My Father's Eyes

  

             I always just assumed that as children we view our parents differently than when we know them as adults. While I recognize this may not be the case for some, it is only logical to believe that this is a relative statement for many. As a boy, my world revolved around my comic books, my G.I. Joes and both my parents. Friends were most welcome, but to be honest, they more or less interfered with my playtime. School was quite often a boring internment and most of my siblings were a somewhat inconvenient distraction. I cherished my Mother and I revered my Father. When my Mother passed away, a part of my life faded forever from me. I held her in such high regard that the emotional hole left from her death seemed to chisel itself deeper with each passing month. It remains although the grief long ago found its place, but there is not enough to ever fill that void. Her exit found many with a gaping chasm where our hearts used to beat. 

             My Father was left rather empty-handed. He was broken, damaged and you could tell from the aura about him that this wound would never scar and heal. He had to decide whether to live or die, to continue or to perish, a decision on which he still went back and forth with, depending entirely on the day. When I was a kid, my Father was without a doubt the strongest person I knew. He always seemed to have so much control, although his stoic and calm demeanour in no way masked his love for his family, particularly for his wife. He was fiercely loyal, completely reliable and a sound provider. In spite of his gruff exterior, one could often find him playing with his children and even the neighbour kids. Come winter he would occasionally ice up the backyard so his children could have their own space to skate. He taught us all how to glide, although I must admit that skating was never my forte. There are black and white photos of him and I from the 1960s.  It is always the strangest thing for me to see them, the childlike wonder that possessed him on such occasions. I feared that these moments had somehow disappeared forever when my Mom passed away.

           With few exceptions, I spoke to my Father every day since my Mother died. The closeness I once shared with her flourished between him and me. It was my duty to watch over him, a promise I made to my Mother the year before she passed. I take great pleasure from the friendship we cultivated out of all the shit life can bring. My daily phone call to him found a mixture of sorrow, joy and resolve. He chose to carry on although he didn't like it one bit. Over the past decade, he continually demonstrated that life goes on even when we wish it would not. Initially, he was constantly out and about with my sister, travelling from garden shop to thrift store in search of goodies and bargains. He celebrated holidays such as Easter and Christmas with a commitment to honor his wife and the family they created together. He put his mask on and faced Covid like we all had too. He was careful not to catch anything. The box in which Mom’s ashes rest was greeted with fresh flowers and her memory thrives like a memory should. Just before the original lockdown in 2020, Dad developed severe breathing problems. It was his COPD. I initially thought that Covid-19 was about to take him. He was in hospital for almost a week, the exact week before all the virus shit hit the fan. He did what my father had always done. He picked himself up, dusted off and started all over again. Unfortunately, he soon after fell in the bathroom and injured himself. Right in the middle of the coronavirus epidemic he crashed and damaged his body. It was strange to see him having to wear a surgical mask. I’m not sure I will ever get used to the images of him in hospital. He did not look well.. He still made an effort to stay active. Family members continued to take him all over Ontario in search of this or that. His fortitude was humbling and his ability to endure astounding to me.

             He just stood there like a four year old. His eyes were glazed over with a certain kind of joy and his mouth hung open like a garbage chute. He seemed enchanted, if even for a moment. Pinned to the wall, behind a sheet of tempered glass, that black 1961 Harmony six string guitar caught his imagination like a Red Ryder BB Gun would. He was almost dazed and rather confused. I had never seen my Father like this before. In my youth, he was always a hard working man. By the time supper was over, he rested heavy on the living room floor. Weekends grew busy as his five children grew older and he appeared to have little time for anyone including himself. I never once concluded that he was unhappy. I recall moments when the spirit of his family, and the Spirit of his God, blended as laughter and love and even glee at some point. Until he discovered that guitar, I had never seen the child within him like I did on that day. Seeing my Father come to life like that had an incredible impact on me. I paid attention like you are supposed to do. 

            Less than a week passed and that guitar found itself in a safe place among my own treasures. It took no convincing for me to purchase this antique as a Christmas present for my Dad that year. It was in most excellent condition, a condition confirmed when I took it in for a final tuning before sealing its fate. Come November, I hid it inside a 55" television crate, crammed with cardboard until it could not move. The case which had come with it ensured safe storage. The shiny silver gift wrap covering the box met black ribbon, a large silver bow and his Christmas card. For over a month it sat nestled near my Christmas tree. I could hardly wait to give it to him. It was my wish that it not only gave him something completely self-absorbing to do but I hoped he would recognize that even after my Mother's death, some things are still worth living for, especially music. Growing up he had played. The antique banjo he would strum upon rested in the piano room of his home joining the autoharp and glockenspiel my Mother played, each nestled carefully on top of an old Bell piano. They were testament to the love of music my parents have given to their offspring. This was a gift much more important than any value. 
 

         Holidays come and go and the seasons follow with them. Most of the gifts we give find themselves forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind is a pretty standard fair. The guitar I gave my father is a mere part of the whole. He doesn’t really use it and its purpose is lacking but it remains just the same.  The briefest, smallest of moments when he first became enchanted left a lasting impression on me. I will never be able to forget the look on my Dad's face when he first discovered  this joy. I am now convinced that through all the pain and all the loneliness there was a part of him very much alive. He would argue that his end was near, but anyone could say exactly the same thing. It's not the time you have left that matters. It's what you do with that time that counts. To have given him but one moment of joy amidst the chaos meant more to me than almost anything sweet I have known in this life. I will be forever grateful that I was given the opportunity to give him that.

            My Father was a man of great Faith and great conviction. For me, he represents the truest sense of how a person of his Faith is supposed to be. You could see it in his eyes. He survived regardless of any abandon he may have suffered through. Despite Covid-19, he stayed strong. Despite several falls and broken bones he remained intact for the most part. He used to tell me it was his Faith that helped him though. 

