Feast of the Super Bowl

The angel poured his super bowl over the beast's throne, and darkness covered its kingdom. . .

America's most sacred feast day is upon us:

Super Bowl

When the whole country joins together in front of the television altar and partakes in the nationwide communion of the fanatics, eating the pizza, wing and nacho hosts, while drinking the lite beer, tequila and soda sacramental blood of its gods of pleasure, Sport and Entertainment. 

This year's High Priestess will be the American greaseball Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, who practices her stagecraft under the name *Lady Gaga.*

Lady Gaga will perform the halftime mass, in which she will call the intoxicated congregation of couch potatoes to give their hearts to her, Vicarius Corruptionem.

We cannot doubt the illuminized ritual will be anything but an orgy of unhinged sexuality, invoking the unnatural spirits to seduce the drunken flock into leaving the natural use of their bodies for that which is unseemly.  An Open-to-Close Ass-to-Mouth LBGQT revel. . .

The football match itself, this time pitting the Atlanta Falcons against the New England Patriots, is usually a mere afterthought to the All Day celebration of the decadent culture, which manifests in a stupefying, ugly marathon of commercials, a helter-skelter of advertisements for the worst of the material world.  These 30 to 60 second spells are crude mish-mashes of the basest lusts attached to the garbage products and services of the age. . .crass CGI voodoo: automobiles, candy bars, US armed forces, electronica, the junk of our conspicuous consumption stuffed with locks of pubic hair and coated with a thin layer of pixelated endorphins.

Beside the gluttony, intoxication, carnal knowledge and circus game, the Feast of the Super Bowl also invites the ancient art of cleromancy, the casting of lots, remade under its modern embodiment: gambling.  Vast sums are wagered by the communicants, confident in their divining of the will of their gods.  Following is a list of the more popular divinations, along with my own humble forecasts:

Will Lady Gaga exalt herself above the throne of the President, and curse the name of Trump? Yes. 

Will Lady Gaga prove her exaltation with a sign of the miraculous, by vomiting or urinating rose petals? No.

Will Lady Gaga mark her exaltation with the sign of a *wardrobe failure,* by baring her breasts or cunt? Yes. 

Will any flying object strike country crooner Luke Bryan while he sings the National Anthem? No.

Will any players refuse to stand for the National Anthem? No.

Will the first points in the game be scored by a white player or a black player?  White.

Over/under 2.5 times faggot game commentator Troy Aikman coos about Tom Brady *sticking it in a tight hole*: Over.


The Game:

Atlanta +3 vs New England: Beside the obvious reason for picking the Patriots (Brady proven SB hero, Ryan still doubtful hero), I find one distinct advantage for NE: their defense improved significantly in the second half of the season, yards per game went down from 354 (252 pass, 102 rush) to 299 (223 pass, 76 rush), while Atlanta's defense remained below average, allowing 363 yards (248 pass, 115 rush) per game in second half of the season.  The Patriots will be able to slow down Atlanta's offense, and probably frustrate Matt Ryan into a couple turnovers, particularly in the red zone, where he still has a tendency to panic (displayed even in the rout over Green Bay, where he threw at least one DUMB red zone ball that should have been intercepted).  Because of the clear advantage at QB and on defense, we must pick the Patriots, even though the Falcons probably have an over-all talent edge (the Patriots have nobody the equal of Julio Jones or #44).  Should be a fairly entertaining game, Atlanta should hang in all the way, as New England's white boy offense lacks the explosiveness to blow away the Falcons.  New England wins, and covers, barely.  New England 27, Atlanta 23.

The Smallest Star

I was pumping gas earlier today at Exxon when all of a sudden I hear some negress jabbering gibberish.  I look around.  Where's the negress??  There's no negress.  But I hear a negress.  And then I see.  What the Hell??  The negress is on the fucking gas pump!  The fucking gas pump has a television, and the gas pump television is broadcasting some fucking gasoline show *starring* a high yellow negress.

C'mon. . .are people that addicted to electronica, to their screens, to their 24/7 media, they can't even be loose of it for the couple minutes it takes to fill their gas tank?  

Ha ha ha ha!

