God Give Me Rome!

Should you with me deal sorrow Lord,

Then may it be of memories past…

And let not the evil hoards

Stick me with their pagan swords,

While tears stain cheeks of saints at last.

 

I lept from Rome into the dark

Where no man knows what waits

Upon my conscience and beating heart

I must stand and never part,

Though consequence be damned to fate!

 

Democrats and Bibles

Seldom a healthy mix,

What peaceful foibles

and war-born travels,

Land the church in an aweful fix.

 

With infants murdered in houses of mercy,

And perversion marching in the streets,

Can we with conscience bow or courtsey

Before a God who hates universly

these ideals we cannot defeat?

 

God, give me Rome

That I could trade

the horror of our present home

for power of the church alone

in place of a Christless facade!

 

- By Shotgun…who wishes we could all just get along…

Observations from a Sitting Duck

“Duck…Duck…Duck…”

The tension mounted with every word! Brandon, (with an evil grin) strolled around the circle of children patting each on the head as he passed by. “Duck…Duck…Duck…” He was a master of suspense! The power was in his tiny hands! For a brief moment, little Brandon had the power to change the nature of his classmates, and ohh how he reveled in it! Who would he choose?

Just when we couldnt’ take it anymore…a fierce declaration poured from his lips and echoed across the school-yard…GOOSE!!! Immediantly Summer’s inner nature changed…(according to the rules of the game!) She felt compelled to capture her tormentor…to re-tag him lest she be forced to take his place!

No longer a sitting duck, her entire position in the game had changed! Through no choice of her own she was a new player…with a new destiny and new motivations…yet she was still the same blonde headed little Summer. She was still responsible for playing the game.

Brandon quickly slid into Summer’s old spot, leaving Summer as the outsider…tasked with choosing the next goose. As she began her mantra, I pondered the nature of the game. Suppose the rules allowed us to simply choose not to become a Goose? Or suppose we decided on a whim to act the part of the Goose, and the rules would allow for it? How could there be a game at all then?

Brandon leaned over and whispered in my ear. “She LIKES youuuuu” (drawing out the “you” to fully accentuate the shame…) “Summer couldn’t like ME!” I thought…she always made me the goose for goodness sakes! And, as Brandon and I predicted…Summer tapped me on the head and cried “Goose!”

Now was my chance! I could buck the system! Ruin the game! Throw off the sovereignty of the rules that laid behind the entire system…make the whole of objective truth obsolete….but then I realized how beautiful of a thing it was to be chosen…my nature had been changed. I ran!

Exalt The Morning!: A Poem by Shotgun

 

From whence I come, I know not where,

 

confusion in my exasperation.

 

Calling out to God, “Are you there?”

 

Sunlight brings me exaltation.

 

But is this just confusing banter?

 

The ebb and flow of chemical relation,

 

My brain to cease from thinking candor?

 

Sunlight brings me exaltation.

 

For know I well the things that haunt me,

 

Wake me in the mid of night,

 

Casting their tall eyes about me,

 

I shiver from their horrid sight!

 

Just when sleep regains its place,

 

And dreams once more return,

 

Once again, I am haunted,

 

Conscience seared and freshly burned.

 

My sins attempt to overwhelm me, (I am undone!)

 

In the darkest part of the morning, (demons run!)

 

Its then my nightstand yields a treasure, (Byzantium?)

 

Dust falls from a precious warning! (Oh the victory is won!)

 

I raise my sword aloft and measure, (the time is almost come!)

 

Victory, oh Victory in Jesus! (The Sunlight brings me exaltation!)

The End of Christianity in America?

(A recent Newsweek article has the Christian world abuzz with doubt.  A friend of mine sent me the article which can be seen here:  http://www.newsweek.com/id/192583?GT1=43002  Afterwards, I was having a discussion with some woman in Australia who thought that the death of Christianity was undoubtedly a good thing.  In fact, she considers me a moron, unworthy of intelligent discussion.  She has refused to even civilly discuss our differences.  Well, I thought of the wrath God must feel for those arrogant blasphemers who reject His law and I also thought about how righteous His judgement will be.  I left the discussion and wrote this song.  I haven’t decided on the exact chord progression yet, and so I’ll just post the words for now.  When writing it, I was playing it in G, with the C,D, and F chords in different combinations.  If you’re interested, just let me know and I’ll tell you the exact progression I used.  Enjoy, and Soli Deo Gloria!!!)

The Day Christianity Died – By Shotgun

Sing the death of Christianity?

