(no subject)
at WEDNESDAY NIGHT WRESTLING CHURCH we've been discussing, more or less, why people who call themselves christians do stuff that isn't exactly christian-like. the study is kind of following along the main ideas of a book called mere discipleship and it brings up lots of interesting questions that have a lot to do with historical trends in society; mainly due to one mr. emperor constantine II who became a christian himself and therefore made christianity mainstream and so now you have a lot of people walking around calling themselves/identifying themselves as christains.
anyway, so the author points out in the beginning of the book that in rowanda a giant percentage of the population identified themselves as christains, yet, as you might have heard, did not extend each other much brotherly love. he uses the american civil war as another example. pretty much, even though lots of people presently and in the past don't have much difficulty saying, "i'm a christian" they also don't have much difficulty justifying why they/we/i do things that... don't jive. then he asks the question, "why is that? how can we jive?"
all that to say, when i was reading this passage from slaughterhouse five:
" The Gospel from Outer Space
It was The Gospel from Outer Space, by Kilgore Trout. It was about a visitor from outer space, shaped very much like a Tralfamadorian, by the way. The visitor from outer space made a serious study of Christianity, to learn, if he could, why Christians found it so easy to be cruel. He concluded that at least part of the trouble was slipshod storytelling in the New Testament. He supposed that the intent of the Gospels was to teach people, among other things, to be merciful, even to the lowest of the low.
But the Gospels actually taught this:
Before you kill somebody, make absolutely sure he isn't well connected. So it goes.
The flaw in the Christ stories, said the visitor from outer space, was that Christ, who didn't look like much, was actually the Son of the Most Powerful Being of the Universe. Readers understood that, so, when they came to the crucifixion, they naturally thought, and Rosewater read out loud again:
Oh, boy -- they sure picked the wrong guy to lynch that time!
And then that thought had a brother: "There are right people to lynch." Who? People not well connected. So it goes.
The visitor from outer space made a gift to Earth of a new Gospel. In it, Jesus really was a nobody, and a pain in the neck to a lot of people with better connections than he had. He still got to say all the lovely and puzzling things he said in the other Gospels.
So the people amused themselves one day by nailing him to a cross and planting the cross in the ground. There couldn't possibly be any repercussions, the lynchers thought. The reader would have to think that, too, since the new Gospel hammered home again and again what a nobody Jesus was.
And then, just before the nobody died, the heavens opened up, and there was thunder and lightning. The voice of God came crashing down. He told the people that he was adopting the bum as his son, giving him the full powers and privileges of The Son of the Creator of the Universe throughout all eternity. God said this: From this moment on, He will punish horribly anybody who torments a bum who has no connections!"
i thought a lot about wednesday night church.
anyway, so the author points out in the beginning of the book that in rowanda a giant percentage of the population identified themselves as christains, yet, as you might have heard, did not extend each other much brotherly love. he uses the american civil war as another example. pretty much, even though lots of people presently and in the past don't have much difficulty saying, "i'm a christian" they also don't have much difficulty justifying why they/we/i do things that... don't jive. then he asks the question, "why is that? how can we jive?"
all that to say, when i was reading this passage from slaughterhouse five:
" The Gospel from Outer Space
It was The Gospel from Outer Space, by Kilgore Trout. It was about a visitor from outer space, shaped very much like a Tralfamadorian, by the way. The visitor from outer space made a serious study of Christianity, to learn, if he could, why Christians found it so easy to be cruel. He concluded that at least part of the trouble was slipshod storytelling in the New Testament. He supposed that the intent of the Gospels was to teach people, among other things, to be merciful, even to the lowest of the low.
But the Gospels actually taught this:
Before you kill somebody, make absolutely sure he isn't well connected. So it goes.
The flaw in the Christ stories, said the visitor from outer space, was that Christ, who didn't look like much, was actually the Son of the Most Powerful Being of the Universe. Readers understood that, so, when they came to the crucifixion, they naturally thought, and Rosewater read out loud again:
Oh, boy -- they sure picked the wrong guy to lynch that time!
And then that thought had a brother: "There are right people to lynch." Who? People not well connected. So it goes.
The visitor from outer space made a gift to Earth of a new Gospel. In it, Jesus really was a nobody, and a pain in the neck to a lot of people with better connections than he had. He still got to say all the lovely and puzzling things he said in the other Gospels.
So the people amused themselves one day by nailing him to a cross and planting the cross in the ground. There couldn't possibly be any repercussions, the lynchers thought. The reader would have to think that, too, since the new Gospel hammered home again and again what a nobody Jesus was.
And then, just before the nobody died, the heavens opened up, and there was thunder and lightning. The voice of God came crashing down. He told the people that he was adopting the bum as his son, giving him the full powers and privileges of The Son of the Creator of the Universe throughout all eternity. God said this: From this moment on, He will punish horribly anybody who torments a bum who has no connections!"
i thought a lot about wednesday night church.