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February 2008

99 Christian Arguements With Atheists

When Christians argue with atheists there is little chance the atheist can win. He is whipped. His back reveals lashes. The atheist suffers immeasurably from breathless fatigue. Headache, stomach problems, a sense of foreboding. Doom. There is no good that come from such a confrontation.

The atheist trembles. Heaven is a place he cannot visit. And he knows it. His face grows pale. He cannot speak. He tries to walk and stumbles. He cannot keep his balance. The hand of God has landed on his shoulder and presses downward to hold him place.

There is thunder overhead and in his heart. The atheist knows nothing of his aches and pains. He knows only that something is missing. He may seek answers from the void. But all that he finds is an emptiness.

If the atheist goes to church, he will awaken from his stupor. One wishes for the atheist a whisper that enters his head and heart and touches that secret part of himself that keeps so hidden from the world.

Awake, awake. I beg you to listen.

This article is more of a prayer for atheists. Those dumb liberals who believe in no faith. Organized religion is mere poppycock. Whilst I have tried to be as neutral as possible regarding contentious issues, I believe that atheism is meaningless. A form of otherworldly rubbish.

I pray for their forgiveness. Atheist possess no brains, no capacity for understanding man's relationship with God, the devil and Heaven. Paradise is a place the atheist discovers in movie theaters and fancy restaurants.

The imaginary world in which the atheist lives is a large city filled with impossible riddle and no answers. The devine being has been reduced a stuffed animal or inflated afternoon companion. A balloon that rises and squeaks on the ceiling. Religion is a weak thing that needs helium.

The atheists lacks an open mind. It is apparent the brain of the atheist is tiny. And cannot be defined within medical terms. It is a tin can, empty of everything worthwhile.

Survival Guide to Sitting Through Long Church Sermons

In church, you get caught by of them long sermons, feels like maybe it last maybe three days, four at most. Starts to grab and gnaw on you leg. Bite you like a stray dog see you coming down the street.

It ringing a bell. And swaggering this way and that. It all heavenly and feeling like it was big as the world. Like if it didn't out it would die. Or something.

That sermon all full of scripture, stretch from heaven all the way to earth. Land in the pit of your stomach. Bright as the evening star. Swim around. Jump up and down in your esophagus. Don't blaime the Lord. He don't tell his ministers how to turn off the faucet. Come a gusher and you better know it's going to spew like an oil well. And you ain't got no where to run. So live with it.

The long sermon don't know way out. It just knows it got to be heard. And it come out of the minister's mouth like a long tail of some beast that Noah done forgot. Now it back. And you it sitting in your lap. It wearing your best suit and playing a steel guitar and a harmonica.

And you know that long sermon is going to drag you off. So you let go. And it sweep you across the continent. That long, invisible path through righeousness is one ride you hope you can make.