There's probably sheeple that watch Exxon TV!  They pump their gas and keep watching, transfixed, long after the tank is filled!  What's on next, they wonder? Perhaps that hot new Exxon Original, *Oil's Well That Ends Well,* a riveting drama about an Exxon mini-mart clerk who helps customers with timely advice on foot-long hot dogs and 5-Hour Energy drinks.

Binge watching at the gas pump. . .

But anyway, can you imagine the high yellow negress on Exxon TV?  She probably tells her peoples she got her own TV show, dat she a *star!*  Dey ax her what network she on: 

'Exxon!'  

'Huh?'  

'Exxon, nigger!'  

'Exxon, what dat?'  

'Nigger, please, dat de channel on de gas pump!'  

'Huh?  You on TV at de gas station?'

'Hell, yeah, nigger! I'm bigger dan Wendy Williams!'

I just googled this shit, and it looks like Gas Station TV has been around for at least 5 years, but today was the first time I've come across it. . .I must live in a real hick town.  But anyway, one more sign the Media Dictatorship demands your brain waves every waking moment. . .

Just watch. . .do not think. . .the screen knows what you want.## 


##That you just want to consume, and be free of all other responsibility in life. . .

Children of Satan

These American *lawmakers* who are upset with Tulsi Gabbard are the children of Satan:

Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it.

There is no truth in these *lawmakers,* who deny American responsibility for the deaths in Syria.  These *lawmakers* lie America into war after war, untroubled by the tens of thousands of deaths. . .and these deaths are a genuinely pointless slaughter, as they gain nothing in American National Interest, unless American National Interest is now reduced only to war profiteering.

Gabbard visited Syria and then spoke the obvious truth which so provoked the children of Satan:

As much of Washington prepared for the inauguration of President Donald Trump, I spent last week on a fact-finding mission in Syria and Lebanon to see and hear directly from the Syrian people. Their lives have been consumed by a horrific war that has killed hundreds of thousands of Syrians and forced millions to flee their homeland in search of peace. It is clear now more than ever: this regime change war does not serve America’s interest, and it certainly isn’t in the interest of the Syrian people. Their message to the American people was powerful and consistent: There is no difference between "moderate" rebels and al-Qaeda (al-Nusra) or ISIS — they are all the same. This is a war between terrorists under the command of groups like ISIS and al-Qaeda and the Syrian government. They cry out for the U.S. and other countries to stop supporting those who are destroying Syria and her people.

With the light of truth shone on their dark policies, these American *lawmakers,* the children of Satan, responded in fury:

"An elected official, a representative of the United States, went on a secret trip to meet with the brutal dictator who had murdered nearly half a million of his own people — it's reprehensible and cannot be justified,” Rep. Adam Kinzinger (R-Ill.), another Iraq War veteran, said Thursday in an email. “The actions of Congresswoman Gabbard have put our nation's reputation and foreign policy concerns at high risk and I couldn't be more disgusted.”

While the Hindu Gabbard is certainly no Christian dove, she served with the demoniac US Army in the Iraq War, it is astonishing that she is on the right and true side of the Syrian conflict, while the self-proclaimed *Protestant Christian* Kinzinger (like large numbers of American *Christians*) is on the side of Satanic violence.

Woe unto Kinzinger and the other children of Satan who abide not in truth, they shall die in their sins.

Two Days, One Night

Well, this movie certainly couldn't be made in America.  Can you imagine the typical American movie-goer staring at this thing?  Where's the Super Hero?  Where's the gun?  Where's the nude scene?  They'd be fidgeting in their seats after five minutes.  Angry after ten.  

So. . .the movie. . .it's about Sandra who along with her husband and two kids live scraping by, paychecks-to-paychecks.  It's the typical dismal Western existence, and it leaves Sandra so anxious and depressed, she's had to take a sick leave from her solar panel factory job.  While she's been out, the boss sees he can get by without her, if everyone else picks up an overtime shift here or there. . .so. . .the boss decides to ask Sandra's co-workers if they are OK with him shit-canning her as long as they get a thousand euro bonus for their extra work.  Hellz yeah!  they say, without Sandra around.  But a co-worker tells Sandra, and then they ask the boss if they can hold one more employee vote on the following Monday, the day Sandra was due to return to work. . .and that's the movie. . .Sandra has the weekend, two days, one night, to visit her co-workers at their homes and beg for her job. 