            You grow up thinking that there comes a time when your parents can no  longer teach you anything else about life. Society even convinces you that eventually you switch roles and they become the child while you must be the parent. I am not surprised, that over the last few years of his life, at that stage of the game, that I continued to learn from my Dad. Through all the pain, all his agony, he was still, deep within, essentially the same. He had been so all along. When he passed in November 2022, he finally got what he asked for over the last 6 months of his life. He did not want to be here, In the end, grief does not kill, it grows us stronger. All that remains are small moments, childlike innocence, and for some, an old guitar. 

"This old guitar taught me to sing a love song, 
it showed me how to laugh and how to cry.
It introduced me to some friends of mine
And brightened up some days.
It helped me make it through some lonely nights.
What a friend to have on a cold and lonely night"
(This Old Guitar, John Denver 1974)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo

 

 

Summer 1970

Toronto Ontario

The Drawing Board

 

Paper Monster
part two

            Once god decides to incarnate, the paper monster from the Old Testament transforms into his own son, Jesus. On the surface, this change is for the benefit of all mankind. Suddenly, the sacrifices once demanded in scripture become simply one sacrifice, a sacrifice which is meant to appease the Godhead for once and for all. Somehow, in order to conciliate himself, god leaves the ether behind and substantiates into human form. This incarnation is not some matured and war-torn monster from the past but rather we find god fresh and young and seemingly more docile than when in his previous form. The truth is, a god appeasing himself by sacrificing himself seems like something a mortal idiot would do. Jesus was supposed to free us from the complications made through the Hebrew covenant and laws, not bind us to them. Jesus may seem kinder and gentler on the surface, but he is still a warrior at heart. People don’t change and this god is very much a human being. More like a carbon copy than an original, the pomp and circumstance may have shifted but the message is pretty much the same. Do not be fooled by this lamb of god. He is not what you might think he is. Jesus is the messiah, come to live and then to die, but his voice is the same old warrior god from the Old Testament. He even tells us so, like a warning we are informed, “Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Matthew 10:34, NIV).

            There is no question, this god is fully human. He not only lives a life but he most certainly will die. I would have thought things would change once Jesus manifested. In a sense, they did. Instead of threatening death like his father, the son of god threatens everyone with hellfire and punishment instead. For those who do not follow the path of Christ, they will be removed from his flock and burned for eternity “with unquenchable fire” (Matthew 3:12, NIV). Mankind continues to be expendable. The monster in the closet is still the same, just the fangs are different. This is not the Saviour I believed in growing up. Then again, god was ethereal and up in heaven. He was a nice old man who loved everybody and wanted us all to get along. I never dreamed that ideas like hell and sin were actually considered real by many people. In my mind, I could never have imagined that god/Jesus would abandon humanity to the fire pit of Gehenna. I still don’t  understand how so many can follow such a being. A loving god who casts out those he loves because they somehow failed him is perhaps the most mortal characteristic we place on this ‘divine’ creature. The forgiveness and mercy we are expected to bestow on others is sorely lacking in this version. The terror of eternal torment is, we can conclude, for most of us. Jesus is clear, the majority of people will end up abandoned by the very being they were seeking. These lost souls will try to “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it” (Matthew 7:13-14, NIV). I have to wonder why god, in the first place, needs to warn us regarding something a true God would never do. Holding a grudge is not a divine attribute. All the punishing, scare tactics and the like seem suspiciously human if you ask me. Forgiveness is demanded from us but we do not hold the Judeo-Christian god accountable for failing to give it to us. When judgement overturns forgiveness, it appears that God has gone missing and some form of man has taken charge.

“I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the Lord, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion.” (Exodus 33:19, NIV)

            Jesus can come across rather limited. When people refuse to follow him, or deny him, or reject his teachings, he gets very angry. He does not seem to discern between those who turned from him and the rest of the population. All are lost for the inaction of a few. He condemns entire cities to hell fire solely for the act of non-repentance. He speaks to them, asking, “Will you be lifted to the heavens? No, you will go down to Hades. For if the miracles that were performed in you had been performed in Sodom, it would have remained to this day. But I tell you that it will be more bearable for Sodom on the day of judgement than for you” (Matthew 11: 23-24, NIV). So follow me or die? Such insight, such understanding yet they bring nothing but judgement and woe on those unrepentant towns. Where is the omniscient acuity a god would possess? Oh right, I forget this is the very human who claims to be such a god.  One would imagine that an incarnate god would recognize the complexity of existence. Being a mere mortal must have enlightened him. Things on this planet aren’t always so black and white but Jesus just seems to validate the Old Testament monster he was supposed to reconcile us to.  Rather than compassion and empathy, mankind is met with disdain and judgement. When god ordered that anyone who disrespects their parents should be killed (Exodus 21:17), it was a different time than that of Jesus, just as it is a different time for us than when he lived. Instead of recognizing the flaws and limitations of humanity, and using them for dialogue and rapprochement, it appears killing children for such a benign act is okay. Easy for Jesus to say (Matthew 15:4-7).
            When Jesus warns us that he “did not come to bring peace, but a sword (Matthew 10:34, NIV), I can picture him standing, sweeping through crowds of sinners with his glory and might. I can also see a dove, and a lamb and nothing but the blood. That this warrior would meet such an end makes for good literature. Just requiring that type of sacrifice for the universe to work properly makes no sense. It is here that god becomes repugnant. This explains why Jesus has no problem with what his father did to the world of Genesis. After all, he will bring the same when he returns from wherever it is that he was going. If not by flood, then greater for, “As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man” (Matthew 24:37, NIV). Only a human-like god would have no problem drowning everyone on earth. Like father, like son. It really is irrelevant since all those punished will not only die but be tormented forever in hell regardless (Matthew 25:46). The messiah seems to relish the idea of a place where all mortals can be sent to the punishment they so rightly deserve. I can’t figure out why he just doesn’t send  us all there to begin with. I hear it’s a dry heat. Jesus can even come across manipulative and somewhat pseudo-intellectual. He tells his disciples the reason he speaks to the crowds in parable is to confuse them.  He informs his followers, in secret, all these wonderful things but he hinders everyone else so that they might not be given forgiveness. This confusion will hinder them from seeing the truth. He shares with his special entourage that, “The secret of the kingdom of God has been given to you, but to those on the outside everything is said in parables so that they may be ever seeing but never perceiving, and ever hearing but never understanding; otherwise they might turn and be forgiven” (Mark 4:11-12, NIV). Only the righteous man, the person who produces what Jesus calls “good fruit” will be saved. If you do not “bear good fruit” you are to be “hewn down, and cast into the fire” (Luke 3:9, NIV). What about rotting fruit that used to be good fruit but was abandoned and left to nature? What if you produce some good fruit and some bad fruit? What if you’re not a fruit? Apparently, Jesus is not only a lumberjack but a grocer as well.

