Why The Business of Religion Surpasses The Law of Basic Human Kindness
Hurricane Harvey may have given Houston, TX a record-breaking catastrophe that will continue to echo torrents of havoc on it residents — but the fog that circles with vengeance can’t be seduced by the pleas of high-priced neighbors — who somehow manage to escape the wrath of God.
When it comes to religion — the sight of it immediately casts me in the lead of The Conjurer — where I’m forced to battle the demons that display my past dalliance with Christian horror films — and the weekly “fellowship” sessions at the homes of friends — whose parents were committed to serving hot tea and biscuits to garner our presence in communal spirits and the native tongue of crazies.
I was aware of the evil of religion in the hands of looters when I watched the various forms of The Rapture and endured dramatic tales that were traditionally handed down from senior girls in boarding school to the very junior girls — who were left to wade the extreme darkness seeping though mosquito nets.
The only time I enjoyed the symbols of the Holy Trinity was when Sunday mornings turned into a symphony of mediation. I didn’t know the power I wielded when the organ displayed the hymns of All the Saints in a Church that padded its seats with plush padding.
I believed that God loved me when I recited The Apostle’s Creed — and meant every phrase — with the drip from incarnations I surmised — as the music that give angels on high the high that none of us will ever be able to afford — consumed me.
Revivals and pentecostal crusades — permeated Nigeria in the late eighties with chargeable fury as designated men of God — showcased the anointing of more than one Son of the “Most High” who manages to escape the episode of being nailed to the cross.
Jesus Christ was a “G!”
Not only was he royally screwed by Judas Iscariot (and forgive me for pointing this out — but I do believe that both men were involved in ways that left one of them out in the cold) — but He was also tormented by images of the bloody end. .
He literally died so that we could live without the burden of sin and all the backed up shit that causes infections and a future of not being able to sit still without wincing.
The mission was not accomplished — because no man of God can possibly carry out such a task without screwing a lot of people in the process.
That’s why we have mega-preachers — stationed at mega-churches — in mega-cities that handle the load of aimless sheep — until they stray onto the avenue of life without a vest.
The dollar bills you freely discard are labeled with the signature of The One you serve.
I dabbled into the massive arena of singing bodies with arms in the air — taking directions from the stage below — as the band filters out beats that will make heaven a skylit fortress of bandaged wounds that won’t heal.
If you can’t show up early enough to stand in the brisk air with anticipation — then you can arrive late enough to stand in the rooms that are provided for heathens with no time limit. The propped up screens will be enough to congratulate you for your efforts .
After that — I explored other options, but ultimately settled on the realization that I am God.
Joel Osteen who makes an astronomical amount of money training his herd into submission — wouldn’t be too pleased to hear me voice an abomination that gives the power of blasphemy — a good name.
He was born to lead the weary and fill the heads of willing shepherds with the dribble of the blood of Jesus that is almost impossible to buy — because time doesn’t wait for wilting souls.
There was a storm that didn’t quite make Noah’s Ark a revived epiphany, but came close enough.
Rich people who can’t deny how rich they are because we pay to keep them that way— log in their pitiful penance for being able to fly to three different time zones with no fuel charges.
Then we turn our attention to the wealthy assholes who carry the cross of our savior in a hologram that appears every Sunday in your imagination.
Despite the flooded evidence of how robed men in positions of power ritualistically misuse the self-assigned role they don’t deserve — to climax incessantly — with support of the innocent — who end up getting fucked in the ass — both ways — we still expect good to flow from evil.
How on earth and the heaven that awaits us — could Joel Osteen provide refuge for a population he regularly steals from — when he can’t find his way around his own marble-infused palace?
The business of religion has definitely surpassed the law of basic human kindness. When mega-men endorse outlandish spaces that are sprawled to collect manna from the heavens that aren’t as heavenly as you would imagine — it’s difficult to conceive how and why anyone with reasonable instincts — can champion such thievery.
I’ve watched Osteen’s well-produced gigs at Lakewood Church in Houston, Texas, and even back in 2011 — I knew that this dude was a lying bastard — who mastered how to be handsome and persuasive in a way that makes the common man swoon with dollars and cents.
Revered men of the seeded pulpit like the late Eddie Long have historically and pathetically used bathroom selfies and gold chains as a way to lure the young and misunderstood to tricky lairs. Archbishops and Cardinals with deep longings that can’t be realized without soiled loins — contentedly rape the souls that house them.
Even when the house of God is drenched in the stench of centuries that can’t be scrubbed out of the mold of betrayal and varied deception — you still kneel before the outstretched hands that only hours before — shortened the lifespan of an unwilling partner.
Aside from the sexual attacks and the lies that justify why bathroom selfies with the speedo effect is a mouthwatering invitation to heavenly hell — there are the riches that are borne from convincing good people to do good for the good of the naughty.
I recall the look of horror on my mother’s face once she was summoned to the fact that I didn’t have anything to throw into the basin of conscience.
There was no way to face another week without paying for why such a privilege — existed. Our church was decently sized, but nothing compared to the mini-cities that encompass the weight of parishioners — who need to feel the omnipotent tendencies of their gold-digging leaders.
If Jesus could be swept away by temptation and beg for forgiveness — surely the masqueraded preachers like Osteen — who preach flawlessness with measured tempo — can also lounge in their pool area with the message of the Lord providing background refreshments.
Joel Osteen and all the other esteemed men of God — tend to hide out in their gated fortresses to escape the bad spell of common folk. They can hear the storm raging — but they are blessed by the tithings of the Lord that come from worshippers who don’t even know the God they serve.
When you’re a businessman with savvy motives and hair that clings with astute obedience — the duty of basic human kindness ends when the last dollar amount has been identified — and Sunday brunch at the palace is the next and last stop.
It’s incredibly disturbing to witness the reaction of witnesses who attest to the worthiness of their master even when they can also testify to the millions he swipes away each time hands go into the collection tube.
How can a man who lives with ostentatious brutality — ever conceive of a plan to rescue the ones he swears the Lord loves — without his prejudice?
But, even more frightening is the concept that the business of religion that breeds battle stations known as mega-churches with seating wide enough to rebuild a nation— still thrives under the tutelage of countless patrons who are brainwashed into not questioning that which cannot be explained.
You can’t command millions in your sleep while residing over the biggest mega-shit in the nation — and still remember how to shelter the vulnerable from the elements they are paying to be pummeled with at their expense.
I know the Lord’s Prayer by heart and I can still revive the section where Psalms are set to spirited vibes. Those moments can’t overtake the coup of the weary — by the millionaires who rob in broad daylight with the cross as weapons of mass destruction.
Basic human tolerance is free and only comes at a price that degrades the stylized men at the bedazzled pulpit — who can’t decipher a man-made river in their backyard from the discolored waters that threaten to devour the congregation that paid for his unchallenged safety.
The sheep always flock to the field of their imminent demise and the guides holding the daggers always attack from behind.
In the meantime, let us pray.