As I said, this thing could never be made in America, even though Sandra is as American as apple pie and Xanax. . .yup, Belgian Sandra could easily pass as a regular American woman: poor, shitty low-paying job, too depressed to fuck (hasn't screwed her husband in months), addicted to pills and so overwhelmed by her tenuous hold on (western) life (which is almost completely ordered by money) she can barely get out of bed, let alone muster the will to beg for her job.  Yet she does. . .though it often requires the nagging of her chain restaurant cook husband.

And so that's the movie. . .scene after scene of Sandra interrupting her co-workers on their precious weekends. . .Sandra's half-hearted begging ruining the two days and one night when they try to forget how miserable their own Western material existences are:

Sandra: I'm here because Juliette and I saw Dumont.  He agreed to a new vote on Monday.  I wanted to ask if you'd agree to vote for me to keep my job. 

Hand-wringing co-worker: I didn't vote against you.  I voted for the bonus.  Dumont put one against the other, not me.

Sandra: I know.  It's sick forcing you to choose. But I don't want to lose my job.  Without my salary, we can't get by.  

Hand-wringing co-worker: I can't.  I need the bonus.  We need 500 a month for our oldest girl's studies.  How about the others?  What do they say?

Sandra: Robert, Juliette and Kader will vote for me to stay.  The others, I don't know.  You're the first I've seen.

Hand-wringing co-worker:  I can't.

Sandra: I understand.  I'm sorry.

Hand-wringing co-worker: You don't need to apologize.  I just can't, that's all.

Sandra: Good bye.

There's 8 or 10 or a 100 (seeming) more scenes almost exactly the same, with only minor variations, some for and some against Sandra.  All the co-workers, except one young prick, seem sympathetic, but that thousand euros sure is tempting! 

The only *action* consists of a frazzled Sandra popping Xanax, pulling the shades and crawling into bed:

[Actually, this would be a very soothing movie for the chronically depressed, it's best viewed in a dark bedroom, with the only other noise being a ticking clock.]

Well, this is the kind of socially conscious drama that used to get made in Depression-era America, and which the Coen brothers mercilessly mocked in Barton Fink. . .so you couldn't make this movie now in America, in today's America, where social consciousness is seen as perverse:

health care for everyone?  are you crazy?

those darkies are out of their minds, protesting the police!

just eat your gmo food and vaccinate your kids and be happy like everybody else!

$15-an-hour for the retard at McDonalds?  my Big Mac will cost 25¢ more!

On the other hand, I don't want to give the impression Two Days, One Night is revolutionary cinema, either. This ain't Bicycle Thieves. The plot (those 8 or 10 or 100 scenes of Sandra pleading for her job) is rather thin, and one must not wonder too long how a person like Sandra would ever summon the desire and energy to endure her grueling weekend of dignity-crushing begging. That the film works to the surprisingly high degree it does is due chiefly to the stellar acting of Marion Cotillard. It's a mostly physical performance. . .the subtle body language, facial expressions and near-flat affect of an ordinary woman nearly ground to nothing by the millstone of *everyday life.* Cotillard makes Sandra a convincing modern secular saint, one who carries her burdens from doorstep-to-doorstep with a mustard seed of faith in her fellow man, and who thus manages to endure until the end [without *going postal,* which is how an American remake would end.]

Fake News is Old News

The problem with FAKE news is how quickly it gets forgotten. . .so that the same old bullshit is repeated decade after decade, and is happily swallowed by the idiot masses.  The much-revered (in AmerICKa) Israeli leader Netanyahu (whose wife steals pop bottles) has made a (tawdry) political career by serving up FAKE news.  His whole schtick consists of preying on Jewish holocaust insecurity, which he perpetually increases by delivering FAKE news.  One such typical Netanyahu FAKE news example is the Iran Is Only Months Away From Having The Bomb story (details here).