            As an example to parents everywhere, god gives up his son to death by crucifixion. Not only does he require this act in order to save the world (from himself) but without it all are lost. God has his son/himself slaughtered, well knowing the world that is to come. Jesus as man-god is brutally tortured and murdered, all for a blood sacrifice. It’s a good thing there are no volcanoes in Israel. Of course, like a good businessman would do, there are conditions on the sacrifice. It is not freely given. We must believe in the Christ or perish and lose our salvation (John 3:16). Once he has ascended, Jesus becomes much more than a man. The hints of warrior throughout the New Testament now manifest in the risen lord. It is clear, Jesus plans on returning to earth but in a much more divine capacity. He stills acts like a child throwing a temper tantrum. With his return, there will be no peace. With his return, there would be no mercy. Jesus returns like a thief, in secret, but will eventually burn up the entire earth and everything on it. In fact, “the heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything done in it will be laid bare” (2 Peter 3:10). It is in the book of Revelation that we fully come to understand that everyone is doomed, well except for 144,000 Jews, no one else (Revelation 7:4, NIV). Kind of makes the entire salvation thing just a little anti-climatic. It is here that god and Jesus tag team against humanity. They empower four horsemen to kill one quarter of the earth’s population (Revelation 6:8 NIV). Jesus takes command and with eyes aflame, many crowns on his head, clothes dripping with blood, a sword sticking out of his mouth, and a secret name, leads the faithful in heaven into holy war on earth (Revelation 6:8). At this point, it’s hard to find any sign of the prince of peace so many people believe Jesus to be. He is now the warrior King, who will rule with “an iron sceptre” (Revelation 19:14-15, NIV). Using the sword in his mouth, he will “strike down the nations.” Reading about these monsters on paper makes one want to go back to the drawing board and start this god thing all over again. Maybe this time we shouldn’t make him so human.

            The ideas most people have regarding their “God” are limited. Most people don’t even bother to read through scripture let alone apply the lessons found within it. We get a basic notion of our god from our culture, then we make the rest up as we go along. I suppose it is true that with any holy text, you always find what you’re looking for. I am sure that if I reproached the character of God from a more positive and favorable angle, he would still come across rather human. To love, charity, mercy and forgiveness are all lovely sentiments but they are human attributes, not divine. Omniscience and omnipotence cannot be defined, let alone ascribed. It seems god is sovereign, he rules and so will Jesus. God is good, despite being one of the most monstrous characters in all literature. Jesus fares better but only by proxy. Since good and evil are relative terms, how could the real God be one or the other? Only a man would entertain such a schism.

Photos

https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/why-didnt-jesus-write-anything-down

https://redeeminggod.com/why-was-the-bible-written/

Sources

http://skepticsannotatedbible.com/cruelty/long.html

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/crossexamined/2014/07/god-loves-the-smell-of-burning-flesh-human-sacrifice-in-the-bible/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yahweh

http://thewritepractice.com/anthropomorphic/

Paper Monster

 Part One

“My enemies turn back;

they stumble and perish before you.

For you have upheld my right and my cause,

sitting enthroned as the righteous judge.

You have rebuked the nations and destroyed the wicked;

you have blotted out their name for ever and ever.

Endless ruin has overtaken my enemies,

you have uprooted their cities;

even the memory of them has perished.”

(Psalms 9:3-6, NIV)

            There are many reasons that I am no longer a Christian. Mostly, it is the anthropomorphic version of God that I have discovered in the Judeo-Christian tradition. I have a huge issue with placing human characteristics on something unknown and unknowable. You can talk about God’s love all you want but in The Bible, both the Old Testament deity Yahweh and his son Jesus from the New Testament can, at times, seem more like our adversary than our saviour. On paper, God comes across rather human. Sometimes he is more monster than man. It’s not surprising to anyone who can read that God is supposed to be human, mortal or whatever you want to call this mess. When we learn that “God created mankind in his own image” (Genesis 1:27, NIV), we must examine the character of a God who is limited to humanity. It might be blasphemous to say, but there is no way in hell you’ll find me bowing to the feet of a mere mortal, regardless of the powers it may possess. When all I need to do is read scripture to witness God punish, condemn and murder, then we have a serious problem.

