

    There are places underground, deep within the dark caverns of the earth, where evil spirits dwell. A uniformed pentagon official assured me this is true. He stood in my door and told me what it is that he is not allowed to say. No hearth, no home, no love or kindness there in the dark depths. But what did the prophet say, ‘I saw gods ascending from the earth.’ Where exactly do you think they come from

    Meanwhile, men around the world regularly meet for this, and what is it they are come for? To share the bonds of camaraderie and bonhomie. To share a laugh or two. To hone leadership and speaking and socialization skills. But what they invariably discover is the working of discord on the surface of the earth. The spirits of the deep unleashed. They are primarily women who can’t shut their mouths. Witchcraft lesbians who won’t shut their froward mouths. These women, these people, these grotesque people – they are black frauds and white liars. Their heads are full of noise that escapes through their ruby lips. They are at the same time both superiorous and inferiorous. Ladies' night! Who can explain it

    She will do him evil and no good all the days of her life. In her tongue is the law. Her slick, moist tongue. When she opens her mouth, she does so wily, in her tongue is deception. Moaning. Her clothing slips and so do the men. Physical beauty is easy and so is she. The world is unkind. Do not expend your energy on women. They will use your wealth to ruin kings. She gets up early, before the dawn, giving orders to her girls. Awakening strength and spontaneity at the mouth of hell. Her lamp does not go out at night.

    Fine dining, speeches, and a Q&A session designed to stimulate robust and masculine discussion - certain traditions that have no need of feminist spoil. This is not the possible. This is not the possible. This is the promised of God. The whole prophetic event in one picture. Complete

    Severe thunderstorms and tornado warnings here. Already we hear the sirens. We are under warning and under wicked assault. We cannot now say more about the mystery of the rapture or the wickedness of Sodom. There is no time. Rain and hail is falling all around. These are the falling gods of the iron kingdom. Iron and clay commingled and burning as they fall. The lightning flash is the flash of familiar spirits from the depths of the earth.

A Sabbath Garden – Another Troll Conversation

    Sunday afternoons, with sun and breeze, are made for yard work – though I don’t think of it as work. I come home from church, still humming the hymns, change my clothes, put on an old pair of work gloves (it’s not work) and haul out the push mower. No engine, just spinning blades as I walk back and forth across the lawn – to and fro upon the lawn, walking up and down in it.

    With a portable speaker on the porch, I listen to music as I walk the yard. I sing along, full voiced – or as full voiced as I can be. Sometimes I get a little winded pushing the mower and pulling weeds. Maybe the neighbors hear me. Maybe they don’t. Doesn’t matter. I enjoy it.

    Today I also dug up some new flower beds. I shoveled up the soil, laid in some compost from my heap in the backyard, and planted a variety of annuals and perennials: Coneflowers, Black-Eyed Susans, Morning Glories, 4 O’clock Flowers, Sweet Basil, Poppies, Dahlias, Lilies, and a mix of assorted wildflowers.

    Sweated and slightly exhausted I surveyed my handiwork (it’s not work) and realized that Gunner was there. Watching with his arms crossed across his chest. He was not amused.

    “Shouldn’t you be resting, Carter? It’s the Sabbath.”

    I pulled off the gloves and knocked the dirt from them. I also noticed the dirt under my fingernails. “Gunner. Good to see you as always,” I said. I used my pocketknife to dig the dirt out.

    “Six days you shall labor, Carter.” Gunner said. “You’ve got six days to do all your work but the seventh – Sunday – is a Sabbath to the Lord, your God.”

    “Gunner,” I said. “You are a joy and a wonder, aren’t you?”

    “No work or labor of any kind. No kindling fire. No gathering food. No commerce -buying or selling. No carrying of burdens.”

    I took a large drink of water from my thermos. It’s important to stay hydrated, after all. I took off my cap and wiped sweat from my brow. “It’s not work, Gunner. I enjoy this. The sun on my face. The smell of the cut grass and the dirt. This is not work; this is a pleasure.”

    “That’s out too, Carter. You must refrain from doing thy pleasure on the Lord’s holy day. You can’t call the Sabbath a delight. The Sabbath is not for personal pleasure. It is reserved for honoring the Lord. You need to find an inward posture of reverence and worship instead of these self-centered activities.

    “Self-centered?” I asked. “Self-centered? Do you think this is all for me? And I think you’re missing the point of that chapter in Isaiah.” He glared at me. “Yeah, I recognize the reference.”

    “Work, trade, and trivial pursuits are beyond the Sabbath boundaries.”

    “Trivial? Trivial?” I said. “All the produce of the garden is with resurrection filled, that the Lord may have a city fruits of resurrection build.”

    “What? Is that supposed to be a hymn or something?”

