Everybody Look What's Goin' Down
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," sweating the small stuff with a big, broad, flexible outlook! Asking major questions, like: Why do I forget to get cat food for Alpha and Beta when I go to the grocery store?
Today's Topic: Pastors Led Astray by Black Magic!
We've been examining a little ol' used book I picked up recently. It's called Deliver Us from Evil, by Cindy Jacobs.
I've gotta tell you, reader: I'm reading this thing, and it's like the past four centuries never happened. The word "Pagan" has at its root a word meaning "backward" or "yokel," but trust me on this. Mrs. Jacobs is so far backward she can't even see the end of the line in the distance.
Here's a direct quote, because it defies paraphrase:
"A friend told me a story of a Satanist whom she led to the Lord. He began to weep after his conversion and confessed that he had planted fetishes with spells in them in the yards of churches. His intent was to cause the pastors to fall into sexual sin."
Here in the text, Mrs. Jacobs describes how these fetishes were made. It offends the delicate sensibilities of "The Gods Are Bored" to quote that part. However, to continue:
"My friend went with him to dig up what he had planted. In each case, the pastor had indeed fallen into sexual sin."
And they call King Arthur a myth!
Don't you wish you had a dollar for every pastor who has "fallen into sexual sin" in the history of the Christian church? Me too.
It's a tough job being a pastor. Just ask one. You've got to dwell on all those temptations you teach people to avoid. And you know your parishioners aren't any better at avoiding them than you are, but you ... you have to set the standard.
And doggone it, along comes some Satanic black magician who plants a fetish in your churchyard. Sure enough, the very next Sunday your eyes fall on the well-turned calf of the cute widowed church lady in the front row. Did she just wink at you? Demons, demons everywhere!
So you succumb, and the devoted wife who only fantasizes about you, and only during sex, finds out. And so do the folks paying the tithes. They aren't happy. They think you should step down and go sell used cars, and if you're not willing to step down, they'll provide a shove.
But what they should provide is a shovel. Go dig up that churchyard, inch by inch, until you find that fetish! Because it's not your fault you sinned, it's the work of some Satanic black magician. Maybe you don't even know the dude. But he's gone and ruined your life with a little bit of mud and some other ingredients too gross to mention.
Makes you wonder how the hell we landed a man on the moon, doesn't it?
At the same time that I'm laughing at Mrs. Jacobs and her Snopes-proof "my-friend-told-me" yarn, I'm also keenly aware that the Christian fringe is brimming to the plimsol line with people who really believe this stuff. And that's scary, because these people get to cast votes that decide the leadership of this country.
You know what's just as scary? The thought that someone would read that passage in Deliver Us from Evil and actually go out and bury a stinky fetish in the local United Methodist churchyard. That person gets a vote too. (Of course he probably writes in Ozzy Osbourne. If he can spell "Ozzy.")
Far be it from "The Gods Are Bored" to choose a religion for you. Even so, there are plenty of bored deities out there who view such vile acts with disdain. If Yahweh counts himself among these, why doesn't he collar those demons and put them to work paving a Black Hole?
In the meantime, as a nice little old Pagan lady who takes care of orphaned kittens and leaves yarn out for the birds to use in their nests, who has tried hard never to harm anyone or stain the furniture, who is endeavoring to raise two daughters to be sensible, moral, moderate, intelligent adults, I most deeply resent being considered as foul as someone who would pee on a mound of dirt and bury it in front of a church!
Cindy Jacobs, the worst bad faerie who ever hid a sock is nicer than your faith's nicest demons. Forget all about Wicca. Clean your own damn house.