            Just because Ted Bundy loved his mother doesn’t make him any less of a monster. The same implication goes for the Judeo-Christian-Islamic fiend who hides behind concepts like agape love and love your neighbour. This does not appear to be his true nature. Any benevolent and all-loving appearance is just that. Instead he is a savage, small-minded and jealous creature. More man than Master, more deviant than docile, he appears oh so human because he is. This is the catch-22 of almost all religions. The way we portray God has little to do with what we know of our God. The two are not necessarily the same thing. We pick and choose what to believe, what to consider the truth. We have a cumulative interpretation, our own subjective experience with the Divine. We can add volumes of scripture and exegesis, but we only hold to that which serves our own purpose. From the destruction of mankind in Genesis to the Apocalypse brought on by an avenging saviour in Revelation,  this god is defined not just by the words he speaks but also by his actions. It’s clear to me that the “fruits of the spirit” demanded from us in the New Testament are only an expectation of the human beings who actually live on the planet. No deity will ever answer to mere mortals. We are to be better but god is not held to the same standard of conduct. After all, when you’re in charge, you can do anything you want. You can act and believe anything you want. You can even be a monster, all the while pandering to the minions with ideas like grace and mercy and forgiveness. Yes, within the pages of scripture there lies a gentler being. You can find it if you look. It rests, however, on the bones of all those that this god has sought out and destroyed. It would be a challenge for me to hold myself accountable to a beast that kills children, condones stoning and instigates genocide. It’s all on paper, so it is easy to find this monster. All you have to do is read.

  

           The god of the Old Testament loves the smell of burning meat. Particularly throughout the Torah, this very human sense is attributed to Yahweh, the war god. Over and over again, we are informed just how much god loves the smell of flesh set ablaze. He had Noah build him an altar for burnt offerings, then “The Lord smelled the pleasing aroma” (Genesis 8:21, NIV). Throughout the books of Exodus (especially chapter 29) and Leviticus (especially chapter 3), the same theme returns again and again. A smell of flesh is not this god’s only proclivity. He is a jealous, petty child who has to get what he wants or mankind can suffer his wrath. God gets angry. Apparently, he gets so angry that he decides to destroy all humans, animals, all life on the planet. He plans on drowning them one and all. God tells Noah, “I will wipe from the face of the earth the human race I have created—and with them the animals, the birds and the creatures that move along the ground—for I regret that I have made them” (Genesis 6:7, NIV). In fact, God informs  Noah that he will “bring floodwaters on the earth to destroy all life under the heavens, every creature that has the breath of life in it. Everything on earth will perish (Genesis 6:17, NIV). When the deed is done, only Noah and those with him on the Ark survive. This is not some understandable judgment. From newborn babies to spiders, God wipes everything off the face of the planet. All are lost. These do not strike me as the actions of a loving God. Even the babies are destroyed. Seems like something a monster would do.

            On June 12, 2016, Omar Mateen, a 29-year-old security guard, killed 49 people and wounded 58 others at the Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida. No one publicly cheered for the massacre. I heard nothing about how the shooter was justified because the victims were all queer. Abominations or not, people were horrified that this creature attacked so many, all because of their sexual identity. Of course, when God did it, it was just fine. To this day, people still validate the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah  because of the immorality in homosexuality. It was god after all, who “sent down burning sulphur ...out of the heavens” (Genesis 19:24, NIV). Whether god destroyed the two cities for the sin of inhospitality or the sin of homosexuality, he kills everyone. Every man, every woman, every child (from infant to newborn) is punished for the sins of the few (regardless of what those sins were). Like with Noah, he spares the “just and righteous,” the family of Lot. This excessive, unnecessary and violent encounter strikes me as something Hitler would do. It’s funny how we vilify one person for their behaviour yet we worship God for exhibiting the very same behaviour.

            God says, “Take your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac, and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you.” (Genesis 22:2, NIV). Abraham follows god’s instruction to the letter. He shows his love for god through submission and the willingness to murder his own child. Only a sick and twisted control freak would command something like this. It just smells of human. Just before the deed is done, god changes his mind and provides a goat to sacrifice instead. It’s just like a mortal to chicken out just before the throat is slit. Whether by flood or by fire, god exacts his wrath and contempt for man throughout the Old Testament. Isaac on a meat rack aside, these acts are considered valid just because god says that they are. Few ever question the nature that this deity exhibits. They use the New Testament as a justification but it too holds much to give me great pause. I guess you have to ask yourself, what would modern man think of a father who goes to sacrifice his child at god’s request? If this story was from a non-canonical text, we would be all over the savagery of it. Only a monster would ask, let alone promote, such a thing but since it is Jehovah, it is just fine and dandy.

            The Judeo-Christian god is a boastful and arrogant beast. Just as Moses thinks that all is lost, Yahweh decides to help in the most convincing way. Moses relays to Pharaoh that god will “send the full force of my plagues against you and against your officials and your people, so you may know that there is no one like me in all the earth” (Exodus 9 14, NIV). In no uncertain terms. he proclaims “I will ... smite Egypt with all my wonders” (Exodus 3:20, NIV). He seems to constantly need validation. He ravages Egypt, killing thousands, including the firstborn son of any Egyptian. He even sends Moses to Ramses with the message that god did such things so that “you may tell your children and grandchildren how I dealt harshly with the Egyptians and how I performed my signs among them, and that you may know that I am the Lord” (Exodus 10 1-2, NIV). The Lord struck down so many that “there was not a house without someone dead” (Exodus 12:30, NIV). The mass slaughter of so many at the hands of one being should bring much condemnation, unless you’re reading the Old Testament. It is very hard to imagine human beings doing this to each other, then again, god has been telling us to do it for years. He is justified because he is god. One can hide behind a “shadow of death” but killing children is never justified, especially from God.

