Monthly Archives: March 2013

The Man Jesus

My last post talked about my struggle to determine whether I believe in Jesus at all, and it (kind of) explores why I chose to do just that. That’s a big question, and one that I needed to answer before I could delve into the subject matter behind this post. I’m a girl who loves extremes, so why stop at, “Why do we believe that Jesus was God”? when I can uselessly speculate on “What do we know of Jesus the human?” In this post we will discuss Jesus as a man, exploring such varied subjects as  teenage crushes, workplace boredom, and poop. You have been warned.

I’m not sure this entire subject isn’t sacrilegious, but it’s one that sticks with me, nonetheless. See, its easy for me to think of Jesus as this distant “grown-up” who did some pretty awesome stuff (miracle wine, zapping insulting fig trees – you know the stories) and then changed the whole world. That’s pretty epic, but the point you should have taken from that sentence is that Jesus was distant. Its easy for me to think of Jesus the way I might think of some politician or other kind of world changer – important, notable, good for the world as a whole, but not actively involved in my day to day life. I can’t imagine being an omnipotent man-God with super powers. Not me. I’m too normal, too “every day”. I get up in the mornings and I smoke a cigarette and I take a shower and I put on my poly/cotton blended blouse and my slacks. Then I go spend all day taking calls at a call center, doing nothing of any miraculous import. After work I kill time by being generally foul-mouthed and lovingly disrespectful with my friends. How much could someone like me really relate to someone who was perfect, and did miracles, and was fucking God for God’s sake?

One of the points of being a practicing Christian is learning how to retrain your brain toward focusing on Jesus and his example. I’m still working on it. But no matter how hard I try to put myself in Jesus’ sandals, even with him being more relatable than the Big G, it’s still pretty hard to imagine Jesus living a life like my life. That’s probably why the question of whether or not to believe in him comes up so frequently. It’s one thing to read the Bible and to take the stories of the characters described within as metaphor. I mean, who cares if Joseph really had a technicolor dream coat before his asshole brothers threw him in a hole and sold him to slavers? The point is that Joseph served God even in the worst of situations and ended up being the ruler of Egypt (or damn near enough). You can take that story, sift out the moral, and move on. But it’s another thing to treat Jesus the same way – his stories are more than just colorful fables written to show us examples of how to behave in a given situation (even if his parables definitely include that). Even a little kid can point out how different Jesus’ stories are from the others – his are in red ink. Without Jesus, without the character of the personification of God, the very nature of God is defined in Old Testament terms – and many of us Christians believe that God is more than wrath, plagues, and the divvying out of virgins. How would we know that, if not for what is written about Jesus? Christ is the legend by which the rest of the Bible can be understood. Without Jesus, we’re just reading a bunch of books.

Knowing this, how am I supposed to justify the fact that I do kind of clump him in with the rest of the biblical characters? Or, more importantly, how do I mentally separate him from those secondary characters and re-envision him as someone who seems more real, more relatable?

Lately, I’ve been thinking about Jesus a lot more than I used to. It started with late-night conversations with Daniel (I would just like to pause here a moment to say that deep and thoughtful conversation/debate with one’s spouse is a huge help in untangling yourself from the weeds and keeping yourself focused), then I wrote my most recent blog post. Now it’s almost Easter and so Jesus stories are basically freaking everywhere. Not to diminish what Jesus did for us, but the stories that get played (and played, and played, and played) throughout the holiday season are so familiar that even atheists know them by rote.

This year, though, I’ve been thinking about things a little differently. The holiday (literally, the holy day) that occurs this upcoming Sunday is supposed to focus on the culmination of Jesus’ life. Obviously people will focus on his death and subsequent resurrection. But I find myself wondering about the life of the man that lived as God among men, knowing where his road would lead, and drinking from that cup anyway.

Did the fact that Jesus died willingly mean that mean he never felt torment? We know he struggled in the garden of Gethsemane, but how did he react the first time he learned that he would be tortured to death? Was he tempted to stick with carpentry?He accepted God’s will, but did that mean he wanted to?

Did Jesus’ divinity mean that he was never hungry, or too cold, or too hot, or sick?

Did he, as a youthful apprentice carpenter,  ever fall in love with someone he knew he would never be with because of where his path would lead?

