You need not to go to hell to be lost; you are already lost and are therefore in need of salvation.
Twenty million dollars was owed by the man in Jesus' story; which is what every man, woman and child owes for the death on the cross whether they take advantage of it or not.
No one is a Christian unless he is saved. It's a contradiction in terms. Do you want to be lost? That makes you a real loser. -taken from religious pamphlets being handed out
I remember my mother trying to make me like the religion I was born into. Walking into that open echo filled church, looking around at pews full of old Catholics, not one smiling face not one hopeful expression. Just a huge soberly decorated room full of pale dead faces. Everyone herded like sheep into their pews. The organ would drone on like a dying animal, the last of its kind flopping around in a puddle of its own shit and blood moaning in its final death throws. This is what I'm supposed to believe will bring me happiness in the afterlife? You wander through the religion section in bookstores. Being a young adult as, my age group was so dubbed; I was exposed to the ugly bottom of catholic tact in attempts to convert us, the 'young catholic teens'. Titles like 'Teen Study Bible: Give them a Bible that speaks to their world' and 'eXtreme Teen BibLe: No Fears, No Regrets, Just a future with a promise.' spelled like that. This one's major bonus was that it came in two different colors: Slimy Limey Green and Lava Orange. A censored manipulated version of the actual text; it has been specially re-written to appeal to the younger rebellious reader who won't accept his parents' religion as truth.
I had been to endless youth groups and catechism classes, all trying to do the same thing, package and sell Catholicism in a shiny plastic wrapper to all of us kids who they though wouldn't know any better but to tear off the decorative wrapping and play with the 'toy'. That's one thing they did well, materialism, never failed to pass around the collection plate, knowing what really matters to people. I remember sitting in these classes, filling out all of the questions in the workbooks, full of photos of the model catholic boys and girls. They were all kneeling before an unseen altar, or smiling while talking to a priest as if they were having a conversation that was remotely interesting to them. I would sit there drawing horns, glowing eyes, puke coming out of their mouths, long sharp claws and other blatant defacement all over those nice shiny perfect smiling, paid model faces. They were giving us plastic, when all we really wanted in order to believe this religion was something solid and real, not just another Planet Toys or Mattel product.
I'm sitting at one of those old plywood and metal factory made tables, you know the kind that fold up for easy storage, the ones they use as lunch tables in cheap private schools. Its Sunday night, I was forced to attend this youth group, as were many of the children in this desolate parish. We were given the task of draw someone we idolized or wanted to be like. At the time, I was a fan of a loud but talented metal band, whose logo just happened to be a demon skull, two arms crossed over it, each bony hand saluting a 'Fuck you' to anyone who happened to disagree with what the band stood for, whatever that was. I liked the band, so, I drew the logo. The expressions on the youth group leaders faces' when I showed that grinning, gristly, demonic sketch around the circle. They tried to be polite, not quite sure how to react to it a child coming up with an image of Satan as his idol. Everyone else had done bad drawings of famous historical figures, cartoon characters with good personality traits and of course there were a few of Christ. Here I am in the middle of this wash showing around my art. They shifted awkwardly in their seats as I explained that it wasn't a depiction of Satan, but a symbol of a band I wish I were as talented as. It is a wonder they didn't throw holy water on me.
Twenty million dollars was owed by the man in Jesus' story; which is what every man, woman and child owes for the death on the cross whether they take advantage of it or not.
No one is a Christian unless he is saved. It's a contradiction in terms. Do you want to be lost? That makes you a real loser. -taken from religious pamphlets being handed out
I remember my mother trying to make me like the religion I was born into. Walking into that open echo filled church, looking around at pews full of old Catholics, not one smiling face not one hopeful expression. Just a huge soberly decorated room full of pale dead faces. Everyone herded like sheep into their pews. The organ would drone on like a dying animal, the last of its kind flopping around in a puddle of its own shit and blood moaning in its final death throws. This is what I'm supposed to believe will bring me happiness in the afterlife? You wander through the religion section in bookstores. Being a young adult as, my age group was so dubbed; I was exposed to the ugly bottom of catholic tact in attempts to convert us, the 'young catholic teens'. Titles like 'Teen Study Bible: Give them a Bible that speaks to their world' and 'eXtreme Teen BibLe: No Fears, No Regrets, Just a future with a promise.' spelled like that. This one's major bonus was that it came in two different colors: Slimy Limey Green and Lava Orange. A censored manipulated version of the actual text; it has been specially re-written to appeal to the younger rebellious reader who won't accept his parents' religion as truth.
I had been to endless youth groups and catechism classes, all trying to do the same thing, package and sell Catholicism in a shiny plastic wrapper to all of us kids who they though wouldn't know any better but to tear off the decorative wrapping and play with the 'toy'. That's one thing they did well, materialism, never failed to pass around the collection plate, knowing what really matters to people. I remember sitting in these classes, filling out all of the questions in the workbooks, full of photos of the model catholic boys and girls. They were all kneeling before an unseen altar, or smiling while talking to a priest as if they were having a conversation that was remotely interesting to them. I would sit there drawing horns, glowing eyes, puke coming out of their mouths, long sharp claws and other blatant defacement all over those nice shiny perfect smiling, paid model faces. They were giving us plastic, when all we really wanted in order to believe this religion was something solid and real, not just another Planet Toys or Mattel product.
I'm sitting at one of those old plywood and metal factory made tables, you know the kind that fold up for easy storage, the ones they use as lunch tables in cheap private schools. Its Sunday night, I was forced to attend this youth group, as were many of the children in this desolate parish. We were given the task of draw someone we idolized or wanted to be like. At the time, I was a fan of a loud but talented metal band, whose logo just happened to be a demon skull, two arms crossed over it, each bony hand saluting a 'Fuck you' to anyone who happened to disagree with what the band stood for, whatever that was. I liked the band, so, I drew the logo. The expressions on the youth group leaders faces' when I showed that grinning, gristly, demonic sketch around the circle. They tried to be polite, not quite sure how to react to it a child coming up with an image of Satan as his idol. Everyone else had done bad drawings of famous historical figures, cartoon characters with good personality traits and of course there were a few of Christ. Here I am in the middle of this wash showing around my art. They shifted awkwardly in their seats as I explained that it wasn't a depiction of Satan, but a symbol of a band I wish I were as talented as. It is a wonder they didn't throw holy water on me.