Anyways, here's some FAKE news from a year-and-a-half ago. . .remember?

So, whatever happened to these ISIS trainees?  This *news* was published 16 April 2015, 632 days ago.  The US Marine Corp training program is only 13 weeks long, and these ISIS trainees have been out there 90 fucking weeks?  Of course not. . .the news was

FAKE.

But this story will pop up again, in one form or another, and the sheeple will once again fall for it. . .*terror* is an easy sell, because it allows the sheeple to imagine themselves innocent victims.

A much tougher sell has been the Russia Rigging The Election FAKE news. . .quite simply because the idiot masses only need ask themselves did they vote for Trump of their own *free will* or not?  They're convinced of the real FAKE news: that Trump is their advocate, so even if Russia helped Trump, who cares?

The really successful FAKE news will always prey upon the masses fears and insecurities. . .anything that requires attention beyond the basest drives will never take root within the infantile masses.  All these Putin Bogeyman stories will never amount to anything other than spitting in the wind.

This Is Christmas

And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom: and the grace of God was upon Him. Now His parents went to Jerusalem every year at the feast of the passover. And when He was twelve years old, they went up to Jerusalem after the custom of the feast. And when they had fulfilled the days, as they returned, the child Jesus tarried behind in Jerusalem; and Joseph and His mother knew not of it. . .And it came to pass, that after three days they found Him in the temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them, and asking them questions. And all that heard Him were astonished at His understanding and answers. . .

TRY to picture the scene. . .two thousand years ago, at the temple. . .all the great intellectuals gathered. . . the most respected scholars of the day. . .the thinkers who regulated the routines of life. . .they were probably arguing important issues such as how the people should wash their pots, etc. . .

And then:

In walks the One by whom all things were made. . .in walks the Source of Life. . .in walks the Light of the World. . .in the form of a twelve-year-old boy from the backwoods of Nazareth.

Imagine the Savior standing politely at the edge of the group, listening to the geniuses squabbling.  Feigning interest in their vain babbling, He asks a question. . .the great teachers debate, but cannot answer. . .Jesus provides the solution. . .the masters of Israel are a little taken aback, but also amused. They begin to question the young Galilean, thinking to put the lad in His place. . .but with each answer they receive, the amusement fades, until, astonished, the doctors have but one last question for the boy:

Who are you?

He would not tell them He was the Messiah. It would be another twenty years before even a few could accept that. He would tell them He was Jesus of Nazareth. That He lived with Mary and Joseph, the carpenter. He would not say He was Joseph’s son. Even at the temple at age 12, He claimed God as His father. When Joseph and Mary found Him teaching there, they told Him they had been searching for Him for three days. He calmly replied:

Wist ye not that I must be about My Father's business?

I wonder what of His Father’s business He told these scholars? What astonishing words did He give them? Secrets, mysteries of creation? The better way, a preview of the Sermon on the Mount? What did God incarnate reveal that day?

It has been lost. . .

THINK about that. . .

The sayings of the Lord Jesus Christ, lost.

The wisdom of the Eternal Logos, lost.

Infinitely more precious than gold—but lost.

We know to what lengths man will go to protect his gold. Fortresses are built to guard it. The words Jesus gave His hearers that day astonished them. . .but they could not keep them. They were lost. Think about that. . .for almost everything Jesus gives to men, they lose.

What happened to those doctors, who sat astonished before the Lord?

How long did Christ’s words remain with them? An hour? A day? A week? A month?

Behold, a sower went forth to sow; And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up: Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth: And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away. And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up, and choked them: But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit, some an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold. Who hath ears to hear, let him hear.

Did Jesus’ words, of a value beyond what we can measure, produce any change in the lives of the hearers? Or a day, a week, a month later, were they back squabbling about the washing of pots?

Did they forget the encounter?

Was it, for them, as if it had never happened?

[Is it, for us, as if Christ’s gospel was never preached?  As if His atoning death and resurrection had never happened?]

This is the history of God’s interaction with mankind. From Eve to the Ark, from Babel to Sodom, the *sacrifice* of Isaac on a mountain in Moriah to Moses and the burning bush at Horeb, the Exodus through the Wilderness and on to the Promised Land—none of it made any lasting impression.

