Love Stinks


Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you truly love me?” He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.” (John 21:16)

Sheep suck. Nothing personal, if you happen to be one. There’s no need to go over the whys of it; look up any Biblical commentary on sheep and you’ll find out why Jesus calls his followers sheep. No compliment, if you ask me.

I tried being a pastor once. I liked the idea of being idolized and wielding total religious domination over a group of people. It didn’t go all that well, mostly because I found out that a pastor is supposed to love the people. This is still a foreign concept to me. As long as folks were satisfied with profound sermons and gave toward my salary, I figured I was on the road to ecclesiastical stardom. After all, I was a much better preacher than anybody else I’d heard behind a pulpit, even on television.

But instead of growing, my congregation shrunketh. The infidels weren’t all that interested in brilliant Biblical exposition and they sure as hell didn’t idolize me like I deserved. Sunday after Sunday I performed my best stuff, but I always ended up sitting at home afterward watching some dork on television preaching his lame drivel to a packed house. Was this some kind of cosmic joke? Did God realize he was wasting his star performer in some anemic backwater of a congregation? Apparently not, and I told him as much more than a few times. I guess he was attending to other, more “pressing” matters. Nothing’s worse than feeding pearls to clueless sheep and being ignored by the CEO who should be promoting you.

After giving those dweeby sheep a couple more chances to adore me, I pretty much bagged the pastor thing. This has narrowed my religious options quite a bit. I thought of trying the prophet gig since they’re allowed to hate people’s guts in the name of God, but the drugs were too hard on me. Missionary work involves hanging out with icky people who can’t speak English and living without a good internet connection, so forget that. I have considered becoming a hermit and spending all my time with the person I love most, but personal hygiene is too important to me. Besides, I need an audience.

So for now I stand, under-worshiped, at the fringe of spiritual society, lobbing holy water balloons at the saints. I still have trouble with the love thing, but I admire myself a lot. I’m just waiting on God. I figure eventually he’ll have to make me famous out of sheer obligation to the facts. But I’m not holding my breath; he’s been known to postpone justice for a long, long time.


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