            Who else but the biblical god could be so cruel? What can one expect from a god of war? After all, “The Lord is a warrior,” (Exodus 15:3, NIV). Judging from the actions god takes in the Old Testament, this “god of war” is more a military killing machine than the Host of Hosts. He has no problem conscripting soldiers that we later call “men of god.” He uses angels like they are weapons of mass destruction. God even sends his special forces against an army while they sleep, leaving thousands dead. We see that “the angel of the Lord went out and put to death a hundred and eighty-five thousand in the Assyrian camp. When the people got up the next morning - there were all the dead bodies” (2 Kings 19:35, NIV). Joshua is god’s general. He follows instruction well. God sends Joshua into Hebron to “smote it with the edge of the sword ... and all the cities... and all the souls that were therein.” Like a good solider would, “he left none remaining" (Deuteronomy 10:36-37, NIV). From Samson to King David, the Old Testament is riddled with men willing to follow this god at any cost. Its seems more like fear following to me; this god gets pissed off (Deuteronomy 1:36-37). On paper. this god can also be a  huge hypocrite. On one page, we are instructed that “You shall not murder” (Exodus 20:13, NIV). On the very next page, he contradicts his own law by conditioning  the punishment played against offenders of this law. It is made clear that we are to “take life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise” (Exodus 21:23b-25, NIV). I guess Yahweh didn’t realize that an eye for an eye leaves everyone blind.

            The God of Abraham and Moses seems particularly human when it comes to his ego. He threatens his people, demanding, “Do not worship any other god, for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God” (Exodus 34:14, NIV). I just assumed jealousy was left to our very human frailty, yet we are once again menaced by this god because of how he feels. We learn that in modern days, 4 billion people are instantly doomed for not holding to the biblical god. It is clear, “Whoever sacrifices to any god other than the Lord must be destroyed” (Exodus 22:20, NIV). So that’s every Buddhist, every Muslim, every non-Christian, anyone on the planet who doesn’t believe in the Judeo-Christian standard can kiss their butt goodbye. The entire body of the Old Testament seems to surround this god demanding that we recognize him and only him.  Every time we do something wrong, god threatens to kill us. If we fail to observe the Sabbath, we are in much trouble. Not knowing whether to observe on Friday or Saturday or Sunday really seems irrelevant considering the cost for failing to do so. We must “Observe the Sabbath, because it is holy to you. Anyone who desecrates it is to be put to death; those who do any work on that day must be cut off from their people” (Exodus 31:14, NIV). Like with any good tyrant, if you break the rules, you are executed. If you curse, or tell off your parents, you are to “be put to death” (Exodus 21:17, NIV). At one point (Leviticus), god threatens to kill someone on every other line. I had always imagined God was above such human failings. I believed He was a God of Love. The god of my father is more a god of death than anything else. As least, on paper.

           

            Despite the millions of people lost to the wrath of the Lord, there is no action more insane then when god orders people be burnt to death. Those people who have stolen from Israel have also stolen from Jehovah. Apparently, hiding the goods from your heist is a terminal condition. In fact, “The one who has stolen what was set apart for destruction will himself be burned with fire, along with everything he has, for he has broken the covenant of the Lord and has done a horrible thing in Israel” (Joshua 7:15, NIV). Of course, if you look deep enough into scripture, you can find very human characteristics placed on a very monstrous entity. While burning the flesh off a person seems a savage thing to do, it holds little to god’s order that as punishment men will be made to kill their brother, then feed on their body. For God’s sake, where does one draw the line between a god and that monster?

“By the wrath of the Lord Almighty

the land will be scorched

and the people will be fuel for the fire;

they will not spare one another.

On the right they will devour,

but still be hungry;

on the left they will eat,

but not be satisfied.

Each will feed on the flesh of their own offspring.”

(Isaiah 9:19-20, NIV)

Photos

http://www.ethikmainz.de/impressum/

http://www.faithgateway.com/what-happened-old-testament-sermons/#.WUggo-vytEY

http://www.teachingcollegeenglish.com/2011/10/01/swccl-spinoza-and-literary-criticism/

Sources

http://skepticsannotatedbible.com/cruelty/long.html

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/crossexamined/2014/07/god-loves-the-smell-of-burning-flesh-human-sacrifice-in-the-bible/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yahweh

The Details

 

            Luther Hough considered himself a righteous man. From an early age, he had always felt a nearness, a closeness with the God of his experience. Indoctrinated by his parents, he was a born-again Christian to the core. His father had been a Pentecostal preacher, with a small congregation in a small county church just outside Kapuskasing, in the northern part of Ontario, Canada. His mother was a good wife, the kind who knew her place and stayed there. When he was 12 years old, they were both killed in a fiery car crash. Struck down in their BMW by a drunk driver and his trusty pickup truck, they died instantly.  Luther was sent to live with his paternal grandmother in Richmond Hill, a suburb located just north of the city of Toronto. Agnes Hough was a fire and brimstone Believer.  Her approach at raising the boy was militant. For her, it was not enough to simply read God's word, one must live it through submission. She was a mainstay in her flourishing Christian community, and this exposure only furthered the young boy's growing obsession with serving his Lord. Agnes trained Luther well. The prayer meetings, the service 3 times a week, the intense Bible study launched him into ministry. By the age of 18, he was preaching every other Sunday.

