The Little Theology Corner Presents: Of Saints and Charlatans

God loves me and I love Him. Some people just don't get the fact that that statement is bigger than anything you might find weird about me- i.e. God loves me and I love Him even if I've read a vampire book too many or if I freely and creatively use the F word in ways and forms civilized people were never meant to.

But I am not talking about my work in progress. This is a rant derivative of observation of human conduct in general as it affects the perception of a faith I hold dear.

See, there are people that actually believe they carry God in their pocket, that Jesus just put up a show and that the Holy Spirit can be commanded to go on 3,2,1... as is it where some carefully planned 4th of July Firework extravaganza. For those people I couldn't care less, against those people I will rant to the death, I will hunt them down and expose them for what they are because they deserve what is coming to them. In other words, excuse my French, because this is gonna get ugly.

These piss me off dudes not only follow their own weird understanding of the Bible, but use it with the purpose of manipulating and extracting money out of the faith of the weak minded. These bastards live by the good old motto "Misery loves Company" and they sell themselves as men of God as the Skin Oil Salesmen would sell themselves as men of medicine in the once Wild West. They know they are preaching lies and they don't care, it is a game to them. The people who are listening though, believe and in their ignorance they let themselves be dragged by these charlatans into following emotion. " Yessssssssssss, brothers and sisters, come to the 8:00 PM sermon to Power of God Shake you like a Polaroid Picture!!!!! Bring your wallets."

For every poor, miserable soul that converts in these Carnivals of Faith, there are at lest 10 that will abandon church when these charlatan preachers are exposed for what they are: FUCKING LIARS WITH NO CONCEPT OF SCRIPTURE WHATSOEVER.

At this point, it is pretty obvious that I am mad.

Sometimes I think of Jesus in his aspect of Man. I see a guy traveling on foot through one of the most inhospitable terrain on Earth, bringing forth a message. He knows that He has a limited time: 3 years to reach out to the world. It will just not happen, not by itself. So he leaves his disciples saying " You will do greater things than I" (John 14: 1-12) Guess what you morons, let me tell you a few of those greater things that you can do:

• You can spend more time reaching to those in need of the Word of God



• You can, with a random act of kindness, preach more than words can say, you know, there is something about showing God's love in a practical way that appeal to the masses.

Go forth and preach it, to the ends of the world with kindness in your heart and truth in your speech.

Under no circumstance Jesus said "You will do greater MIRACLES than I did." or "go about, boys and girls, boast about turning water into wine and make money off it while you are at it."

This post is dedicated to so called Evangelist Dionny Baez, the preacher of the "new Generation" when God's word is not enough. The man of Signs without Logos. I think about this bastard and how he laughs his way to the bank turning bottled water into wine and parading Bibles glued with " Divine Glitter" and it makes me cringe. If I am pissed, I cannot even imagine how the Lord must feel. While hundreds of idiots follow this guy blindly wherever he goes like Deadheads on an eternal Summer Tour, there are people who are risking life and limb by preaching a simple message of faith in countries where it can cost their lives to do so. As I type this, there are churches around this country, of all walks of Christendom that are receiving the bodies of their dead missionaries, who lived through thick and thin and eventually died along with the people of Haiti.

Don't take this the wrong way. I honestly believe that there is a supernatural element at work within the Church (Mark 16:17-20), heck, I've seen things that look like ripped out of the pages of John Constantine's journal, or Neil Gaiman's Silver City. Scary, beautiful, edifying stuff. The key to it all is that the experience is just part of a process of internalization of the word of God. If after the sermon the only thing you remember is that the preacher turned the water into wine or showed you a glittering page of the bible, there is something wrong, wrong, wrooooooooong with the message and the messenger. If you are in for tricks Criss Angel is the man for you, his illusions will kick Dionny's parlor tricks into Kingdom come, it will blow your mind away.

Everybody knows it, come one repeat after me John 1:1 "In the beginning there was the WORD and the WORD was with God and the WORD WAS GOD." It is not about the emotion of the delivery, but about the content of the message. This guy is playing with ignorant fools and so called seasoned church goers alike because they have lost their way, because this world has become less inclined to faith and more inclined to acts. Prove it, Prove it Lord, they say. I have a word for you. GOD is God and HE owes shit to no one. He doesn't have to prove Himself to Atheists, he doesn't have to prove Himself to church goers. To demand of God a parlor trick each time His name is called upon is to cheapen Him an equate him to your trained poodle who will dance for a treat, or your adoration, in this case.