    “It’s here in the yard that I rest,” I continued. “I am restored. I am resurrected. My body, fresh, my mind attuned to the day. It’s here that I am made whole again. The garden of the world is remade. Order and beauty are brought out of chaos. The bees are fed. The neighborhood is filled with color. And God is praised.”

    Gunner kicked a clod of dirt

    “And yes. It is a hymn, though not often sung. You should look it up; Margaret Jenkins Harris had a few good ones.” I offered him a trowel. “Would you like to lend a hand?”

    He kicked another clod of dirt and turned away.

The Previous Conversations:

An Imaginary Conversation with a Real Troll (the first of the series) 
I Will Not Fight the Argument (the second)
Supermarket Wrestling (third conversation)
Do You Even Pray (the troll returns)
All Means All (A fifth conversation)
The Doctrine that Cannot Be Challenged (sixth conversation)
Toward Sodom - (a halfhearted seventh conversation)
Millions of Years of Death (the eighth conversation)
Truth with Untruth (the ninth conversation)
Bulls, Dogs, and Villains (the tenth conversation)
The Righteous Forsaken (the eleventh conversation)

Dispatches from an American Battlefield - Now with a Cover

     My newest soon to be published novel - Dispatches from an American Battlefield - now has a cover. It's coming soon. 

The Righteous Forsaken – Another Troll Conversation

    I came home from work, worn and tired, but feeling pretty good. At least physically. I parked my car in the driveway and, as I do every day upon returning home from work, checked the mailbox. Once inside I took care of the necessary things. I gave the cats their expected treats, washed my face and hands, and changed my clothes. Then I sat down at the kitchen table to examine the mail.

    Bills and bank statements. It’s not a crisis, but the margins are thinner than I’d like. I sighed and offered up a wordless prayer.

    That’s when I heard the front door open. My first thought was that it was my wife coming home from her doctor’s appointment. But a voice called out that wasn’t hers.

    “Hello? Carter? Are you home?” I recognized the voice immediately. Gunner. My prayers summoned, not God’s glorious angels, but an imp to test and torment me.

    “Let yourself in, I guess,” I said from the table. “I’m in the kitchen.”

    “Hey, Carter,” he said finding me at the table. “What’s up?”

    “I’m just engaged in that all-American pastime, worrying about finances.”

    He nodded and grinned. “You’ve got your Bible there handy. Why don’t you check out Psalm 37:25?”

    I knew it without having to open the book. “I’ve been young and now I’m old and I’ve never seen the righteous forsaken or his children begging for bread.”

    “That’s the one,” Gunner grinned.

    “That verse makes me more than a little nervous,” I admitted. “Would you like to sit down?” I gestured to an empty chair. He was making me nervous.

    He sat. “Well, maybe that’s because you’re not as righteous as you let on.”

    I raised an eyebrow and glared at him. “No. I’m just not sure the psalmist looked very closely at the world.”

    Gunner laughed. He stood up and went to the fridge. “You got any of that crappy IPA beer?” I was on the verge of inviting him to help himself, but he’d already found and withdrawn a bottle.

    “The Bible is always right, you know,” he said. “And errorists like you have no rights.” He took a large swig of the beer. “Man, this stuff is terrible.”

    “Why are you here, Gunner?” I finally asked.

    “Carter, I like you. God help me, but I like you. You’re a…” he foundered for words. “Well, I don’t know what you are exactly, but I like you. And God’s laid it upon my heart to make you a personal project. My own mission field. God’s assured me that even a filthy socialist like you can be saved.”

    “Gunner,” I said after a moment, “you are a cold glass of salt water on a hot summer day, aren’t you? How did I come to be so blessed?” He just laughed and chugged more of my beer.

    “What you need to do, Carter…” he began to say but I interrupted him.

    “Gunner, I swear to God, if you say I just need to pull myself up by my bootstraps, or some other Republican cliché…” I stopped. I didn’t really know what I would do.

    “I was just going to say that idleness is your only barrier to financial security.” He said the beer down on the counter.

    “Get out,” I said. “I’m tired and I need to start dinner. So leave.”

    “Depart from evil, Carter,” he said as he made his way towards the door. “Depart from evil and do good. That’s the way to keep your home forever. That’s the psalmist again.”

    “Get out,” I said once more and closed the door behind him.

The Previous Conversations:

An Imaginary Conversation with a Real Troll (the first of the series) 
I Will Not Fight the Argument (the second)
Supermarket Wrestling (third conversation)
Do You Even Pray (the troll returns)
All Means All (A fifth conversation)
The Doctrine that Cannot Be Challenged (sixth conversation)
Toward Sodom - (a halfhearted seventh conversation)
Millions of Years of Death (the eighth conversation)
Truth with Untruth (the ninth conversation)
Bulls, Dogs, and Villains (the tenth conversation)

Greed Is God Q.E.D.

