Pathetic

Another apologetics book.
Another Old Testament prophecy fulfilled.
Another argument from complexity.
Another out of context Darwin quote.
Another made up story about an atheist on his deathbed.

Pathetic.

If we had lived the Sermon on the Mount we wouldn’t require such stupidity, unfounded from reality to prove God is real. But you don’t even believe the Sermon on the Mount is for us to live out now, “Christ was just speaking of a future physical kingdom, not the spiritual one”. Paltry, uninspired excuse to repress the guilt you should have (as I had, and still have about my own living) about your life. Even if this text was for a future kingdom, why would we not be living that out now? To believe being part of Christ’s kingdom lacks the sacrifice of one’s life is to believe Christ’s kingdom is of men, not of God.

You’re brainwashed in such a totality that I actually can’t comprehend it. Something occurs and I think to myself, “Oh, that will finally snap you awake from this haze-like hypnotism.” It is unfathomable that you have found yourself believing such evils. You have let Nazis debase you to a beast who follows its master. Disgusting. Vile. Worm-like behavior. You have been dehumanized to the point of nonrecognition. Twisted. Idolater. Oh, how I pity your deceived state, your wandering after spiritually and morally disfigured men who stumble their way about The wall blindly with such surety. Yours is a worse state than the one you believe me to be in, following after the god of this world. For Satan is at least more cunning and clever than conmen-grifters and plagiarizers of Nazi ideology.

There is only lamentation left.
Love is now hate.
Truth is now lies.
Progress is now regression.

What have I allowed under my watch? How have I faltered for you to be so lamentable? Wretched. Contemptible. Feeble. There are no words, only regret–for what I don’t even know how I could have changed. Could living out the Sermon on the Mount be possible without divine control over each neuronic-impulse? How do I live otherwise to prevent those I love from worshiping the villains I ignorantly believed only existed of the realm of fiction?

Why do I even bother continuing with this joke of a reality? This can’t be living, because living is then hell. Why would I desire to persist in hell itself? I come home, tired from work–exhausted. One social gathering to affect change and I have met my introverted limit for a month. Pathetic. Unwilling. Deplorable. When I see ahead with such clarity the evils humanity faces, what haunts the next generation, what is happening to people I love; there exists only a freeze response. There is no hope, only worry. God, I hope Rosenstock is right when he says, “Love is worry”. At least then I can say I achieved all that I wanted of life as a Christian, all I want still; to love in all sincerity and actuality. For worry is all I can do in the midst of my worry induced paralysis.

Oh, love how you elude me! You still linger just out of reach, just as you did when I was a Christian, you existed only as a promise. “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” The love I was told I could experience was ever evasive, there was only feeling, same as everyone else. There was never any love in actuality. It was the same poor excuse for the love the world’s “false love” offered, just repackaged. For it was sensation, a claim, a falsehood; disjointed from The truth. My desire to transcend this captivity to the chemicals in my brain, yet all that I am contained in that connection of brain and body.

“But I am a worm and no man; a reproach…” of myself. My externality, a lie just to cover up my pathetic “true motive” (which even evades me) so I don’t become “…despised by the people.”

I am poured out like water,
And all My bones are out of joint;
My heart is like wax;
It has melted within Me.
My strength is dried up like a potsherd,
And My tongue clings to My jaws;
You have brought Me to the dust of death.

Love, you have not been found in Christ.
You have not been found apart from God either.

You have not been found in { humanity, nature, suffering, death, luxury, poverty, life, conquest, submission, subjection, nation, tongue, race, religion, politics, work, leisure, order, unrest, play, fun, science, philosophy, boredom, romance, sex… }
Nor in the contents of this chaos, the infinite set.
Nor in love itself.
For love is to transcend this tease of a realm, something which we have not found in the realm of capability.

Why is it that “perfect always takes so long?”
Does love not exist in perfection, but in our imperfection?
Love –
Would you be found in me?