The words flow so perfect from you,

The things you’ve said; they cannot free!

So typical an imperfection (of you)

So hurtful and so mean to me!

So articulate your perilous phrases,

Such nonchalant simplicity.

Too bad I know how dumb your talk is, too bad I know hypocrasy!

CHORUS:

I can see your buildings tumbling, I can see your world fall down.  Where is it your god has brought you?  Far away from solid ground!

Insensitive to all your crying, you’ve pushed away the perfect law!  You made the magistrate your comfort and forgot that Christ is Lord of All!

So gnash your teeth in violent anger!  My God will NOT be in the dock!  Quickly to condemn His righteous, quickly will you flee the Rock!

(This last verse is meant to sort of be talked while the same chord progression as the first verse goes in the background.)

You’re 30 and you’re all alone, the kids you didn’t slaughter have grown and left home, your welfare check has been postponed, and you’re crying to your friends on the telephone;

wondering when the government is going to step in; take you by the hand, be your friend, and make everything nice again…

But when it doesn’t happen you’ll hang up quick.  All your hope disappears, you’ll start feeling sick and then maybe you’ll remember that guy you despised, the one you terrorized, who tried telling you of the most excellent side of God’s glorious law if in it you would only abide.

But you didn’t abide, you had too much pride!  So I hope you fondly remember your celebration:  the day Christianity died.

The Cave of Lore

When pines in misty wood doth speak,

And the ground is covered with moss and peat,

And a toad from murky bile doth peek,

Then you’ve arrived at the Cave of Lore.

For what man hath heart to enter there,

without being drawn by considerable fare

to the unholy working of the caves affairs,

and wicked gusts from wicked air

Arising deep within, the cave of lore?

No one knows what lurks beneath,

No tale hath told no mind bequeathed,

The mystery of this shadowy deep,

From it all sane thoughts do keep,

And save their hearts from the cave of lore.

But what of the soul who must go in?

To stave off the Dark and his home to win?

Would he venture through pine and fen?

To parlay with the cave of lore?

The planning lends stress to thoughts of morass.

The mind falters and balks, and casts about in distress,

How did he get himself into this mess?

Entering into the Cave of Lore?

Courage is needed, though fear be conceded,

All thoughts of failure, long since retreated,

The Dawn of Ages hath lit and heated,

His brave heart for the Cave of Lore.

With the Dawn comes memories deserted,

of warm sun rays on banks of rivers,

and the smell of sweat yams deliver,

courage to a heart that withers,

At dreams of meeting the Cave of Lore.

With the Dawn comes also hope,

Where before the blackness wrote

With authority and will to choke

All songs from within the hero’s throat,

And bid him silence enter in the Cave of Lore.

With Dawn at back, and wickedness in fore,

The Hero dares enter the Cave of Lore,

and Tales long told, of laughter more

Deliver the Hero to a savage door.

Past the mouth, he ventures onward,

though the narrative here doth falter,

For not even the poet in all his comfort,

Dare follow the Hero into the Cave of Lore.

May the Dawn protect you Hero!

I bid ye farewell!

The Tranberg Tragedy: Part !

Telephones were ringing all across Tranberg county North Carolina.

 

Jimmy Jim the crow laid waste to Mr. Johnson’s car in response to a particularly loud ring tone on Emmy Johnson’s new cell phone.  (Emmy was Mr. Johnson’s sixteen year old daughter.)

 

“Stupid CROW” shouted Mr. Johnson, quite to his daughter’s dismay.

 

“Oh Em Gee, Dad, U need 2 like totally chill! Jimmy Jim’s just a stupid bird!”

 

Jimmy Jim didn’t understand the complex societal relationships that Emmy constantly monitored via cell phone.  Nor did he understand Mr. Johnson’s anger at having his car pooped on. Jimmy Jim had always been a little nervous, and loud noises tended to illicit “poopy” responses, so what?

 

Hoping to evade the cacophony of ringing, Jimmy Jim headed skyward.  He usually enjoyed his spiraling romps through the clouds but today something was different.  His heart was still pounding from Emmy’s ring tone but something else bothered him as well.  The humans were scared.

 

In response to this ominous conclusion, the sun began slowly fading away and the light surrounding Jimmy Jim turned to shadow. 

 

A cloud of dense smoke was drifting in front of the sun.  Before he realized what was happening, Jimmy flew headlong into it.  His lungs felt like they were on fire, and all the strength left his wings.

 

He fell out of the sky like a black, feathery, meteor, barely managing to recover enough at the last minute to save himself from hitting the pavement below.  Gagging, Jimmy Jim fluttered a few feet off of the ground, trying to regain his crow-like balance. 