            When Agnes Hough passed away, she left a healthy fortune to Luther. At 20, he decided to invest some of his inheritance to further God's will. He knew he was required to spread the Truth, life had shaped him to this end. God had moulded him for pure evangelization. With some of his windfall he bought an abandoned building in the tiny town of Bright, Ontario and transformed the small town chapel into a thriving temple for his God. When The Church of Redemption Through Christ first opened, the congregation consisted of a few locals and a handful of parishioners who followed him from his grandmother's place of worship. By the age of 25, over 400 souls bowed and prayed there several times a week. Additions to the original church were commonplace, as the ministry grew and grew. Conveniently located just west of Toronto, Luther made it his commission to journey once a week into the big city in order to save souls for Jesus. Come Saturday morning, chances are you would pass him on Yonge Street as he handed out salvation, all thanks to the folks at Staples. Every Wednesday, Friday and twice on Sunday evening, his voice would cry out from his pulpit, beseeching the Lord for Divine intervention. The Word demanded he gather the sinner, preparing one and all for the End of Days when Divine retribution would set mankind on the right course. His mission was so successful, so vibrant, that people came from great distance just to hear him preach. Years of watching his father, and other Evangelical preachers, had groomed him for this purpose. People clung to his words, followed him faithfully and claimed him a prophet and messenger sent from God.

            Whether he cared to admit it or not, Luther Hough was a sexy beast. Just as God seemed to ooze from his being, so too his appearance, coupled with his charisma, allowed him to use attraction to further God's purpose for his life. He stood tall as a man of God. At 6 foot 2 inches, he was a monument to perfection. His smile, his physique, every part of him screamed of God's favour. Women floated in his deep blue eyes. Children trusted in his gentle touch. People were drawn to him and he didn't even have to speak a word. His dark brown hair was chiselled, his beard over-groomed. His body was tight, lean and reeked of vanity. The glasses he wore during his performances were only cosmetic in their nature. Not one for casual appearance, his expensive suits and well-shined shoes only added to the overall sculpture. He was hot and he knew it. He had never really had an interest in marriage or sexual gratification. Any urges he did have were passed off as the consequence of original sin. When he was overcome by his carnal nature, he simply prayed to be made worthy and rebuked his mortal flesh. He chose not to give in. He never had. Despite his success, he felt like he had not achieved his true calling. It was one thing to be a preacher, but Luther wanted so much more. In the silence of the morning, he could often be found praying at the alter he had created, begging God for direction. It was not that he felt underused or taken for granted. He wanted to make a greater difference for Jesus, to help prepare a way for His kingdom.

God works in mysterious ways.

            Yonge and Wellesley Street cross near the center of Toronto's downtown core. The streets are well travelled either by day or by night. People bustle about shops and pizzerias, chatting on cell phones and walking on garbage. Luther's regular corner was at the heart of this section of the concrete jungle. To the north just off Yonge sits Yorkville, a snazzy district aimed at the financial elite. Luther always purchased his suits from a tailor just beyond the main thoroughfare. To the south a few blocks sits Dundas Square. This Canadian version of Times Square in New York is so bright that it lights up the daytime. To the west of his weekly spot, young male prostitutes trade their wares at the side of a McDonald's restaurant right across the street. In his mind, he would pray for each boy as they sold their Happy Meal in some nameless old man's car and then sped away together. It was a drive thru. To the east, just by one city block, Wellesley crosses Church Street, deep in the center of hell itself. He went right into the gay village, Luther practiced his wares. Around 8 AM, on the sixth day of the week, Luther would set up a meagre stand on which to place his papers and a large leather-bound copy of the King James Bible. Weather permitting, he always wore a tee shirt. It was always brightly coloured, tight to the skin and completely flattering in the most revealing way.  He wore his denim jeans in exactly the same titillating manner. They left nothing to the imagination. Whenever he felt convicted about his appearance, he would tell himself, "You get more flies with honey!"

            Around 9 AM, without fail, Luther would find himself immersed in Sodom. Once the crowds rolled in, he was quite often overwhelmed. It wasn't only the homosexuals that made him uncomfortable. An onslaught of Asians, Muslims and even orthodox Jews, wandered past him. He thought of this place as a cesspool, a Gehenna, a vile respite in an ocean of sin. He could almost hear all the weeping and gnashing of teeth. Amidst this ocean of heathen, Luther found some purpose. As he handed out paper after paper, he kept telling himself, "Even if you only save one." The pamphlets were simple. On each white page of paper was a message in large bold font. It never changed and he felt no need to change it. With one hand he would pull his target in using his appeal and with the other he would place in their hands the truth, captured on a sheet of paper. After all, he was not here to gain parishioners but to be a catalyst in the saving of soul. His attire was more than appropriate, at least in his own mind. Since early on in his ministry he had found that the better he looked, the more willing each sinner was to listen, to stop and give him a moment or two. Not surprisingly, it worked like a charm.  He knew if he could just get them to read his pamphlet, then he had planted a seed towards their salvation. From such a handsome man came such bitter and ugly words.

                       

"For the wages of sin is death

but the gift of God is eternal life

in Christ Jesus, our Lord."

Romans 6:23

God will punish you for your sins

but you can find forgiveness through Jesus

An abomination will always be an abomination

Repent

His Kingdom is at hand

The Church of Redemption Through Jesus Christ

Bright, Ontario

hough@houghministry.com

            Luther noticed him almost immediately. On a hot August morning, his attire stood out like a sore thumb. From head to toe he was covered in darkness. A pitch black Fedora, midnight pants and a black shirt and tie, all seemed so out of place. The over-sized ebony leather trench coat he wore looked stifling as each passersby didn't even seem to see him standing there. The stranger would smoke a cigarette, then flick it onto the pavement below only to light another in the very same gesture. From a distance, he looked taller than Luther. His frame seemed swallowed up in that sea of black. From what Luther could tell, he was just another aging eccentric, lost out on a sea of sin and immorality. He appeared to be around 60 years of age. He had appeared across the street at the same time Luther had set up his hospice earlier that morning. Since then, all the man had done was stand and watch him. The pastor could feel the man's eyes following him as he darted out into the flow of people, handing his message to anyone who would  take it. Just as he was ready to confront him, he disappeared while Luther turned to organize his station. Reverend Hough went on with his business.