    First, we should recognize that it is all but universally acknowledged that God is good. This is the right foundation for any theological consideration. Second, we may note that it is also recognized that Greed is good. Therefore, following up on the principle and precepts of logic and mathematics, we may state with all assurance that Greed is God. Q.E.D.

    And all true and faithful Americans did say, Amen!

Great the Grief of Hoarded Gold

    Exciting news and a special offer for you and yours, but you must act quickly or it will be too late. This 99.9% pure, 10 oz. gold bar honors Jesus’ final passion with a bas-relief picture of our Lord with his crown of thorns. But you must call now. Only a limited number of these holy icons were minted.

    Behold and blow the kings of the earth, great men of empire, holy and rich men, commanders – the mighty men of every domain and every land. Behold and bow low slaves. Behold and bow low wage-slave free men within the rocks and gloom of mountains, in the mountains of darkness.

    It’s a failure to pressure, a failure to sell. Call the number. Call it now. Stronger. Faster. More lethal than anything ever before. Your swords and trumpets. Your firelocks and bayonets. Your supersonic missiles fired at great distances, from across the sea. There are early judgments and later wrath. Near fulfillment and fulfillment far delayed. Both are yours. 'Vengeance is mine’ sayeth the Lord, and we’re doing the Lord’s work here. Pray for peace, sure. Sure. But Prepare for war.

    Hide us from Him who sits upon the throne, from the things to come, the strong wrath of the Lord. Prophecy before our very eyes. Wake the mighty men. Let me hear them. This is the bomb! We will accomplish greater things, greater than anyone has ever seen before. Great things. Huge.

    Great the grief of hoarded gold.
    Gaslight and betrayal. Beware the profits of freemarket prophets.
    I’m running away from snakes at the door.

    You should take care and consider carefully the fiery trial which is coming to you. Thrown into prison – but for punishments not corrections, not for testing. Alignment before assignment in your awestruck body. The works of the leprous flesh are the lust of uncleanliness and a despising of true government, selfwilled and unafraid to speak evil of dignitaries. Your body requires submission. Buy bitcoin and gold and beat your plowshares into swords before we beat your body into submission.

    But the road is closed at mental health.
    The road is closed at community.

    Who cares? Call it whatever you want. They are people of no significance in this world and this is serious money. Are you in or are you a lemon-sparkle dusted pansy? These are serious days. These are days of war, days of destruction. Be warned: Wrath will be poured out and it will be ours.

    Still the road is closed at peace.
    The road is closed at safety.

    Peace and safety! Peace and safety! Pffff! People will not recognize the catastrophes that are coming. Taken by surprise by the events that follow. Sudden destruction. Ten to One on a Thousand. The distress of a day. The darkness of four in the morning all of our days.

    It’s all hype, of course. Hype and bluster and boasting. But you have to believe the hype if you want to make the sale.

    With vertigo, with bleeding wounds,
    and fiscal anxiety for the rest of us.
    Great the grief of hoarded gold.

Bulls, Dogs, and Villains – A Tenth Imaginary Conversation with a Real Troll

    There are slightly different lights on different days. All that we see within is not the same. One day it is sunlight on cornfields. The next is candlelight in the house when the power goes out. This shuckling soul dance, this pietist gyration, like the flickering flame of a candle. Silent persistent prayers.

    “You bleeding heart liberals are all the same…”

    He’s at my door again and I wonder if my wife is right. Why do I keep letting him do this? The front door is open to let in the pleasant afternoon breeze. I’m home from work. My laptop open. My notebook open – the place where I write all my little notes, dribs and drabs of doggerel, punning names to file away for later use, obscure words to look up, stray bits of dialogue in search of a story.

    I look up from the writing that isn’t happening and see him there – with his slightly hyperthyroid eyes, the left one drooping somewhat. And he’s just standing there grinning. And waving.

    I don’t bother to get up from the couch.

    “Listen, Gunner, you can insult me all you like. You’ve been doing that for some time now. So call me a bleeding-heart liberal, if that helps you feel better. But tell the truth and get it right – it’s more than my bleeding heart. It’s the bleeding heart of Christ, and my calloused hands, my burning eyes, my strong but tired back, and my iron will, combined with all the blood of the prophets. Mock me; that’s fine. But it won’t stop the fight. It won’t stop the work. It won’t stop the words.”

    “You say so, Carter. I don’t think you’ve got any of that. But how much weight do you think your words will hold? Does anyone actually read your stuff?”