 

Just then, a large red human machine with blue lights and really loud horns came rushing up behind him.  He barely dodged it in time, though he did manage to leave another surprise on the front glass.

 

“Haaa Haaa!” laughed Earl the fireman, as he watched his chief wash the poop off the windshield of the truck.  “You sure did scare the poop right out of that crow!” “Shuddup Earl!” The Chief said, “You need to focus.  Now listen, when we get up to the school, we’re going to have to set up a perimeter.  We can’t have crazy parents getting in! Got that?”

“Yah boss, I got it!  No parents get in!” 

 

“You set up things out front, and I’ll bring the truck around to the rear.  We don’t want this fire getting out of control!”

 

“Roger Dodger!”

 

Following Earl and the Chief was a mini-van driven by the pastor of the local Baptist church.  He had his cell phone in one hand and an angry grip on the steering wheel with the other.

 

“Johnson? Johnson?  This is Pastor Bob!  Get to the school NOW!  What?  Say that again…No! You don’t have time to stop at the hardware store, I don’t care if your car has bird poop on it!  Get to the school now!  We NEED you down here!

 

It’s on fire Johnson!  The School’s on fire!”

He Was a Nice Young Man

He was kind enough to help me.

Few people around here are these days.

Perhaps it was the air in this town that convinced him, or…perhaps it was something else all together. I can’t even begin to ponder the thoughts of such a mysterious character.

I was dying, and I’m certain that he knew it.

Despite my efforts to hide the fact, I suspect that he could look at me and tell.

I was frightened at first; a fear that turned into utter terror before the episode played itself out.

It seemed that my presence in the elevator violently upset the man. Something was wrong. We both knew it. I had no idea of the horror that was waiting for us outside.

I have to admit that my faults have proven to be fatal. Every day at precisely eight P.M. I made a habit of grabbing my old walking cane, and heading down to the lobby for a smoke. And, everyday, like clockwork, he would be in the elevator, riding it down from one of the higher floors.

He would glance at me with his wispy blue eyes, but his stare never lingered; at least until tonight.

Tonight was different.

He usually seemed so lonely to me; so sad. I couldn’t recall ever seeing him in the presence of any young ladies, even though he was handsome and quite well built. During none of our brief encounters did the man ever speak to me. I assumed that he didn’t have anything worthwhile saying to an old woman like me.

You can imagine how startled I was this evening when he spoke.

“How are you?” he asked.

A bit startled, I turned to look at him. He was propped up in the corner of the elevator, staring straight ahead.

I fumbled with my words a bit, but managed a weak reply, “I’m fine I suppose.”

His breathing changed. He slowly looked down to the floor, and closed his eyes. He began trembling.

Through clenched teeth he muttered, “are you sure?”

His muscles trembled, and he re-adjusted the backpack he was wearing. Shifting from one foot to the other, he turned to look directly into my eyes…”Are you sure?”

A tear rolled down his cheek when he asked me the second time. He was visibly disturbed by something, and as I watched his eyes, I began to be frightened.

With a loud grunt, he turned and punched the wall.

I jumped. The resounding crash echoed through the elevator.

“My God, what’s wrong?” I cried, as I squeezed myself as far into the back corner of the elevator as I could.

“I’m NOT your God” he responded.

Suddenly, our ride ended, the bell tolled, and the doors opened to the first floor. Instinctively I tried to quickly slip by him, and out into the lobby, where I hoped for the presence of others.

He reached out and grabbed my arm, right above the elbow. Grabbed it, as if his very life depended on it!

I was completely helpless, and terrified. This man was obviously insane, and meant to do me harm.

His nostrils flared, and his eyes rolled back into his head. He began breathing really hard, as if he was running at a full sprint.

The skin on my arm began to burn underneath his hand! I struggled but couldn’t get away. I began to cry.

Then he screamed. A long, loud scream of torment, and I felt something inside of me jerk. It was as if there was a rope tied around my lungs, and someone was pulling straight up on it.

I was certain of my own death. At seventy five years old, my heart had seen its fair share of excitement, and I knew that it wouldn’t be able to handle much more of this.

Rip, rip, rip, the pain in my chest intensified. I screamed…”Dear Jesus please help me!”

Then suddenly, the pain was gone.

The man fell silent, released his grip on my arm, and dropped to his knees.

Something had happened to me! Something was different. That much I knew.

He crawled forward out of the elevator. “Gotta move…” he stammered, his breath coming in short gasps.