            The young man spotted Luther from way down the street. He quickened his pace with a sense of urgency. Luther noticed him as he approached. Greetings were exchanged and as Luther reached back for a pamphlet, the attractive fellow gave it his best shot. His suggestions were vulgar and completely to the point. When Luther handed him a pamphlet, all the guy had to say was, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

            He then walked away, shaking his head the entire time. Just out of reach, the disappointed stalker yelled, "Nice outfit, preacher."

            Luther stood frozen, the combination of shock and shame and embarrassment was almost more than he could stand. Anger grew from inside of him when he realized he had been stirred by this abomination's vulgarity. He had to position himself behind his meagre pulpit to block a clear view of his over sized reaction. Luther closed his eyes and he began to pray. He seethed over the situation in which he had been placed. He was furious with that creature who had dared to incite him. Like a bolt of lightning it hit him. He finally knew. All the years of standing in one spot, hoping to save just one, he would now leave behind. God had given him a calling, a specific center for his ministry. He packed up his collection and left this den of iniquity. He would never return.

From the across the street, the man in black stood again, smiling softly.

            When the television cameras came in, Luther went from Pastor Hough to Reverend Tough. His sanctuary out in the country became a haven for anyone who stood strong against the homosexual agenda. Luther had always felt it was his mission to speak to this foolish horde of sinners, but after his experience on the street corner in Toronto, he went from appealing with love (if you can call it that) to demanding with hellfire and scripture and condemnation. He used his own inheritance to payroll his own agenda. Every Saturday morning, he broadcast from his pulpit on a national Christian television station. Across the country, people tuned in to see the spectacle. Some saw wisdom in this approach. Others condemned him for casting the first stone. He beseeched anyone involved with the LGBT community to join him and save themselves. He was diligent in his own authority, proclaiming (like a bad cliché) that God hated homosexuality, and without the Blood of Jesus, anyone partaking of this "lifestyle" or helping to promote it would be sentenced to the pit of hell. He would scream God's orders, vacillating between God's anger and God's wrath. Most of all, it was the curse he placed upon all those who had not seen the light or refused to follow his, which defined him.

"If your life is miserable and you are always unhappy, God is punishing you.

If life seems unfair and your days are full of pain and sorrow, God is punishing you.

You have no one else to blame for your lot in life other than yourself.

God is punishing you for what you have done.

God will punish you even more. Get used to it.

You are being prepared for your place in hell where your punishment will sit forever.

Repent or get what you deserve"

            Luther fully believed that those who do not submit to the will of his Lord will be penalized for their treachery. God will strike and chastise each one now, not just in the afterlife. He never backed down from this position. Luther may have been controversial, but the camera loved him. His television program, Redeemed with Luther Hough, was a Bonafede success. He used social media to gather the faithful and crowd control to help picket at LGBT events. He made appearances on local radio and his growing ministry became somewhat of a focus for both conservative and more left wing media sources. He was a regular on the national newscasts and even the Americans caught wind of him. His ministry spread throughout North America and his popularity among conservative Christians seemed impenetrable. Suddenly, Luther Hough found himself quite the celebrity. Any money he used to finance his projects was easily recouped and then some. Once a fledgling pastor, he was now The Pastor. Despite his tyrannical approach to salvation, audiences paid to see him. Each interview and each news feature he allowed was simply another line from his agenda. In a world where homosexuality was considered normal, and mostly accepted as such, Luther was a voice in the wilderness. When questioned, Reverend Tough would lay it on the line. It was God, after all, not him who made the rules. Don't shoot the messenger.

            As Luther sat waiting to address the masses that had gathered for an outdoor Sunday service at his church, he spotted the man in black. He was standing in the far back, near the information kiosk which was housed inside a blue tent. Midnight stood out against this azure sky. You couldn't miss him. Throughout the entire event the stranger lingered, watching Luther. The minister had to ask himself, "How did this man get all the way out to the country?"

            He wondered why he was here and what he wanted. After a fiery sermon, as the brimstone settled all around, Luther looked to him and waited for a reaction. Slowly, subtly, they seemed to make eye contract, even from across the sea of people. The man nodded, tipped his Fedora and lit a cigarette. By the time Luther had alerted security to a man smoking on the property, the dark figure had disappeared.

"The devil," Luther proclaimed somewhere inside his head.

            There was nothing more refreshing, more rejuvenating for Luther than to take an evening drive to clear his head. Life had become very complicated for the successful hatemonger. It was this time alone, free from the press and the patrons, that Luther felt a communion with his God. The sense of speed he experienced on his drives was cathartic. The race was exhilarating. Luther was happiest during moments like this. His white, 2007 Porsche 911 GT3 Coupe convertible with Bi-Xenon headlamps didn't hurt his sense of  pleasure. County road 88 was perfect for his indulgence. In the shadows, he would fly through open air. The back roads of southern Ontario offered little hindrance once the sun had set. Luther took this time to think, to analyze and to bask in the glory of the Holy Spirit and the rush at 120 kilometers down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. He felt  free for the first time, every time. He didn't have to be the perfect example. He didn't have to wear a mask. For brief seconds, he would close his eyes and imagine he was flying up to heaven, with angels as tour guides welcoming him home. He found a brief moment of bliss in the darkness, a surrender to his God.

