The Horror of Human Priests


I’ve seen the “pope” in the media lately. It seems there’s some debate over whether he speaks for God. I’ll boil this down to a simple, two word statement: He doesn’t.

God speaks for God and by the media He chose, which happens to be Scripture (also known as The Bible). 66 books (Old and New Testament) comprise the revealed Word of God.

While that notion has fallen in and out of favor, those books comprise a unity of theme, coherence and intrigue that no other book has ever attained. Add to that the fact that it was written by over 40 authors spanning thousands of years. We can’t even make a movie over the course of a few months without having plot holes big enough for wide-load access. Not to mention the scene mistakes (pancakes changing to eggs mid-scene).

No, the Bible is truly special. And there is the effect it has had on generation after generation, transforming lives for the better. And unlike other religions (which don’t need to be named), Christians have died martyrs, being locked in prisons, burned at the stake, sawn in two and crucified.

And this is not something from ages past. It happens today. Christians are being beheaded, starved to death, burned alive … Just because it doesn’t happen in America doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.

These brave souls die while other men vaunt their excess before the world, pretending to hold  some spiritual power. They attempt to slake mankind’s thirst for an arbiter between them and God, but do so in vain, if not in blasphemy. They’re like saltwater for the thirsty soul.

The world has never seen more unscrupulous or rapacious tyrants than its priests, whether of Baal or Moloch, of Judaism or the Papacy. All through the ages it has seemed impossible for men to receive power in the spiritual realm without abusing it to the injury of those who sought their help. Study the history of the priesthood, which murdered Christ because he threw too strong a light upon its hypocrisies and villainies, and you have the history of every priestcraft which has darkened the world with crime, and saturated its soil with the blood of the noblest and saintliest of men.

Meyer, F. B. (2014-07-01). THE WORKS OF F. B. MEYER, Vol 1 (25 Works): 25 Classic Devotionals, Biographies and Teachings on the Higher Life (Kindle Locations 13318-13322).  . Kindle Edition.

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The Reason for Suffering

coffee and note padThis is just an astounding message for today:

“He suffered thee to hunger.”—Deuteronomy 8:3

THERE was a Divine intention, then, in the hunger and thirst and weariness of the desert march. God suffered these hardships to come to the chosen people, in order to teach them dependence on Himself.

The daily gift of manna was a perpetual evidence of His loving thought and care for the pilgrim host; they came to learn that sin and backsliding could not alienate His compassions; they found that the Word of God was life.

But none of these lessons could have been acquired if the supplies of food had been as regular and plentiful as in Egypt. They were suffered to hunger that God might make them know:

You are suffered to hunger for human love, that you may know what the love of Jesus can be to His own. Open your heart to it, until it flood you as the sunshine does the south windows of a house.

You are suffered to hunger for recognition and gratitude, that you may know what the “Well done!” of Jesus is, and to lead you to look for that only. What do the words of men amount to unless He smile?

You are suffered to hunger for easier circumstances, for money, that you may know the tender provision which Jesus can make for those who are wholly dependent on Him. In the absence of all human help, you will learn the sweet taste of His manna.

Glory to God, to God, he saith, Knowledge by suffering entereth, And life is perfected in death. These seasons of hunger are necessary for the discipline of life.

But, thank God, He is able to satisfy us; and out of His riches in glory in Christ Jesus He can and will fulfill every need of ours (Philippians 4:19, R. V.).

Meyer, F. B. (2011-07-17). Our Daily Homily  (Sermon) Volume 1 (Genesis-Ruth) (Kindle Locations 2132-2144). Heritage Bible Fellowship. Kindle Edition.

The Auction

The Auction

THICK, putrid air billowing with exhaled smoke filled the room. And though the bidding would start with a number, rising from there, the naked woman on the stage felt worthless. Actually, that wasn’t true. She felt both worthless and priceless. And hopeless.

From the start, born into a home filled with rough men looking to satisfy lurid appetites, she found herself sworn to secrecy by both the men and then her mother, too. Watching her mom, she could see the shame that filled her eyes and knew it was merely an older version of what she felt inside. Her wounds were pink and tender, while her mother’s were scabbed and calloused. But they both hurt the same.

Standing on the block the prices came in slow. Her body had been ravaged by time, use and abuse. Sickness filled her bones and rotted her skin, nails and eyes. Her teeth were loose and mottled, her breath sour.

Looking out she could see men whom she had been with on other occasions. As she got older, when they told her she should enjoy it, she decided she’d had enough. She’d take control of her life and ensure the game was played on her own terms. She left home and joined women on the streets. She demanded money from the walking dead, forcing them to part with something precious to them, for a change. Unfortunately, the transaction didn’t empty them as much as drive a stake through her heart. For now, she was not only selling something that should never be for sale, but she was putting a price on her soul. While before she knew she was the victim, a balm to her heavy shame, now she had put the most intimate parts of her life on the open market.

She had played with the price, trying to bring in the value that would fill her with meaning and assure her that she meant something more than a quickie to some John. But the higher the price, the lower she sank. While she believed herself to be in charge of her fate, she always felt that she was merely directing her course along a leash held by the world around her. When she charged more, the Johns expected something more carnal than before. She realized that no price could pay for what she threw away.

Now those men who had used her, sometimes claiming they loved her, wagged their tongues and bugged their eyes at her while bidding half-heartedly for the damaged shell she now displayed.

Her arms bore red tracks of needles and her muscles were drawn tight under her hard flesh, each tendon and vein visible. Her jaw protruded like a skull and her hair clung to her scalp like ratted pieces of old carpeting.

Men near the stage looked her over, gesturing lewdly.

Going once!

She closed her eyes and hung her head. She’d been a slave all her life, her value set by the vile world, a world most pretended was filled with goodness. She knew better.

The voices stopped and then shouted angrily. She opened her eyes to see a man walk in who clearly did not belong. The others recoiled from him, afraid that his cleanliness would harm them. His clothes were pressed and in order and his hair trimmed and combed. Smiling at her, his gentle face met hers, without a hint of lascivious interest. In fact, his smile beamed at her, as if he’d found the treasure for which he’d been searching.

He raised his hand and offered a sum that simply did not exist. No one could offer that kind of money, not in several lifetimes.

She staggered back, astounded that he’d offer that money, incredulous that he would think her worth half that amount. Immediately, she thought that it had to be that he would want to use her for some monstrous purpose. But that thought couldn’t hold her for even an instant. This man was light to the darkness of all those around her, and could have none of the darkness they possessed. Besides, those who had used her would never pay that amount. The cost to him excluded that he’d ever want to hurt her.

As she realized that this man’s purchase meant that she could no longer live the way she had done her whole life, she began to recoil, though she didn’t know why. Never again would she know the thrill and pain of walking the streets or meeting new men. The excitement of doing what was wrong would no longer exist for her. And, for a moment, that scared her. For an instant, she wondered what joy she could know if she didn’t have her party life.

But it was only for an instant. Without a word, as he held out his hand, it felt like he reminded her of the despair and hurt that swallowed up the passing pleasures. She didn’t look out at them, but she knew the room of Johns looked at her as an object to use, use, use until she broke. The horror of that life could fall behind her like a crushing burden. She could finally be free.

She took his hand, he clothed her and said, “I will always love you.”