“GO!!” he yelled.

I was still in a little shock, but somehow my feet began to move. I half stumbled, half ran out of the doorway to the veranda outside. I could hear him yelling something at my back, but I didn’t comprehend it.

It was a beautiful summer night, the crickets were softly chirping in the distance and the moon was shining brightly. There was a soft breeze that blew through the small forest across the back lot of our apartment.

The danger I was in quickly banished my awe of the night, and I frantically began looking around for another person! In the struggle, I had dropped my cane, but I didn’t realize this until much later; I didn’t need it anymore.

The door crashed open behind me, and he was there; holding it open with one hand, and holding his bag with the other.

“Listen, you’ve GOT to come inside NOW!” he said, in a visibly calmer voice.

“I really apologize for startling you, but it’s not safe out here right now.”

“What did you do to me?” I asked.

“There isn’t any time to explain, you HAVE to get inside or you’ll die!”

I didn’t notice, but the crickets had stopped chirping. A coldness crept across my heart, just as a shadow flickered by the face of our apartment. Something was out there.

“What was that?”

“Come inside!” he demanded.

I hesitated, too afraid to move or think.

“Ahh jeeze,” he said, and let the door close behind him. He threw down his bag, and unzipped it.

“You might not want to watch this,” he said to me in a matter of fact tone.

“You see, cancer isn’t as bad as most folks make it out to be,” he explained as he pulled a long cylindrical object from the bag.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. Cancers usually are dirty little suckers, but not as bad as some things.”

He chuckled a bit, which disturbed me.

He gently unwrapped the object, revealing a long, sheathed samaurai sword. He flashed me a warm grin then pulled the blade out in one quick motion.

“You see,” he explained, “sometimes in this world, there are people, (or entities you might call them) that don’t like to play by the rules.” He whipped the sword through the air a few times, then continued.

“They illegally manipulate events. When this happens, restitution must be made. Lex Taliones Ms. Henderson!”

How he knew my name, I had no clue, and I was focusing more on the sword in his hand than I was his words. I watched as he removed his shirt, revealing a sleeveless under-shirt.

“Yes ma’am, restitution must be made.”

“What did you do to me?” I asked again.

“The darkness inside you must be accounted for by somebody Ms. Henderson. I just made sure that it is me who does the accounting instead of you. This way, it will be a fair fight.”

Just then, a long howl arose from the woods.

“You’re the DEVIL!” I cried!

“No ma’am, I’m just a human like you.”

His eyes seemed kind, and his tone was level, but I was still frightened.

“I don’t believe you,” I said!

“Have you ever had to watch a loved one die Ms. Henderson? I have. I watched the only woman I ever loved slip right through my fingers. Why God would allow such a thing, I’ll never know this side of paradise; but what I DO know is that you had better be careful what you pray for!

I watched her die slowly, day by day. Nothing I could do would stop it. I wished frantically that I could reach inside of her, pull the tumor out and kill it! I wanted to give her her life back…she was so beautiful. The greatest thing that ever happened to me.

But the law is the law Ms. Henderson, and restitution must be made.

He kicked his bag out of the way, swung open the door, and motioned to me with his sword.

“Please, go back to your room, and for goodness sakes, throw away all those cigarettes!”

His grin suddenly faded as his eyes focused on something behind me. I heard swift motion in the parking lot, as if an elephant were charging directly at us.

He grabbed me, and throwing his shirt around my head, shoved me through the door. I stumbled, barely keeping myself from falling. The door slammed shut and I heard a terrible shriek. It sounded as if it came from the very pits of Hell!

All became deadly quiet.

I tried to hold my breath so as not to make any extra noise.

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

SLAM!!!!!!! The door jerked.

I froze, not even able to breathe.

SLAM!!!!!!! The door jerked again, as if it would come completely off of its hinges.

SLAM!!!!! Then that terrible screech again.

I admit that I burst into tears at this point. I picked myself up, and ran for the elevator, covering my ears to keep from hearing that terrible cry.

The cry stopped, suddenly short of breath. I heard the sounds of struggle, then the thing let out a hideous, rage filled growl.

Again, more struggling.

I heard one final shriek, an agony filled cry of defeat, just as the elevator door closed shut.

Restitution had been made.

I never saw the man again, but I know he helped me.

He was a nice young man.

The New Armor

The events described in the following report may or may not have actually happened.

The elders of my church called me into their office a few Sun days back. They said they needed to have a little chat with me. “Brother Shotgun,” they said, “It seems like the church is dying and we need you to help save it.”

