Sassy Snake #1
In case you missed the press release, god died many years ago in a tragic accident.
I’m not talking about a hunting mishap, when your best friend realizes that your blood doesn’t match her hip hunting vest. Heavenly Father died in a construction snafu, and it was his own damn fault.
I first fell in love with God when I was in 5th grade. That was the year that God got all up in my shit. I was filled with Christ love, and I was loving it. Those hymns were so cool, and I was fascinated by the mystery of Sunday service. Lots of people all united around a common cause. A veritable patchwork quilt of humanity, so long as humanity was white and upper middle class. Plus, Jesus was ripped.
I read through the bible with ferocious intensity. A book a night was my required reading but it could snowball when I got really into it. And what’s not to love: murder, rape, incest, masturbation, and whores just to start. The bible was full of indecency, and my family was just impressed that I wanted to read it. In 5th grade it was the little things that I took pleasure in.
Despite these early religious predisposition, my love of church quickly diminished when my parents decided to get divorced. My Mom was to tired to convince me and my brothers to attend Church, and I became and ETC christian (Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas). This attendance was even lower when I spent time with my Dad. His love for God was pretty much on par with his love for my mother, and considering he called my mom the bitch of 3rd Avenue, that’s not really a lot of love. Granted, I don’t think he ever poured gasoline on the Church’s lawn, but he could roll with hateful invectives against the Church for quite some time.
After a few years, I decided to reenter the halls of dogma, mostly because of the youth group director. Christ the King Lutheran Church (ELCA) had decided that it was time to increase outreach to the youth community, and had hired two new directors. Ashley was a cute, but Landon was HOTT. Ironic vices reconnected me to Jesus.
Sadly, my hot Texan youth group leader was short lived. He returned to Texas a few short weeks after I began to regularly attend. But Ashley was pretty awesome. The only odd thing was that youth group was more of a eat at Denny’s kinda group than a “talk about god” institution. One night she tried to teach us about humility, and the last supper, by getting us to wash each others feet. That quickly died when James and I put sardines in her shoes. Luckily a trip to Denny’s quickly eliminated any animus.
Thus, my relationship with God was one of convenience. Jesus got me food, and I went to his meetings. It worked for me, but it really didn’t build a lasting relationship with a higher power. God was dead at this point, I just didn’t know it yet.
My senior year, I acquired the fire. Or at least I went to a conference titled “Acquire the Fire.” This conference was when I first realized that God had died. At this conference I went to session intended to talk about other religions. In this meeting, it was posited that other religions come from a dementing of the word of God because of the collapse of the Tower of Babel. When God destroyed the Tower of Babel he decided to let the world collapse into a myriad of languages and different cultures. The person running this group session claimed that other religions emerged from the ashes of natural chaos that comes from a large variety of languages.
I came to a different conclusion. I decided that when the Tower of Babel fell, God buried himself beneath the ruins. My friendly, entertaining, vengeful God accidentally killed himself in a horrible construction accident. If God is the one TRUTH, he requires a common language in order to be realized. The vagueness and ambiguity of language renders any attempt to reach a common truth and useless pursuit in intellectual masturbation (Not that intellectual masturbation isn’t fun, several of us, including our gracious host are debaters after all). The collapse of the Tower of Babel signified the death of univocal truth, the death of metanarrative, and the death of God. At least that’s my freaky literal truth of the bible interpretation.
Dear God,
Why did you have to let Nietzsche be right?
Love,
Me
I’m not talking about a hunting mishap, when your best friend realizes that your blood doesn’t match her hip hunting vest. Heavenly Father died in a construction snafu, and it was his own damn fault.
I first fell in love with God when I was in 5th grade. That was the year that God got all up in my shit. I was filled with Christ love, and I was loving it. Those hymns were so cool, and I was fascinated by the mystery of Sunday service. Lots of people all united around a common cause. A veritable patchwork quilt of humanity, so long as humanity was white and upper middle class. Plus, Jesus was ripped.
I read through the bible with ferocious intensity. A book a night was my required reading but it could snowball when I got really into it. And what’s not to love: murder, rape, incest, masturbation, and whores just to start. The bible was full of indecency, and my family was just impressed that I wanted to read it. In 5th grade it was the little things that I took pleasure in.
Despite these early religious predisposition, my love of church quickly diminished when my parents decided to get divorced. My Mom was to tired to convince me and my brothers to attend Church, and I became and ETC christian (Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas). This attendance was even lower when I spent time with my Dad. His love for God was pretty much on par with his love for my mother, and considering he called my mom the bitch of 3rd Avenue, that’s not really a lot of love. Granted, I don’t think he ever poured gasoline on the Church’s lawn, but he could roll with hateful invectives against the Church for quite some time.
After a few years, I decided to reenter the halls of dogma, mostly because of the youth group director. Christ the King Lutheran Church (ELCA) had decided that it was time to increase outreach to the youth community, and had hired two new directors. Ashley was a cute, but Landon was HOTT. Ironic vices reconnected me to Jesus.
Sadly, my hot Texan youth group leader was short lived. He returned to Texas a few short weeks after I began to regularly attend. But Ashley was pretty awesome. The only odd thing was that youth group was more of a eat at Denny’s kinda group than a “talk about god” institution. One night she tried to teach us about humility, and the last supper, by getting us to wash each others feet. That quickly died when James and I put sardines in her shoes. Luckily a trip to Denny’s quickly eliminated any animus.
Thus, my relationship with God was one of convenience. Jesus got me food, and I went to his meetings. It worked for me, but it really didn’t build a lasting relationship with a higher power. God was dead at this point, I just didn’t know it yet.
My senior year, I acquired the fire. Or at least I went to a conference titled “Acquire the Fire.” This conference was when I first realized that God had died. At this conference I went to session intended to talk about other religions. In this meeting, it was posited that other religions come from a dementing of the word of God because of the collapse of the Tower of Babel. When God destroyed the Tower of Babel he decided to let the world collapse into a myriad of languages and different cultures. The person running this group session claimed that other religions emerged from the ashes of natural chaos that comes from a large variety of languages.
I came to a different conclusion. I decided that when the Tower of Babel fell, God buried himself beneath the ruins. My friendly, entertaining, vengeful God accidentally killed himself in a horrible construction accident. If God is the one TRUTH, he requires a common language in order to be realized. The vagueness and ambiguity of language renders any attempt to reach a common truth and useless pursuit in intellectual masturbation (Not that intellectual masturbation isn’t fun, several of us, including our gracious host are debaters after all). The collapse of the Tower of Babel signified the death of univocal truth, the death of metanarrative, and the death of God. At least that’s my freaky literal truth of the bible interpretation.
Dear God,
Why did you have to let Nietzsche be right?
Love,
Me
posted by Anonymous at 10:06 AM
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