The Horrible Fan Club?

My friend Pete has a Bible study of sorts at his house every Thursday night.


Ten o'clock is his bed time, however. When the clock strikes, we see him inserting his ear-plugs into his ear canals, and firmly shutting his bedroom door.


It's good of him to host the study, however, and he hasn't branded me as a heretic yet, and thrown me out.


Most of the kids in the group (of which I am second eldest), have been bought up in the church. And when we answer questions from our Study Guide, they dutifully recite the correct answers and move on to the next one.


You know these answers; they sound like this:


- By reading the Bible
- Telling others about God.
- Going to church


Well, Bible studies can really annoy me. So I possibly annoy my study group. When we split up into our smaller four or five girls, I spread my subversion, and prove my point.Just tossing in little mental confusions....so we have to think.


I just hate when Christians become Drones. Because it's so easy to create a Christian Highway that we all travel on, we make sense to each other, and no one else; and we hide who we really are, because no Christian wants to admit what they really do when no one is looking do they?


 No Christian wants to admit that they yelled at their spouse every day last week, that they deeply despise a co-worker, or that they have an addiction to Gossip Girl.


I think we have a reputation of hypocrisy for a reason. 


Urban Dictionary has a funny definition of God's Son:

Jesus:

A pretty cool guy whose reputation has been run down by his horrible fan-club.  I just  want us to be different. To show God's love, because we actually really know God's love.  His real love; not his I-secretly-have-an-agenda-in-which-I-may-kill-you-love.... I want to do more than pay Lip-Service to this love.  I leave you with a parable, slightly re-told by Adrian Plass....any thoughts? The Prodigal Son At last he cometh to his senses and saith, ‘All my father’s hired workers have more than they can eat, and here I am about to starve!  I will arise and go to my father and say, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee.  I am no longer worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants.”’  So he arose and came to his father.  But when he was still a long way off his father seeth him and runneth to him and falleth on his neck and pulleth his hair and smacketh his backside and clumpeth him on the ear and saith, “Where the devil do you think you’ve been, Scumbag?  And the prodigal replieth, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee.  I am no longer worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thine hired servants.’  The father saith, “Too right I’ll make thee as one of my hired servants, Master Dirty-stop-out-inheritance-spending-stinker-pinker-prodigal!  I suppose thou believest that thou canst waltz back in here without so much as an by thine leave, and conneth me with thine dramatic little speech? Thinkest thou that this is “Little House on the Prairie”?  Or mayhap thou reckoneth that I was born yestere’en?  Oh, no.  Third assistant bog-cleaner, unpaid, for thee, mine odorous ex-relative.’  Then the prodigal saith dismally unto him, ‘Oh, right, right - fair enough.  So, er, just to get it straight, there existeth no question of lots of nice presents and instant forgiveness and an large celebratory meal involving the fatted calf, or anything of that nature?  ‘In thy dreams, son!’ replieth the father.  “The only gift thou art likely to see is the personalized lavatory-brush with which thou shalt shortly be presented.’  And the father taketh the prodigal by the ear which previously he clumpeth, and hauleth him back to the farm.  And lo, the fatted calf beholdeth them approach from an long way off, and, summing up the situation perfectly, throweth an big party.  And the fatted calf’s family and guests rejoiceth and doeth an bit of discow-dancing, and mooeth sarcastically over the fence at the prodigal as he passeth by in his tribulation.  And behold, as nightfall approacheth, the prodigal’s elder brother heareth distant sounds as of an bog-brush being applied, and strolleth out to the edge of the cess-pit after supper holding an large brandy, and he stretcheth luxuriously and picketh his teeth and lighteth an enormous cigar and looketh down and saith, ‘Evenin’, Rambo.  I see thou hast returned, then?  Likest thou thine rapid progress from affluent to effluent?’   And the prodigal looketh up and saith, ‘Verily, thou rebukest me justly with thine clever barb.  When I had great wealth I shared it not with thee, but now I freely offer thee an good share of  what is mine.’  And he flicketh at the elder brother with his brush, so that an weighty portion of something exceeding unpleasant ploppeth into his brother’s brandy glass, and his brother retireth, threatening to tell on him.  And the prodigal findeth his father and saith unto him, ‘Behold, all these years during which I was in an far country, mine smug, pie-faced, hypocritical, dipstick of an brother must have caused thee to gnash thine teeth on an daily basis, so how come he getteth all the perks like brandy, cigars and suchlike, while I remaineth up to mine elbows in other people’s poo?’  But his father replieth, ‘Thine brother is boring but biddable.  Get on with thine work, thou less than Baldrick, and think thyself lucky.’  The father departeth and the prodigal saith to himself, ‘Blow this for an game of centurions.  I wisheth I hadn’t come home now.  Behold I am just as hungry, twice as guilty and four times as smelly.  Verily, if, by an miracle, any time off ever presenteth itself, there existeth in my mind no doubt about how I shall seek to occupieth it.  Definitely - it’s an day-trip to the pigs for me…’