    My writing program is open. A new, untitled document is open. The cursor is blinking expectantly. I sigh and close the laptop. I stand from the couch and take the three steps to the front door to speak with Gunner.

    “Here is the patience and the faith of the saints. He that leadeth into captivity shall go into captivity: he that killeth with the sword must be killed with the sword.” I say this quietly. Nearly a whisper but he hears me just fine.

    He recoils in mock terror outside the door and laughs. “Are you threatening me, Carter? I thought you were one of those pacifist types. Didn’t think you had any real fight in you.”

    I fling open the door. “Well, don’t just stand there like a dog at the door. Come on in if that’s what you’re going to do. A dog, or bull, or just a villain – come to hack off my hands and feet. Come on in so you can look at me and gloat.”

    He stands there stupefied. I am shocked as well.

    “I’m sorry, Gunner. I’m a bit out of sorts today. And who can ever really detect his own failings and hidden faults. Come on in if you want. I’ve got a couple of beers in the fridge if you wanna share one with me.”

    “Is it that IPA crap you like?"

    I shrug, “It’s what I’ve got.”

    He shakes his head no. “No thanks. I’ll just see you later.”

    And that’s it. He is gone.

Truth with Untruth: A Ninth Imaginary Conversation with a Real Troll

    Breaking the formula and the norm, I received an email from my troll, Gunner, today. Usually he comes by my place, pulling up in his noisy pickup truck, or he finds me out and about town as I ‘m buying groceries or running errands. But today he sent me an email instead of his usual routine.

    To: *******carter@hotmail.com
    From: Gunandrun***@gmail.com

    Re: Myths and Legends

    Jeff – I know I was just at your place the other day and I don’t try to bother you too often at home, but I had to reach out to you today. Something you said in our last discussion You told me that you understand the creation stories of the Bible to be more myth than history. I believe your exact words were “sacred story, not a scientific document.” And, honestly, I wouldn’t have expected anything other from you, liberal as you are. I’m not even sure why you say your a Christian, really.

    But if your going to say your a Christian you should do it right. If your going to say your a Christian you have to accept the Bible as our sure word of prophecy. Wholly. Completely. It’s truth from cover to cover. Not myth. Not fable. Not fairy tale. Not Legend. Not tall tale. But truth. Pure upright truth. There is no fiction in the Bible.

    Gunner

    I replied. Succinctly.

    To:Gunandrun***@gmail.com
    From: *******carter@hotmail.com

    Re: Re: Myths and Legends

    Gunner.

    Come on, man. The Bible frequently uses fiction to teach truth.

    j.c.

    The conversation continued over the next couple of hours via email.

    To: *******carter@hotmail.com
    From: Gunandrun***@gmail.com

    Re: Re: Re: Myths and Legends

    Never. Not once.

    Gunner.

    To:Gunandrun***@gmail.com
    From: *******carter@hotmail.com

    Re: Re: Re: Re: Myths and Legends

    Setting aside the creation stories (plural, btw) and the other obvious fictions like Jonah, the prophet Nathan used a fiction to teach King David the truth. And Jesus taught with parables. Mark explicitly says that he did not say anything to them without using a parable.

    j.c.

    To: *******carter@hotmail.com
    From: Gunandrun***@gmail.com

    Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Myths and Legend

    But parables are not just stories. They were true stories about real, historical people that Jesus knew. Its all true. It’s all real. If its not true historically how could it be true prophetically?

    There is no untruth in the Bible, Jeff. You can’t express truth with untruth. We don’t follow cunningly devised fables. God is not a man that he should lie. This is what concerns me most about you. You dismiss the Bible as a mere story book.

    Gunner.

    To:Gunandrun***@gmail.com
    From: *******carter@hotmail.com

    Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Myths and Legends

    You’re putting words in my mouth again, Gunner. I don’t dismiss it. I accept it for what it is. And I never used the word “mere.” It is profound and has shaped my life since I was young.

    You’ve simply misunderstood the genre of Parable as used in the Ancient Near East.

    j.c.

    To: *******carter@hotmail.com
    From: Gunandrun***@gmail.com

    Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Myths and Legend

    Jeff. Your either a liar or a fool. Or both. The Bible is DIVINELY inspired. 40 authors over 1,500 years with one true voice. It is TRUTH. Get it right and get saved.

    Gunner.

    I might have responded again, but I had to make dinner.

An Imaginary Conversation with a Real Troll (the first of the series) 
I Will Not Fight the Argument (the second)
Supermarket Wrestling (third conversation)
Do You Even Pray (the troll returns)
All Means All (A fifth conversation)
The Doctrine that Cannot Be Challenged (sixth conversation)
Toward Sodom - (a halfhearted seventh conversation)
Millions of Years of Death (the eighth conversation)