I guess what I am trying to say, is that I am waiting for the day this charlatan is put to shame, in the mean time, I'm on a Crusade sign up and let's keep this imbecile from further diminishing the Word.

A true story...

Tossing and turning... somewhere something hurts, but it is a dull pain, so I ignore it. I have places to go, things to do, but before I must meet someone at this bar.

At first I don't seem to recall who is it that I am supposed to talk to, but I have the feeling I'll know as soon as I see her, and there she is.

It's been a while and although I stay the same she had changed, a lot, but then it is her nature. Her frame is much like mine, wide, thick boned, but somehow she managed to make it look like she's at least 50 pounds lighter. I roll my eyes and fake a deep sigh... yeah I know. I gotta find out how to loose pounds of my own, but is so easy for her, I'm not even going to bring it up.

Her getup is black on black as expected, the only traces of color come from a shirt with digital clocks fading into a silver landscape. A Dali motif would have sufficed, but she had to make sure it is drained of personality, spark or life.

I smile, a mechanical customer service smile. She dismisses my gesture while finishing a cigarette just to start another. Her hair is blond with a hint of platinum highlights. It looks carefully disheveled. I've been planning to lighten a couple of tones for at least a month now, but something tells me she knows about it and beat me to it. It will never look as good in me, not after she's done it. A perfectly manicured hand with long silver tipped nails hands me a glass. She's been drinking Bushmills. I decline.

"What's up?" - she says, with perfect British accent. And it crosses my mind how come she sounds like this? Perhaps is because it is plain bad ass, or because of recent exposition to one Guy Ritchie film too many.

"You tell me" - I replied, in Spanish and I do so quickly and with the confidence she will understand , she always does, no matter what or how I say it.

" Today's conversation is sponsored by the word mediocrity." She stretches, as to compose herself and I can see an intricate tattoo that was not there before. A Celtic knot. I feel like I have to go someplace, but right now I don't remember exactly where is it I was meant to go.

" Don't get distracted now lassie" she tells me and I am positive she is using the word with the intention to mean bitch instead of as a term of endearment. "You are getting soft, have been standing in the same place for too long. Comfortable in your skin, that's what you say. I say you need to move on or drown."

I hated her for a second, I swear, but I had to let go. I even smiled when I noticed she was wearing an ID sticker with big bold red letters that read HELLO my name is LITTLE MS. JUNG. To fight her is to give myself a headache good enough to carry into my waking moment.

" Quite the sense of humor there you bastard" - I said dryly.

"Right back at ya" was the last thing I heard.

I woke up with a sense of whiskey and cigarettes, annoyed at my shadow and pissed at myself.

PROCRASTINATORS>>> UNITE/ EL MUVI BLOG

Hmmm... it's been a while since I posted anything. As always life gets in the way of all the trivial stuff that should be filling these cyber pages. There ya go, reason #123 on why I will never be a successful writer. Nevertheless I keep typing away for peace of mind's sake and out of sheer boredom... Sometimes, however, people just challenge me to do something worth my while. Today the honor becomes the divine Ms. Michelle, my tireless movie companion and partner in passion for fashion crimes.

Short, sweet and simple, Michelle dared me to try out the vernacular for a while. She challenged me to be constant and true with it. Hell, the girl even gave me a subject. There are several things that I love which I never get tired of: writing,-although I am a pussy of a writer, prone to chronic procrastination- and movies. Michelle asked me to do my movie reviews in Spanish for a while, just for kicks, just to get reacquainted with the language of my birth. You know, to stop using my long list of Anglicisms, like "rulear" and "refusar" etc., etc., etc. No, I'm not a slob "comemierda" that has forgotten the Spanish language, it is just that I am darn lazy about it...

My first try will be DAYBREAKERS, which I would usually welcome with open arms, however I have this things about blood suckers and Spanish, they just don't translate well. There's something about the verb "chupar" that just doesn't cut it, but I'll do it nevertheless, for the next six months all my reviews will be in Spanish... vamos pa' alla en el "muvi blog"