Did he spend days teaching, all the while looking out across the Sea of Galilee and watching the sun sparkle invitingly on the waters, wishing that he could be doing something else? Did he feel those things and serve anyway?

Jesus was a man – but was he a man like us?

Of course these are questions we can’t ever answer. Jesus lived two thousand years ago, and the only people that actually hung out with him are super dead. The main source of what information we actually about his life is in the Bible, and the Gospel writers chose to focus on his supernatural side. That’s fair, as that is the part of Jesus that separated him from all the other dudes around him. It seems to me, though, that focusing on Jesus’ divinity only tells us half of his story.

I’m not alone in my musings about the man Jesus. Author Johnnie Moore wrapped up the whole subject really nicely in his article, where he basically explores Jesus and how relatable he must have been to the average poor person of the time. Why? Because he was probably dirty, stinky, and occasionally suffering from dysentery. Just like you or I! Its an awesomely insightful read and I’d take a few minutes to do do if you haven’t. It went a long way toward showing me a side of Jesus, albeit a grosser one, that made him much more relatable to me.

A cigarette smoking, slacks wearing, foul mouthed American girl might not have much in common with a messiah, but I can relate a bit more to a carpenter who gets his hands dirty just like I do (metaphorically. . . I work in an office.) I feel like this Jesus is the sort of dude who wouldn’t be offended if I had to leave the Sermon on the Mount to make a potty run. Additionally, I imagine he would enjoy just chilling around a fire pit listening to Daniel and I suck at the guitar. That is so cool to me.

Thinking about Jesus’ story lately, it occurred to me that Jesus’ mission started when he was 30. That’s exactly my age. That shed light on him in a whole new way. Suddenly he wasn’t this grownup who had it all figured out. Suddenly I’m in his shoes, still feeling 21 and immature and irresponsible. Hell, sometimes it takes a forklift to get me out the door to work, and I’m not facing crucifixion at the end of my job. I can’t imagine knowing I had three years left before I was horribly killed. I can’t imagine being able to find motivation to keep going – especially after he went back to Nazareth and was so disrespected that he couldn’t do any of his messianic stuff. Didn’t they like chase him out of town and try to pitch him over a cliff or something? One of them is noted as saying something like,  “Isn’t this that carpenter’s son??! Wtf?”

In his hometown, he wasn’t the messiah. He was just “that guy Jesus. Y’know, the carpenter’s kid. Big scandal over his birth, I’ll tell you about it sometime”. When he tried to be more than that, they mocked him right out of town. Feels like my highschool years all over again.

And when exactly did Jesus become aware of his destiny? There’s some suggestion he knew fairly early, like when he got left in Jerusalem during that Passover. His parents didn’t realize he wasn’t with the caravan until they were halfway home. They found him right where they left him, posted up with the rabbis. I think he was fairly young then, and there’s a whole lot of life between prepubescent temple Jesus and 30 year old homeless missionary Jesus. Did he ever have a sweetheart? A schoolmate that he crushed on before realizing that marrying that poor girl would be a horrible idea? Did any girls secretly crush on him? I had tons of relationships in my life between “dating age” and “grown up”. A few of them I even thought were pretty serious and I hung out with them for a few years during that space of time. I wasn’t focused on dating, I didn’t care all that much about sex, and I was brainy and I still managed to break double digits. . . I think. I didn’t count. Either way, I wonder if there were any flames in young teenager Jesus’ life. I wonder if he dealt with heartbreak or separation or even the temptation of jealousy.

I know Jesus was sinless, but does that mean he never felt that prickling of reactionary emotion that you or I might? Does feeling that, regardless of whether you act on it or not, count as a sin in and of itself? I know Jesus got fed up with things. The story of him and the fig tree was such a wonderful mix of divinity and human frustration that I feel closer to him every time I read it. I just smile and nod and say, “Yeah, I’ve been there.”

Putting Jesus’ life in the perspective of my own makes it suddenly mind-breakingly obvious what a huge and awesome thing it is that he was willing to do what he did for us. For me at least, these meanderings make me feel closer to Jesus, and through him, God. It makes his death, celebrated yesterday on Good Friday, all that more poignant.

What about you guys? Any casual meanderings about Jesus that make him seem more real and relatable to you? Any real moments of humanity you see from him in the scriptures that make you see him in a new light?