Let us borrow Rousseau:

Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains. . .

God has supernaturally acted in His creation countless times, but for the creature, the encounters with the Creator remain ephemeral. As awesome as they have been, the effects nonetheless have a strangely short duration. Peter, rather bluntly, put it this way:

The dog is turned to his own vomit again; and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire. . .

Man cannot stay clean. . .

We may also wonder:

Were any of the learned men still at the temple twenty years later, when Christ returned?

If so, did any of them know this prophet from Galilee who was causing such a stir preaching the Kingdom of God, healing the sick, raising the dead, was the very boy who had astonished them two decades prior?

It does not seem unreasonable to assume at least a few who had witnessed the twelve-year-old Jesus teaching at the temple had survived for twenty years, and thus also witnessed the Passion Week.

If not in an official capacity in Jerusalem, were not some of them there for the Feast, anyway?

Did any of them lay down palm branches and cry Hosanna in the highest when Christ entered the city?

Did any of them, one week later, cry Crucify Him!

The boy who astonished them twenty years prior. . .did they also see Him hanging on the cross?

Twenty years after marveling at His words, did they then insult Him as He was nailed and dying on a tree?

Twenty years after asking in astonishment who are you? did they then taunt Him with the following challenge?

If thou be the son of God, come down from the cross, and then we will believe.

Did any of those who heard Christ say it is finished realize this man was the boy they had heard twenty years prior? What would they have made of that?

Even if none of those from that earlier time were there, some who had lain palm branches before Him at the Triumphal Entry must have turned on Him a mere week later:

And Pilate answered and said again unto them, What will ye then that I shall do unto Him whom ye call the King of the Jews? And they cried out again, Crucify Him.

So whether it takes an hour, a day, a week or twenty years—the end result will be the same: man loses sight of God. Man cannot comprehend God. Man cannot apprehend Christ.

Look at Jesus’ supposed cousin, John the Baptist, of whom Christ said:

Among them that are born of women there hath not risen a greater. . .

Even John, who had himself baptized the Son of God, and who had seen the Holy Spirit descend upon Him like a dove, could not grasp the Savior:

Now when John had heard in the prison the works of Christ, he sent two of his disciples, And said unto Him, Art Thou He that should come, or do we look for another?

Art Thou He that should come? John saw the Holy Spirit like a dove descend upon Christ. John bore witness Jesus was the Son of God. And yet there he is, not long after, wondering art Thou He that should come?

Art Thou He that should come? Two thousand years later, does anybody even bother with such a question? What is left of Christ’s ministry? Just the shell. . .the brand name. . .a franchise. He’s a religious Ronald McDonald. . .the Eternal Logos now just a logo to plaster above the entrance to the thousands and thousands of McChurches. . .

The masses queue up for their drive-thru communion. . .a bit of cracker and a thimble-full of grape juice. It’s over in seconds. A damnable fraud. . .

This do in remembrance of Me. . .

People waiting in line, bored, checking their watches, they grab a bit of cracker and a swallow of juice, eyes wandering over the crowd—anybody in a short skirt?

And when the hour was come, He sat down, and the twelve apostles with Him. And He said unto them, With desire I have desired to eat this passover with you before I suffer: For I say unto you, I will not any more eat thereof, until it be fulfilled in the kingdom of God. And He took the cup, and gave thanks, and said, Take this, and divide it among yourselves: For I say unto you, I will not drink of the fruit of the vine, until the kingdom of God shall come. And He took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them, saying, This is My body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of Me. Likewise also the cup after supper, saying, This cup is the new testament in My blood, which is shed for you.

It means nothing. It lost its meaning ages ago. Go into a McChurch and see the zombies at communion. . .look at the bored faces and the dry eyes. . .the ritual cannot reach their dead souls.

This do in remembrance of Me. . .

No. He is forgotten. The real Lord Jesus Christ is forgotten. . .lost.

Look around, for the sake of Christ, look around. . .every way of man is anti-Christ.

Surely John the Baptist was the first Christian—surely he was the first goer down the path so many Christians walk. He had a miraculous encounter with Christ and proclaimed the Savior. . .and then. . .he doubted.

