The best part about being an adult is being able to question the same stuff, that you were told to just accept without doubt when your parents were in charge of your affairs.
Now I can inquire with ease, and even if the answers aren’t satisfactory, at least I’m able to exercise that right. I’m also able to enjoy my full independence, and this didn’t happen until I hit the decade when all bets are off — for better or worse.
For example, my parents were never okay with my reluctance to attend church service on Sundays, and at some point I was forced to lie about it, and even exaggerate when they probed further.
Of course when I was actually going to church during a period of personal revival, there was relief at the notion that I didn’t have to continue my blasphemous streak.
Five years later, and I’m completely done with the cumbersomeness of pretending to be something I’m not, especially since I’m no longer ashamed or consumed with guilt, at the prospect of being unable to hide my heavy discomfort with Christianity.
I’m rejecting a religion that was forced down the throats of my people by British invaders, who were merely doing what history taught them, in the realm of using God’s name in vain, for the sake of oppression and world dominion.
The ten commandments and all the other rules of conduct ordained by mortals are interchangeable, depending on how high the stakes are, and whether the end result will benefit the durability of colonialism — at the expense of a formally well-established system, that didn’t need the infection of the Holy Trinity to set it back for life.
My maturity, is also a tormentor, as I often wonder how much more sustainable Igbo people would’ve been, if we had been allowed to indulge in our primal instincts without the interference of White people — who disgustingly used Christianity as the weaponry of choice when it came to destroying what they didn’t create.
Perhaps it was God’s mighty plan, to have British imperialism as the religion of choice, centuries ago, as a way to activate the standard of White supremacy in ways that still potently resonate.
The thought resurfaced when I stumbled upon on a tweet that a follower acknowledged from the head of the mega-church mafia, Joel Olsteen.
If I were a “believer,” there’s no doubt that I would be struck by the angelic timeliness of Olsteen’s divine message, especially when you consider how my family has been struck by a slew of challenges that have been particularly rampant and cruel in abruptness and finality.
The recent handicap transpired very recently, and as the dark clouds re-arrange themselves to make room for additional stress and disappointment — that includes my own personal disillusionment — seeing a tweet about “God’s plan” is meant to provide soothing optimism.
But the source of the words of positivity only add to my rage, as I contemplate how this man of God can justify his immense wealth from a family business that was built on the premise of profitably leading the sheep astray.
There’s nothing remotely “Christ-like” about managing a space that’s the size of a small town, under the pretense of spreading the gospel, and teaching lost souls about the Son of God — who ironically happened to be totally against the ostentatious lifestyle. Jesus Christ championed the value in simplicity with the promise of a wealthier experience in the kingdom of heaven.
Human beings fucked up Christianity because of the tendencies to edit the shit that disorganizes agendas.
Olsteen may still have the capacity to keep his mega-worshippers enslaved by a traitorous mentality, but it wasn’t that long ago that he royally fucked up, just when he was supposed to give the God he serves a good name.
When Hurricane Harvey flooded the streets of Houston in 2017, a group of “shelter-seekers,” tried to seek refuge at the Lakewood, which happens to be the third largest church in the nation — and they were tragically turned away.
When the word spread about Lakewood’s closed door policy during a life-threatening crisis of biblical proportions — the very rich and nicely polished “prosperity preacher” was publicly reprimanded for callously proving what was always obvious to anyone with a brain.
Of course his media savviness prevented further damage to his reputation as he promised that his church’s decision to send the desperate and weary to another location was done to save their lives, since his million-dollar vessel wasn’t in any shape to harbor the poor and downtrodden.
There was some truth in the fact that Lakewood did suffer some flooding from the storm, but the response to the fury came a little too late to assuage the doubts and suspicions of naysayers, who were convinced that Olsteen’s “con-man” regime had finally caught up to him.
So yeah, when a pastor with perfectly coiffed hair that never moves, and who dwells in a $10.5 million dollar castle casually releases a tweet about God’s plan during a time of duress — my initial response is — “Fuck You!”
Here’s the thing, when you live long enough to face the truth about how you can spend your best days working hard for nothing — you begin to comprehend the value of the meaning behind — “shit happens.”
My parents and other relatives are also hooked on the phrase that irks me to no end, and it has everything to do with how and when it’s used.
How can we contend with the audacity of how my beloved uncle died from a heart ailment that was totally curable, if only his circumstances had permitted him the health care he deserved as a human being?
Why would God plan his death that way, and if He did, why the hell would you accept such a thing with reverent resignation?
It seems that relying on the guidance of the Holy Spirit requires believers to believe the unfathomable or the shit that’s utterly senseless, because you can’t dare question the Lord’s vision and erratic nature at the risk of not being dutifully obedient.
I refuse to believe there’s any justification to God’s plan because from what I’ve observed, there’s definitely nothing righteous or brave about remaining devoutly committed to the doctrine of an establishment — that upholds the currency of the world bank over innocent souls that have been violated by horny men in robes.
Pope Francis is part of God’s ugly plan, as he perpetuates the falsehood of his papacy, by protecting the sanctity of a diseased institution, and offering refuge to men who spent years of service sexually abusing children behind the velvet pulpits.
Why does the pope get to continue his criminal acts against humanity with the support of those in power?
I guess the answer lies in how God has a habit of allowing evil to blossom for reasons that we aren’t meant to understand because only He knows what’s best.
If I ever run into Pope Francis in person, I would be sure to spit in his face for being a co-conspirator in the centuries long tradition of sex crimes in the Catholic Church.
Here’s the thing, life is a shitty journey, and it has zero to do with who or what you believe in, and if there is a God, I’m sure he or she would agree.
There is no “plan” — there’s only the assurance of a rollercoaster ride that begins the moment you let out your first cry.
God didn’t put Donald Trump in The White House to “test us,” and God didn’t deliver Barack Obama to reward us.
And when good things happen, thanking God might be a habit, but chances are that getting lucky every now and then isn’t a myth, and when bad stuff happens, it’s not the devil’s plan — it’s just how life works.
The reality is that we all need something to believe in, and for most, blindly following rich as fuck pastors in shiny suits is the way to go. Others prefer a more modest approach in spaces that don’t present the option of rooms with big screen TVs.
And there are some like me, who’ve done it all, and are now resolute in the decision to spent the rest of our lives carving out personalized methods of spiritual fulfillment.
But what can’t be refuted, is the emptiness of “God’s plan,” and why its application is the fundamental reason why Christianity is the religion of deadly denial — that results in countless casualties — and the freedom of criminals who seem to have the blessing of the most high.
If that’s “the plan” — it’s a shitty one, and maybe God really needs a time out.