Feeling pretty great – a WTFaith Quickie

A lifetime of worried cynicism (seriously, I’m like a fat Woody Allen) has left me woefully unprepared to express how I feel today. For no good reason, I feel awesome right now. I don’t have more money than I had yesterday. I don’t have fewer debtors or fewer “Final Notice” bills coming in. I’m not any thinner, or more popular, or better looking. I am not, objectively, better in any way.

All the same, I feel like the goddamn king of the world.

I’m pretty sure that Jesus is connected to this feeling. I’m not positive that I could explain in what way he is connected. I know I went to bed praying last night, which is something I don’t do most of the time. I prayed on the drive to work, which is something I rarely do at all. Yesterday I heard a great sermon at River Heights Vineyard, which, as it turns out, is pretty rad.

Sometimes, I read my blog posts – which are 85% “tough questions” and 15% “stupid jokes” – and I think, “Well, my blog is certainly honest, but am I actually showing any of my readers why being Christian is a good thing?”

The reason that being Christian is a good thing, readers, is that some days, Jesus metaphorically craps a handful of twinkling stars into your stomach-hole for no good reason. Some people call it a “peace beyond understanding.” That sounds nicer than the way I said it, but whatever, you knew what blog you came to today.

Enjoy your day, along with that mental image I just gave you. ❤ ❤ ❤

"Pictured: Me"

“Pictured: Me”

What’s up with this Jesus guy, anyway?

I said last week that I wish  the group of Christianity that I seem to exist within could be called something else –  anything else, actually. Whatever it takes to separate ourselves from the Neanderthal nonsense that certain types of Christians spout on a regular basis. I’ve mentioned this to friends of mine, none of whom are Christian. All of them immediately respond with something like, “Ok, so you’re not a hate-filled fundamentalist. That’s good. Ok, you say the Bible has been used for so much harm, and is also too contradictory, to be useful as anything but an interesting text amongst interesting texts. That’s valid. But, the real question is do you believe in Christ?”

And I guess that is the question isn’t it?

I’ve always thought of Christ as, for lack of a better term, an avatar of God. I believe that the breaking of this world caused a schism between our finite world and eternity that only Jesus could breach. I believe Christ was God made flesh, that what he experienced went directly back to the entity that is God. And I believe that happened so that God could experience humanity without the separation that normally exists between the finite and the infinite.


Like this, but with slightly higher stakes.

Like this, but with slightly higher stakes.


In addition, I’ve always found the Christian practice of Jesus worship (particularly their fixation on the instrument of his death) to be bordering on maudlin idolatry. Despite believing in him, I’ve noticed through my faith journey that I talk directly to God, and that only twice has Jesus been the focus of my worship specifically.

The first time, I was thinking about the Jews, and how they had the automatic in with God. (Not really, but . . . you know. God’s chosen people and all that. You get it.) And then I thought about how it was only because of Jesus’ sacrifice that I was able to experience the things I was experiencing with God. I was so struck by that for a moment that I, for the first and only time in my life, said the words “Thank you, Jesus” without a hint of irony.

The second time was a particularly bleak period for me; I was having some first world problems and being a big baby about the whole thing. Long story short, I generally felt like shit. I was about at the end of my rope, when I had a dream. In the dream, Jesus and I were hanging out. Just hanging out, like any two friends might. We were talking, and through the process of our talking, Jesus did what I imagine Jesus did to practically everyone he met. He looked at me, and in seconds broke down all of my walls, saw right to the heart of me, and said some gentle thing that unraveled the entire core of my problem.

“Well, *I* recommend a hot oil treatment once a month, exfoliate daily, and try to eat lots of foods rich with Omega-3 fatty acids.”

“Well, *I* recommend a hot oil treatment once a month, exfoliate daily, and try to eat lots of foods rich with Omega-3 fatty acids.”


The whole dream was striking and vaguely uncomfortable because I HAAAAaaaaAAAAAAATE being on display like that, even to Jesus himself. But, it was also comforting because I felt such love and unconditional acceptance. When he suggested (not commanded) that I change some behaviors or habits, it felt like a suggestion given out of an undeniable and tangible sense of love and a desire for my well-being. I’ve never felt so exposed or so accepted in my entire life. The sensation of that dream stayed with me for days. For weeks.