He wasn’t sure, anymore, of what he had seen and heard. Perhaps just like those who had seen and heard the twelve-year-old Jesus. Just like the Israelites who had the cloud by day and the fire by night, and yet continually doubted.

For John the Baptist, events must not have proceeded as he imagined they would. Yes, after the baptism, he told his disciples:

He must increase, but I must decrease.

But he could not imagine how greatly he must decrease! Perhaps he could not imagine having no place in the world?

And He said unto them, Ye are from beneath; I am from above: ye are of this world; I am not of this world.

That is the problem, right there. Christ’s way is not the way of the world. Christ entered this world from another realm. Christ could dazzle with philosophy and miracles, but the world could never really digest His message.

Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.

That message has no hearers in this world. The meek are held in contempt, while the aggressively greedy inherit the world.

We encounter Christ, and marvel. . .but we cannot put on His mind. . .for we are of the world—it is as simple as that.

John the Baptist, among them that are born of women there hath not risen a greater, must have imagined for himself some role in preparing Christ’s Kingdom. . .at the very least, to be a disciple. . .

But to find himself languishing in Herod’s prison? The voice of one crying in the wilderness, prepare ye the way of the Lord? To go from that to being totally removed from the world scene, locked away, waiting for a sinner’s executioner?

So the Baptizer of Christ doubted. . .he had to have doubted because of his place in the world.

I am from above: ye are of this world; I am not of this world.

Jesus could amaze the world. . .He would have celebrity. . . Hosanna in the highest they would cry. . .but when it was found His ways were incompatible with the ways of the world, all but a few left Him.

Today we have the franchise. . .the world has gone on its way for two thousand years, allowing the franchise to strain out the gnats because it swallows the world.

Christ was in the world, and yet the world remains untouched by His presence.

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee; how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not!

All the gifts Christ gave. . .man let them slip through his fingers. . .he cannot accept Christ because of Christ’s other-worldliness.

And what about Christmas?  When the Western world's retailers try to remind us there was a Christ?

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

This is the season wherein we rejoice! The Savior is born. . .

And two thousand years later the world is a tangle of disease and cruelty.

Where in the world is joy?

In Him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

The darkness has not lifted. . .

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Peace. . .good will toward men.

Look around. . .no, you cannot see for the darkness. . .feel around. . .feel around in the darkness of the world. Peace? Good will toward men?  No.  Only war and a hatred of the other.

The Lord Jesus Christ came. He delivered His message. He took away the sins of the world. He did His Father’s will and sacrificed Himself on the cross. It is finished, He said.

Why then is the world still a stinking garbage dump two thousand years later?

Why is God’s interaction always lost? Why cannot men hold onto what their Creator has provided?

He was in the world, and the world was made by Him, and the world knew Him not. He came unto His own, and His own received Him not.

The world does not know Jesus Christ. He came and went, and the world has continued in darkness. The darkness comprehended it not.

And I heard the voice of many angels round about the throne and the beasts and the elders: and the number of them was ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands; Saying with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing.

Ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands, saying with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb. . .

Not even a whisper of it is heard in the darkness of our world. . .

Another Christmas. . .the fetishistic shopping, the dionysian office parties. . .idiots drunk. . .gluttons gobbling up sugary goodies, fattening their holiday waistlines. . .the noise, the tinsel, the noise, the 50% off sales that stink of a depression, the noise, the dysfunctional family gatherings around the altar of disappointing presents, the noise, the fake sentiment, the noise, the discount religion, the NOISE. Christ pushed off into the corner, playing third or fourth fiddle to Santa Claus, reindeer, elves.

How could Christ dwell on this earth for thirty-three years, and this be the result? Over and over He astonished those who came into contact with Him. But in the end, He was run out of town and hung on a tree. . .