Well, naturally, with me being the good Christian guy that I am, I wanted nothing more than to help, even though something in the back of my mind was wondering at how exactly the church of Christ could die. I told them that if there was anything at all I could do to help save the church, then I would do it.

They asked me if they could see my sword, so I whipped it out. A genuine sword of the spirit and as fine as any, maybe not as sharp as some, but certainly with less rust on it than others. The head elder shook his head and told me that what I really needed was a “Smith and Wesson double bladed Freudian broad sword.”

That certainly was a mouthful. I had to ask him what exactly a “Smith and Wesson double bladed Freudian broad sword” was. The elders explained to me that it was the latest rage in cutting edge weaponry for Christian warfare. He pulled one out of the storage closet at the back of the office, and it was one of the most beautiful swords I had ever seen. I felt all warm and fuzzy inside just from looking at it. It really overshadowed my old worn out “Sword of the Spirit.”

They told me that with my new “Freudian Broadsword” I could help tons of people with their personal problems, while at the same time preaching a message that sounded very good and wholesome. I could even use verses of scripture to back up my new psychology messages, and not have to worry about offending anyone.

You can just imagine how thrilled I was. I couldn’t wait to charge out the door, and meet Satan in battle with my new sword! Just before I could make it out the door though, the elders stopped me. “Whoa there brother Shotgun, don’t be so hasty, we’re not quite finished with you!”

One of the elders started pointing at my shield. “That son, is a fine shield of faith, but in recent years we’ve found that it’s a little too cumbersome. It doesn’t allow you enough freedom of movement, and there are philosophies out there now that it will not protect you against. We’ve got something better for you!” He went back to that same storage closet, and pulled out a brand new shield.

“This,” he explained while handing it to me, “is the Shield of Postmodernism”. That shield was beautiful. I couldn’t wait to hold it alongside my new sword, although I didn’t exactly understand why I would need such a thing. Once again, they explained to me the uses of my new weapon. Even after they were done explaining it to me, I still didn’t quite understand what it’s uses were. It was all I could do just to pronounce the name of it, “Shield of Postmodernism”.

Anyway, it seemed that unlike my old shield, this new one would allow me to move around a lot more. I could do more things since I wouldn’t be as burdened with the truth as I once was. They told me that in addition to my new maneuverability, I had a sure fire defense against old worn out Christian ideals. If we were to help the church grow, we would need these new shields.

I was really excited now. Two new weapons at my disposal, but before I could rush out the door, and rejoin the fight, the elders stopped me once again. “Brother Shotgun, you can’t have that shield of Postmodernism without changing that old “Belt of Truth” you have on.”

This bothered me a little. If they took my “Belt of Truth” what would keep my spiritual pants from falling down around my spiritual ankles? “Here you go,” the head elder said, as he passed me a brand new “Belt of Mysterious, yet Unattainable Truth”. He told me that they had all gotten a little too big for their old belts, and that these new belts fit so much better, and were a lot more comfortable. I took the elders at their word, and strapped it on.

I must have been a sight to see, standing there with all my new Christian gear. The armies of Satan surely would be shaking in their boots the next time they saw me! I turned to run out the door, but before I could, the elders stopped me once more.

“Where are you off to brother Shotgun,” they asked. “You won’t get very far with those old “Gospels of the Peace” you have on.” I hadn’t considered my shoes before, I just always took it for granted that I was supposed to spread the gospel around. They told me that for the places I was headed, I would need different kinds of shoes. The head elder pulled out a pair of boots from the closet. They were a huge pair of “Nike Air Warren Clodhoppers.”

“These,” he explained, “are useful for demolishing walls that people like that Kent B. True guy over at the Restoration Herald are always building.” I had always kind of liked Kent B. True, but the elders insisted that I needed a pair of “Nike Air Warren Clodhoppers” and besides, they did match well with the rest of my new Christian gear. I put on the best possible face as I strapped on my new boots, even though my enthusiasm over this new stuff was starting to fade a little.

Before I could even finish tying up my clodhoppers, the elders had pulled something else out of the closet. It looked like a really cool leather jacket. “Your “Breastplate of Righteousness” is just a little out of style,” the elders said. “In fact, it went out of style back in the fifties.”

Now I really was a little confused, but they insisted that I needed something new. They even opened a copy of Rick Warrens “Purpose Driven Church” to page 55 and showed me how out of date my breastplate was. “There’s no need to try and preserve the golden era of the fifties brother Shotgun!” They helped me take off my old breastplate and put on the new leather jacket.