            Luther slammed on the brakes the moment he saw him. His eyes had only been closed for a moment of heaven when out of nowhere the man in black appeared. Standing in the middle of the road, mingling with the darkness, the stranger did not flinch, even slightly, as the car sped towards him. He lit a cigarette as it quickly approached. Luther swerved to avoid him, further engaging the brakes in a futile attempt to slow down. The car skidded, flipped onto its side and then rolled over several times more, recklessly spinning out of control. With no seat-belt on, Luther was thrown like a toy ball in some game of chance. The high speed which accompanied his race propelled the Porsche into pieces and Luther into thin air. Debris flew everywhere as Luther soared across the road, rebounding off the edge of the asphalt, then bounced like that toy ball down into the gully at the side of the road.  He landed hard onto his back. The car rolled into the ditch, then ricocheted twenty feet beyond the pastor and rested in a cornfield. There was no explosion, no boom or thunder beyond what the accident itself conveyed. The night swallowed up Luther and the devastating fortuity. He laid conscious, fully aware, staring up at the clear night sky. He was not counting stars.    

            There was no music to score the scene. One would find it hard to hear any sound at all once the chaos had settled. It was a kind of hush. All the silence met the darkness and the darkness took any light. At first, Luther thought he was dead. He soon realized this was not the case. As he slowly became aware of the tragedy around him, he started watching for angels, praying to God for help and assurance. He resolved himself to heaven. Once the fog had cleared from his brain, he tried to get up. He tried to move his arms. He tried to move his legs. He tried to move at all but he could not. There was no pain, there was nothing but numb. He quickly realized he was paralyzed, that he had probably broken his back. Any cry for help was muffled by his very own weight. In his mind he called out to his God, "Have you forsaken me, Jesus?"

            The flame from the lighter broke the blackness. Standing just to his right side, dressed in the night like a monster, the stranger who had caused all this stood and lit a cigarette.

"Luther," he said. "You've been a bad boy."

            Luther looked up at the entity with great fear and trepidation. He knew he was broken, frozen into this place. He barely found it within himself to pray but pray he did. He rebuked the demon over and over in his head, calling on Jesus to take this from him. Before extinguishing his flame, the creature snapped his fingers and the headlights from the demolished automobile shone down into the pit with both men.

            "Help me," Luther whispered.

            "Help you," he replied. "Why would anyone help you? This is the punishment you deserve for your sins."

            Luther tried to gasp, he tried to scream.

            "Devil," was all he could utter.

"The devil?" the man asked. "The devil is in the details, Luther."

           

            The man then reached inside his coat and pulled out one of the pamphlets

that Luther had once handed out so cavalierly. Luther laid staring up into the halo the headlights had formed around the demon's head. For a moment, he seemed angelic. Stars and blackness coated the background and Luther started to fade into the dimming. As the man in black read from the page, pieces of the life he had lived flashed before his eyes. All the condemnation, all the judgment, all his secret sins rushed throughout his body and permeated his mind, but he could not find any peace with it. The being let the page drift slowly to the ground and began to walk away from the broken man of God.

            "When you get the chance, you should read it," the ghoul laughed.

            "Rebuke you," whispered Luther.

            "Don't shoot the messenger, Luther," the stranger teased.

            "Satan!" Luther accused softly.

"Satan," the stranger scoffed. "Who said anything about Satan?"

            It seemed like days that Luther remained in that ditch, placed carefully at the side of the road like a shattered work of art. Each moment lasted longer than the first. Every second brought torment and hopelessness and much suffering to his mind. Luther Hough had found his hell. In fact, it was less than an hour before the ambulance and the police arrived on the scene. The waling of a fire truck seemed to wake Luther from his delirium. When the ambulance drove away, blaring like a banshee into the night, Luther believed that he had left any previous life he once led at the edge of that strip, in that gully, at the side of County Road 88. Come the morning, two policemen watched as a tow truck flipped the Porsche onto its wheels and hauled it onto a flatbed. It pulled away with little fanfare and no media to report on this fate. As the officers scoured the area for evidence, that plain white piece of paper fell under one's foot. He bent down and thought to himself that it must have flown out of the preacher's car during the accident. He read it quickly, then placed it in a plastic evidence bag. He thought to himself, "How ironic."

"Do not judge

For you too will be judged

For in the same way you judge others

You will be judged

And with the measure you use

It will be measured to you."

Matthew 7:1-2"

Photo

http://omtimes.com/2013/08/top-10-toxic-people-to-avoid-at-all-costs/

An Empty Chair

originally posted 
June 23, 2010

My mom once told me that she felt closest to God when she gardened. I suppose her life was like a garden, I suppose all our lives are. It all starts out fresh and new with all hope and possibilities then is shaped by choices and stones from the path. We spend so much time planning and shaping in hopes of perfection, then end up pulling, and routing out weed after weed. Then winter comes.
Indeed, life is like a garden.
I remember her so well sitting on the hill in the backyard. I remember her hosing down plant bed after plant bed or filling the ponds, all the while sitting in her lawn chair singing softly to herself. I know that her gardens somehow still miss her as much as I do.
Both my parents gardened out of love. It was not so much about the house with them; it was about the land, the trees and the greenery. Even inside the house, rows of cactus and trees, surrounded by hanging plants and ivy, filled the front room throughout the year.

We come from the earth, we return to the earth, and in between we garden.

My Mom loved roses. Her rose garden, along the driveway, was simply lovely. With pink and purple and many colors, calling to hummingbird and butterfly and dragonfly alike, the scent of it rising on the warm spring breeze. 

The spring has come and almost gone and the summer arrived, with its hazy days and warm evenings; the sky of night, so clear, you can reach out to touch the stars. All the gardens are in bloom again and the trees are waving like friendly folk, when the wind hits them just right. I know that soon will come autumn, and then the cold and dank of winter. When spring arrives again next year, the greenery will grow and the flowers will return. Soft butterflies will soar above the ponds and into the sundrenched flower beds and, like life, some gardens will go on and some with be tethered.

I imagine that my mind will always journey back to my Mother, caring for her garden as she did for her children, thorns and all. I will never forget and have many promises to keep. In the distance, almost up on to the top of the hill, sits a place for her, but it will only ever be an empty chair.