Christ told the history of God’s supernatural interaction with man in this parable:

There was a certain householder, which planted a vineyard, and hedged it round about, and digged a winepress in it, and built a tower, and let it out to husbandmen, and went into a far country: And when the time of the fruit drew near, he sent his servants to the husbandmen, that they might receive the fruits of it. And the husbandmen took his servants, and beat one, and killed another, and stoned another. Again, he sent other servants more than the first: and they did unto them likewise. But last of all he sent unto them his son, saying, They will reverence my son. But when the husbandmen saw the son, they said among themselves, This is the heir; come, let us kill him, and let us seize on his inheritance. And they caught him, and cast him out of the vineyard, and slew him.

All that God has given the world has been lost.

Go ahead, try to find Eden. Try to find the Ark of the Covenant.

Our Lord said:

Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.

Let me tell you something, my friend, Jesus knew what He was talking about, here. He gave everything, including His blood. . .and it has all been trampled, trampled.

What the Hell kind of Christmas message is this?

We have to have ears to hear. . .

Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus: Who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God: But made Himself of no reputation, and took upon Him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men: And being found in fashion as a man, He humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. Wherefore God also hath highly exalted Him, and given Him a name which is above every name: That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; And that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. Wherefore, my beloved, as ye have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.

Jesus left the Throne of God. . .Jesus left the Majesty of Heaven. . .and He came down to this wasteland. He preached the gospel to the poor. THINK about that. Nobody has a chance in this world. In the end, all are beaten down to the grave. The rich have their illusions. The poor have nothing. Jesus gave the poor the gospel. . .the hope for glory. . .but the glory will not be had in this world. The gospel is victory over the world.

Jesus left the Purity of the Highest. . .He came down and cleansed lepers and cast out disease. . .He raised the dead. He left the Splendor of Perfection and came down to the world of corruption. . .He who was spotless was mocked, slandered, spat on, beaten and bloodied, then nailed to the cross by gross humanity. He did not resist, nor utter an angry word. Look at us, foul creatures, and the insane tantrums we throw over the slightest insult.

What are we to celebrate on Christmas? Simply that Christ would so humble Himself by entering our world.

And what is the greatest gift our Lord gave us? What did He bring into this world? What did He have to personally hand deliver to our world?

Faith.

The faith of Christ.

Let that sink in.

The faith of Christ.

Not our faith. Let us not embarrass ourselves in front of the Savior Christmas morning as we tell Him we place our faith in Him, stupid grins on our faces as we wait for Him to give us slaps on the back.

He doesn’t want our faith. Our faith lasts about as long as the flavor in a piece of penny bubblegum. . .

Those doctors had a little faith in the twelve-year-old boy who astonished them. . .how long did that faith last? Was it there twenty years later when Christ hung on the cross? John the Baptist had faith in Christ when He saw the Spirit like a dove descend upon Him—where was that faith when the Baptizer asked art Thou He that should come, or do we seek another? The Jesus Christ fanboys had faith when they greeted His entry into Jerusalem singing Hosanna in the highest—where was that faith a week later? Crucify Him!

No, God doesn’t want our faith. Like a cheap whore sells her goods, we sell our faith to anyone or anything that provides a few tokens of comfort in this world.

The Lord Jesus Christ brought His faith into this hopeless world, and that is the great gift we celebrate at Christmas:

For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God. . .

Knowing that a man is not justified by the works of the law, but by the faith of Jesus Christ, even we have believed in Jesus Christ, that we might be justified by the faith of Christ, and not by the works of the law. . .

Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God. . .

Let us not nitpick, asking for some blueprint showing every atom of the transfer of faith, and how it maps throughout the world, hitting some and missing others. If we need that to have faith, then the faith of Christ remains yet beyond us.

Jesus starts in us faith in Him, and finishes in us faith in Him.

Our joy in Christmas is the picture of Christ humbling Himself, being obedient to the Father’s will, condescending to take upon Himself human flesh. . .our Savior did indeed come into the darkness of the world, to bring His faith into the world to light our way home to the Father. . .

The world has lost everything Christ brought into it, let Him put saving faith in us, and then let Him sustain it in us until the end. . .

He places His faith in our corrupt vessels. . .our corruption can poison us with faithlessness.

Christ’s people have a hard time holding onto the gift He gave. . .but He will maintain His people through their journey in the wilderness of darkness and doubt.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to His abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, To an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, Who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. Wherein ye greatly rejoice, though now for a season, if need be, ye are in heaviness through manifold temptations: That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ. . .