“What is this thing?” I asked. They explained to me that it was the “Jacket of Outward Appearances.” With this new jacket, my righteousness was all but assured. During church services it would allow me to clap along with the music and dance in the aisles. When I prayed or a slow song was played, it would enable me to clamp my eyes shut, and waive my hands in the air. To everyone around me I would appear as if I had the most awful stomach ache, though they would take it as a powerful sign of my righteousness. It seemed a little ridiculous to me, but if it’s what I had to do to help the church, then I would see it done.

I was still struggling a little with my jacket, when before I knew it, my “Helmet of Salvation” was pulled right off of the top of my head. “You won’t be needing that anymore brother Shotgun” the elders said. “We have something better for you!” I really did have it in mind to protest this time, but before I could say anything, they had pulled out a trucker hat with the word “hope” on the front of it, and yanked it down over my ears.

Salvation, they explained to me, was too far off of a thing, and Heaven, too flimsy of a concept. What the church really needed today was hope for the immediate future. “Just look at all these wonderful testimonies about what God has done in people lives” they told me. “Isn’t it wonderful the things that God will do for you if you come to him?” This really confused me. I had been trying all along to think of others before myself and concentrate on helping the church through the good times and the bad. I didn’t understand this “Hat of Hope” at all. The elders explained to me that what the church really needed to help it grow was a way to connect with everyone. No one would come to church if they couldn’t get something in return. That’s part of what the “Hat of Hope” was all about.

I stood there, all decked out in my new Christian armor, and although I knew I should have felt exhilarated at the possibilities my new armor offered, something inside me just couldn’t accept it. I realized for the first time that all the elders had on armor exactly like mine, and they were all smiling and watching me with anticipation.

“Well,” said the head elder, “Aren’t you going to go charging out into the world now? I know you must be eager to go test out all of your new armor!” When I hesitated a moment, he went to the closet and pulled out a big mirror, maybe hoping that if I saw myself, it would spark some of my previous enthusiasm.

What I saw horrified me. I looked just like the world. I couldn’t tell the difference between that reflection, and the people I saw all around me in my daily struggles.

To the dismay of the elders, I desperately began tearing off all of the new armor. “You can’t do that!” they cried, “Who will save the church? Who will be our savior? We’re dying, cant you realize that brother Shotgun?” The cries of the elders intensified as I removed the last bit of armor. “You will tear the church in two brother Shotgun!” they cried.

I walked back to my old armor that was lying in a pile on the floor, and put it all back on. It was good to hold the “Sword of the Spirit” in my hands again. My “Breastplate of Righteousness”, though heavy, was a welcome weight. I felt secure with my trusty “Belt of Truth” back around my waist, and the sturdy “Gospels of the Peace” on my feet. I was protected once more with my “Shield of Faith,” and when everything else was strapped and buckled into place, I looked around for my “Helmet of Salvation” but couldn’t find it anywhere.

The elders who had previously been taken aback with my actions, seemed to have resigned themselves to my decision, and began to laugh at me. “Ha!” they said, “Now you have no hope at all. The old ways are dying.  Our ways; the “new” ways are all that are left. You have no hope at all now. No one will listen to you; not with your “Sword of the Spirit” or your “Shield of Faith.” Your only hope is to put on our armor. That’s the only way you can keep from becoming obsolete. The only way you can keep from dying!”

I couldn’t believe I was hearing my elders say such things, they couldn’t be true could they? To my surprise, I found myself raising my shield of faith. “You’re wrong” I told them! Then from somewhere up in Heaven, thunder roared, and God’s hand reached through the roof of the church. He plopped that “Helmet of Salvation” right back onto my head, dusted off my shoulders, and booted me out the door, with a commandment it seemed only I could hear:

“Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God, that he may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all to stand. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace. Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints.”

Keeping God’s words in mind, I walked back out into the world, with a tighter grip on my sword and shield, and the “Helmet of Salvation” planted firmly on my head!

When Philosophers Try to Pick Up Women

(The events recorded in this blog, may or may not have happened in real life…)

On a cold, rainy night in early March, I walked into the local bar. There were plenty of empty seats, so I grabbed one near the TV hoping to catch a little bit of the game while I “drowned my sorrows.”

The bartender was a cute red head, who smiled at me when I sat down. “What would you like?” she asked. I ordered the house beer, and began a slow dive into irrationality.

The few beers I had had, were just beginning to chase off the cold, when the door opened, letting in a fresh gust of air. I looked up to see who the newcomer was and caught my breath.

