Peace My Eye

“Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.” (Matthew 10:34)

Attention all you bleeding-heart pansy-assed flower-power namby-pamby laid-back punch-drunk religious types who think that Jesus came to redeem the world with niceness. You who believe with your whole naïve heart that Jesus came so that we’d all just learn to play together. You who are convinced that Jesus would never ever ever make somebody feel bad or demand that he change his ways or whip her pretty little disobedient butt. Attention all you la-la hand-holders who champion a tolerant, all-inclusive guru-buddy who emanates indulgent cultural harmony while pouring out infinite and indiscriminate affirmation.

You folks need an oil change. Like bad.

Jesus may look like he’s a milktoast Jew with a persecution complex, but he’s a circumcised weapon of mass disunion whose stated mission is to divide and conquer. The Lamb is packing. And he ain’t gonna bless nothing that’s not blessable. You can be sure that anything that doesn’t belong together ain’t going to stay together. Don’t think for one New York minute that splitting headaches are the unfortunate corollary damage of an otherwise peaceable game plan; the Son of Man is ripping things apart on purpose. Jesus is going to separate the gems from the junk everywhere he walks, man. Get that? Everywhere. The former baby in a manger ain’t making peace; he’s making war.

So I’m thinking: what’s his problem? Why is he so dead set on slicing and dicing? Why play the divine Ginsu Knife? Where’s the soppy savior of sentimental myth? Who is this surly saber of salvation anyway? Why so serious? And then that third string seer, Malachi, throws in his two-cents worth. Yeah, the guy who ranks last in the Old Testament canon. He spills the divine beans 400 years before the baby Rambo is a zygote in Mary’s belly. He channels the Godfather in HD. Yeah, this prophetic bottom dweller runs his finger along the razor’s edge and coughs up the inside scoop: And you will again see the distinction between the righteous and the wicked, between those who serve God and those who do not.

Ohhh. So that’s the Boy’s problem. Things are a bit too fuzzy for his tastes. Apparently the God folk and the sin-spawn look too much alike for his comfort zone. He’s come to cut the damn cake, to hack his way through the herd, to cleave the culture club right down the middle. No subtlety. No negotiations. No Novocaine. The cross comes with a switchblade.

So you might as well forget about releventing yourself to the culture. You can flush the interfaith dialog crap right down the toilet. You can kiss your hip, sophisticated religious savvy goodbye. Go ahead and synchronize your sorry self to the latest Hollywood blockbuster. Go ahead and tune into the weekly blasphemy/fornication series. Do your Sunday freaking duty and then on Monday suck the pap of materialism. Go ahead and marry Christianity to a voting block. It’s all gonna get ripped apart like wet Kleenex.

I’d start dumping ballast if I were you.


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