Aside from those two situations, Jesus doesn’t enter my thoughts as anything other than the way I am able to do the things I am able to do and experience the things I’m able to experience. When Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life, and no one gets to the father but through me,” I read that as, “Because I did this thing, you get to talk to God.” Most people seem to interpret that statement to mean something more like this:

“Immediately disregard everything I said about not worshipping me. I never wanted that before, but now. . . I died for all you assholes! So . . . make with the worship or be forever condemned to the fires of hell!”

"Awwwwww, are you SERIOUS? And I paid for supper, too!"

“Awwwwww, are you SERIOUS? And I paid for supper, too!”


Now, I’m not sure I believe in the fires of hell – at least, not in the way that hell is often portrayed. But that’s another blog post entirely. Either way, when left to my own devices, I don’t pray directly to Jesus any more than I would express profuse thanks a computer for allowing me to access the internet. The computer isn’t the internet, it’s just my doorway to it, and no man comes to the WTFaith blog but through it. (Disclaimer – I do not pray to the internet.) So it is with Jesus and God, in my mind – because of Jesus’ sacrifice, I can pray directly to God.  And that’s great – but that doesn’t mean my prayers need to be directed toward Jesus.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate what Jesus did for me. Really, it’s more to do with the difficulty in determining what I know about him. The problem is, the only place Jesus is ever talked about is in the Bible. I have some issues with the Bible, more-or-less because I have issues with people.  Everything humans touch, we tend to fuck up – and the Bible has been touched so much it has to point at a doll in a closed room meeting. I doubt its infallibility, because I recognize how easy it would have been for power hungry people, with access to the early books,  to change the Bible to suit their desires. People tell me that wouldn’t happen, because it’s the Bible and people worked very hard to preserve it. I find that to be a very sweet idealism, and I hope they never see the cynical, stop-at-nothing face of humanity that I have seen. Call me paranoid, but I just don’t trust us. Even if it started as the inspired (and therefore infallible) word of God himself, it has been used to justify and cause so much pain and harm that it no longer resembles its original self at all. I don’t know about God, but when I’m dealing with my kids, and they start using some toy I bought them to hurt their siblings, I take the damn toy away and revoke their privilege to use it.

And yet, despite all of the reasons I shouldn’t, I believe in Jesus. With my inability to believe the Bible as infallible, why do I believe in Christ? Why is it Christianity that drew me through the door? Why is it, despite all of my issues with being associated with the beliefs and actions of (what the majority of the world considers to be) Christians, here I am writing an off-color blog about practicing the Christian faith? I have an answer to this question, but it is kind of simple and unsatisfying. I believe in Christ because that seems to be the direction all the signs and portents I’ve experienced point to. More importantly, no matter how pissed off I seem to get at Christians, when I think about throwing Baby Jesus out with the bathwater, it feels . . . wrong.

I compare the feeling I get when thinking of no longer believing in Jesus, while still maintaining my faith in God, to looking at a car’s engine and trying to fix a problem. I know it’s an engine, but that’s about where my understanding of its mechanics stops. That engine is very complex,  and since I’m only kind of sure what I’m looking at, I should probably not mess with it. I should probably call in a professional.

Something tells me I can’t fix one of these with pithy  comments. . .

Something tells me I can’t fix one of these with pithy comments. . .


That’s kind of how I feel about maintaining a belief in Christ. The interpretations we have of who Jesus might have been or what he was trying to teach us differs a lot from person to person. I’ve heard people that depict him like a vegan, hippy sort. I’ve heard people depict him like a biker or hunter, kind of a grizzled sort. I picture him as a dude wearing a hoodie, hanging out and enjoying being with the people around him. We have such a brief glimpse into the life of this person, all of it only ever documented in one place. It stands to reason we would compartmentalize him to be someone we could relate to. Because of that, though, we tend to put our own interpretations on his character, his actions and his words. That makes it hard to really know who he was. Be that as it may, I recognize him as important even if I don’t fully understand all the mechanics and inner workings of that importance. Given my lack of understanding, I should probably leave that alone and get a professional if something breaks with it.

So, why, if I don’t believe the Bible as a literal and infallible word of God, and if I disagree with most modern day Christians, why do I continue to associate with them? The best answer I can give is that the things I’ve felt from God and his interactions in my life are, for me, beyond doubt. When I was lost and looking for a home, God led me to Hillside – he made his stance on Jesus pretty clear. And, most importantly, despite how uncomfortable some of the things surrounding believing in Christ make me, when I think about separating that from the experiences I have, it just feels wrong.