There she was; walking right out of my wildest dreams, and into the bar, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She was with a few of her friends and they were all laughing about some trivial thing (who knows what women talk about?)

Well, I realized right away that I was going to need a little extra help for this one, so I drowned my current drink, and asked for another. The bartender, who no doubt had witnessed this scene hundreds of times before, grinned a little as she poured.

Sufficiently “buzzed up,” I decided to make my move. Apparently this particular group of ladies, were intending to enjoy the great corn beef and potatoes that the bar was famous for. While they were waiting for their food, they had decided to try throwing some darts.

I walked up to my wildest dream incarnate, and fumbled for the right words. When she turned around to get a better look me, I completely lost all coherent thought. To save myself, I grasped at the only thing I knew of that could replace original, creative discourse, and quickly brought into my head, the image of a strapping American action hero. A real “mans man.” What would he do?

“Hey baby…” I said… and smacked her right on the bottom!

Her being a great, “down home” Christian woman, responded in a totally logical way.

She reared back, and socked me right in the nose, sending me stumbling back to the bar.

Bartender – Wow, your nose is bleeding.

Shotgun – Yeah, I noticed.

Bartender – What happened?

Shotgun – Well, are you asking me what caused my nose to bleed?

Bartender – I guess? You seem like a nice guy, you shouldn’t have people hitting you. Who is responsible for this?

Shotgun – Gosh ma’am, that’s a tough one to answer.

Bartender (while wiping my nose with a napkin) – What do you mean?

Shotgun – I guess I mean that, to assign responsibility we’d have to decide what caused my nose bleed.

Bartender - Ok, so what caused your nose bleed?

Shotgun - Well ma’am I guess it’s a fact of nature that blood vessels at times lose their consistency on a molecular level, releasing the blood cells inside of them to flow freely according to the laws of gravity.

Bartender - Ok smart alec, what really happened?

Shotgun (grinning) – What do you mean? Really, no one is responsible for my nose bleed, its just the way nature works on a molecular level!

Bartender - Yeah, but we have free will, so there are causes on a higher level than what you’re saying.

Shotgun (kind of impressed with her) – Wow, I guess you’re right. So, to tell you the truth, it was that girl over there. She punched me in the face.

Bartender (with that “yeah right” look in her eyes) - That girl right over there? (She points at the group of girls who notice that we’re talking about them, and they all laugh.)

Shotgun – YES! That girl! Stop pointing, I’m embarrassed enough as it is!

Bartender (rubbing it in) - That girl? She must weigh what? 120 something? She beat you up?

Shotgun – Yeah, and didn’t you say you wanted to know who was responsible. Call the cops on her!

Bartender - Oh get real! Why did she hit you?

Shotgun - What does that matter? She is clearly responsible for my nose bleed!

Bartender - Well, I guess I can’t argue about that, but you must have done something that caused her to act out like that!

Shotgun - Well, I may have kind of…sort of…smacked her hind parts.

Bartender (laughing) – Well then, you certainly deserved what you got!

Shotgun - So you’re saying I’m responsible for her reaction?

Bartender - You certainly are! Your nose is bleeding right now, because of the free actions that you’ve made! You can’t wiggle out of it! You sir are responsible!

Shotgun - Well, hold on, I’ve already pointed out that due to the laws of nature my nose is bleeding completely apart from any will of mine, and not only that, she is the one who directly caused my nose to bleed. I’m not responsible!

Bartender - Puh Leeaaaze. You shouldn’t have gone over there and smacked her butt!

Shotgun - Ha, well, maybe I couldn’t help it? If not for my parents, I wouldn’t exist in this bar to begin with, and if not for the environment I was raised in, I wouldn’t have tried smacking her on the butt either!

Bartender - For that matter, you may as well blame God for creating your great great great times 100 grandparents, and also for taking care of you while you grew up!

Shotgun - That’s right! If God is totally in control of everything, then you can’t hold ME responsible for my nose bleed, you have to blame God! He is the one who controls the laws of nature, and He was the one who caused me to be born. He was the one who caused me to smack the girl, and He was the one who caused her to retaliate!

Bartender - Well, all that may be true, but, tell me why you did it?

Shotgun - Oh she is so beautiful. I had to say something to her!

Bartender (giggling) – Aww that’s too cute, but, you just admitted that you did it!

Shotgun - Dang. You got me. I guess I did.