The darkness may cause His people to lose sight of Him, but He always sees us. . .

That star only the Magi saw two thousand years ago, it still shines, somewhere, out in the black sky. The Jesus star still shines upon those Christ calls His people. . .

Forget the dull sentiment printed on the Christmas cards. . .Christmas Day is for the soul that despairs. . .Christmas has been turned into the most worldly of holidays, eat, drink and be merry. . .the holiday has been co-opted by those who are at home in the world.

But for those who are truly world-weary, it is the day to refresh the hope, the day to celebrate when He stepped out of Glory into our dark world, to give His faith to us, to finish our redemption, to finish rescuing our souls out of the world. . .

Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

The world could for brief periods be dazzled by Jesus. . .but in the end, the world wants no part of Him. . .

Do we feel nothing in this world? There is nothing. . .until He appears to us. . .and then our soul feels its worth. . .

This is Christmas. . .

Why Vote?

Is there any reason to interrupt our glorious everyday routines and wait around and wait around and wait around the government's user-non-friendly polling place to cast a vote for President of the United States of America?

I suppose there are two reasons to vote:

For Entertainment Purposes: it is often quite amusing to see how poorly and cheaply the balloting process is carried out.  The polls are staffed by volunteers (i.e., the terminally unemployed who survive on this type of temporary piecemeal work, or lonesome retirees who want to be noticed again, if only for a day) using broken-down equipment.  It can be great fun to watch these election workers struggle to herd the increasingly irritated masses through the Rube Goldberg process of identification, balloting and counting.  Additional hilarity can be had by deliberating gumming up the works through feigned misunderstanding of the procedure, or making humorous comments to election staff, such as remarking to the person in charge of the voter roll "I didn't have to give my name the first two times I voted for Clinton today."  Either method is sure to frustrate both harried poll workers and impatient voters.

Fulfilling Our Ritual Obligation: our vote does NOT count, at least, not in the way some suppose.  Our vote has NO BEARING on the outcome of the election.  Even if we lived in a state that would decide the election (by its nonsensical *electoral college* system), and even if the vote in that state were a tie awaiting our vote, our vote still would have NO BEARING on the outcome. . .for certainly there would be a vote recount and our supposed tie-breaking vote would then be jumbled up among all the other insignificant votes. . .and then even that recount would be set aside for a court review, and eventually the election would be referred to a judiciary body to resolve (such as in the famous 2000 Gore-Bush contest).  Non-Democratic Powers# decide who *wins* the election, not the little ant people who stream to the polling places thinking they have a *say* in the matter.  Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton are actors hired by the Powers to perform in a cultural ritual, and our votes are merely the painted styrofoam props of the ritual stage show called Democracy.  Participation in these state rituals## is what binds the mass together in servitude to the Powers, and allows the Powers to continue their Delicious Living off the blood of the lumpen.  

If I vote, it is only for entertainment purposes, to make jest of the ritual, to mock the class traitors who work the polling place and to provoke the citizens who vote to fulfill their ritual obligation to the state, which they do from self-interest, because by collaborating with the state in its ritual election, by the willful self-deceit of believing they have a *voice* in the Process which rules their lives, the lumpen do not then have to confront their true condition: human fodder for the Powers.  Adherence to state rituals excuse the sheeple from taking responsibility for their existence.

Dress as a creepy clown, mark the ballot for an unauthorized candidate like Jill Stein, and then leave some novelty plastic turds lying around as a thank you for the *privilege* of *voting.*  

#For those who believe in the Christian Supreme Being, no human vote counts, not even the bought-and-paid-for-by-the-Powers votes of the final judiciary body. . .for the Christian Supreme Being controls the course of history, and no human ruler sits upon a throne unless he or she will fit the Eternal Scheme of the Almighty God. . .only the tripartite vote of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit count.

##Other state rituals include the paying of the income tithe, standing for the national anthem, supporting the troops, submission to public education and police forces, faith in manifest destiny and other assorted pledges of allegiance, veneration of the constitution, jury duty.