Bartender - Then you have to admit, that even though God may have decreed events to happen exactly as they did, that you still, are the responsible causal agent in this situation. While it is true, that smacking women’s butts, doesn’t necessarily result in a molecular chain reaction that ends in a nose bleed, this particular situation still resulted from your own action as a free agent.

Shotgun - But..but..

Bartender - Hey, watch it! Butts are what got you into this situation in the first place!

Shotgun - Hey! It’s Gods fault!  He MADE me do it!

Bartender - God didn’t smack that girls butt YOU did!

Shotgun (grinning) – Gosh, you really got me there. I guess I can’t argue.

Bartender (laughing) – Oh, I keep the worlds smallest fiddle around here somewhere…

Shotgun (laughing) – Ok, ok, ok. But, I’m confused about something.

Bartender - Yeah?

Shotgun - If all my free actions are decreed by God, does that mean that it was Gods will for me to be rejected like that?

Bartender - Sure! But, I’m sure God means it to turn out good somehow.

Shotgun (smiling) – Yeah, maybe he wants me to smack someone else on the bottom!

Bartender - My bottoms free in about fifteen minutes!

Shotgun - Then, I think I, as a free causal agent, should take advantage of that opportunity!

Bartender (giggling) – Watch it, you don’t want another nose bleed!

P.S. To Wormwood About Them American Christians

My dear Wormwood:

 

I forgot to tell you about the Christians in America.   They are so ineffective these days that I almost didn’t bother; but at the last minute, decided to warn you anyway on the off chance that a few of the more troublesome ones gain a hearing. 

 

 

We sure do have them fooled Wormwood.  The only people in America who have the theological “balls” to oppose our plan, are duped into worshiping their State; a most terrific form of idolatry if I do say so myself. 

 

 

We have caused the massive slaughter of thousands of innocents in their country, (via abortions) and the Christians are powerless to stop us.  They place their hope, not in Jesus Christ but rather in their TRUE God, the secular state. 

 

 

Look at how we had the ancient people fooled Wormwood!  Sacrifice your child to Moloch, and Moloch will provide you with a good harvest!  We have these Americans fooled the same way today!  Sacrifice your child (via abortion) for the mere sake of convenience!  Children are an economic burden to these selfish Americans!  No wonder they flock to Planned Parenthood, expecting economic prosperity and ease in exchange for the sacrifice of their young!  Many Christians have bought into this particular lie! 

I know what you’re asking though.  “What about the Christians who have NOT taken that bait?” What about the Christians who can clearly see how horrible of a crime this sacrifice is?  Ah, but Wormwood; this is the genius of our plan!  These Christians are just as selfish as their brethren who have the abortions! 

They have forgotten about the instructions of James, in chapter one of his letter, (verse 27.)  Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

 

Don’t you see Wormwood?  Look at all the empty churches on almost every street corner in America!  Look at how they sit there, day in and day out, acting as nothing more than a place for the birds to rest!  Where are the Christians? 

 

Well, they are in front of their TV sets, or they are at Wal-Mart.  They are lost in their worldly pursuits or in some other way striving for their own vain glory!  Surely their God doesn’t expect them to stop, and consider a poor orphan or widow! 

 

If they took their Bible seriously then we would be in all sorts of trouble.  Imagine how horrible it would be if all these churches on every street corner, became adoption agencies or Christian schools?   How terrible for our cause Wormwood, if Planned Parenthood was forced out of business because of all the churches making themselves convenient places for frantic and selfish young mothers to flee to!

 

If the churches set up the right plan, they could make it more convenient for the young mother to have the baby, and give him up to the church, than it would be for her to have an abortion!  The church would then have thousands of children a day, placed into its care.  Children who could be brought up by Christian families, and taught the ways of their God!  How terrible!

 

This abomination will never occur in America though.  Many Christians in America don’t realize how important following Gods law is to the foundations of the very social order that they enjoy.  Many don’t even have Gods law in their Bibles, and the ones that do, will be quick to tell you that it no longer applies, or has any validity for them!  Many more are caught up in the idolatry of the state, and would never consider appealing to Gods law, over and above the state! 

 

By far these Christians are selfish, arrogant, idolatrous, and haters of Gods law.  They are willfully ignorant, and unwilling to do any good works (outside the realm of their own comforts.)

 

Now, if we could just do something about that Shotgun guy, and the people who read his blogs! 

Your affectionate Uncle

Screwtape

 

(Note from ol Shotgun:  I apologize to those of you who actually have read Lewis’ “The Screwtape letters”  I’m nowhere near his level, and this blog is just a unique way to express a particular rant. So, give me a little bit of a break!)