I’ve decided to trust my instincts and my intuitions on this topic, and thus far it hasn’t done me wrong. How about you guys? Has there ever been a core tenant of your faith that you found yourself struggling to believe? Did you find it hard to keep your faith around it, or did you determine you were just getting lost in the metaphoric weeds and got over it?

Giving our commentors some sweet, sweet love.

I’ve been tempted, several times in the past, to give the occasional shout-out to comments that appear on What the Faith. I feel that, most of the time, a given post has a short shelf life (with the crazy exception of this one, which is still going pretty strong) and as a result, people often miss some pretty remarkable comments that happen near the end of a post’s conversation. Sometimes, I read a comment on this blog, and I think, “Man, that really sums it up, doesn’t it?”

I’ve not done this before, mostly because any resulting blog post would probably be pretty short, and I used to believe that a blog post of less than one thousand words was a waste of my readers’ time. But now I think, “Eh. Fuck it. My readers have time.”

So, here we go – this comment was made just today, in regards to Sunday’s post from Brandi. The topic is dealing with hypocrisy in the Christian religion, and how hard it makes it for Brandi to call herself “Christian.” We had some lovely discussion about it, but then Rev. Pete Benedict of the River Heights Vineyard dropped this truth bomb.


“Christ engaged directly with the religious hypocrites in a variety of ways. He taught directly to them, as part of the crowds following him around. He engaged them directly, challenging them to love and softer judgment. He taught crowds not to be like them, but He did so in a way that made it clear that the listeners were called to love and help those who need it. It wasn’t just denunciation, it was denunciation with a call to greater sacrificial love. So maybe the comments here are making a great, Christ-like point: The answer to religious hypocrisy is service.”


Here's Pete, looking FLOORED that he's being honored this way. AS HE SHOULD BE.

Here’s Pete, looking FLOORED that he’s being honored this way. AS HE SHOULD BE.


Yeah. Yeah, dude. Yeah.  This comment was so good, if it had a Delorean it could go back in time and erase that article from existence.

If you haven’t read the comment traffic on that post, check it out by using the link I referenced above. . . or. . . you know. . . by scrolling down through the blog. You know how the internet works; I don’t have to tell you.

Do you guys like the idea of drawing attention to our favorite comments? Or are you all like, “Yeah, dad, you told us”?

SO not a fundie, kthanx.

What does it mean to be a Christian, to you and to the people around you? How do you find a balance between what you believe and what people think you believe,  between your understanding versus  their mental associations with your faith? What do you do if your personal beliefs are drastically different from the primary tenants of what, in reality, is a small (and crazy) faction of Christianity – but one that the majority of the world fails to distinguish from the rest of your religion? How do you overcome people’s animosity toward the Christian faith as a whole when, pound for pound,  the majority of the religion’s ignorant crazies are part of the loudest and most media-focused faction of American Christianity – the Fundamentalist Christian community?

That’s been my conundrum recently. See, I find myself with this odd amalgam of beliefs in which God is central (not Christ, necessarily, but I’ll get back to that in another blog post), and I don’t buy into a lot of what most Christians consider to be fundamental beliefs one must hold to in order to be considered part of the club. Inclusion into this very exclusive club was never something I really wanted, since upon examination of the members’ handbook, they seem to tack on tons of rules and responsibilities with no tangible benefits whatsoever. In fact, doesn’t the Bible actually promise toil without reward and separation from the majority of society as a result of following God through Christ? Sure, Christians are promised eternal life, but I have yet to meet anyone who’s actually been paid out on that. All in all it seems like a pretty crappy deal, sometimes. Honestly though,  I’m still willing to explore it, but there’s still that pesky problem of these asshole fundies.

"Howdy! Come to church! You're welcome to come as you are, whether you're straight and Republican, or Republican and straight!"

“Howdy! Come to church! You’re welcome to come as you are, whether you’re straight and Republican, or Republican and straight!”

What can be said about fundies here that hasn’t already been said? They’re loud, they’re ignorant, they spout whatever crazy hate from whatever crazy verse in the Bible they want to at any given moment. Then they do stupid shit, like putting that loud, ignorant hate on loud, ignorant placards. Then people take pictures of them so we can all laugh and shake our heads.  People like me roll their eyes and say, “Thank God there’s another type of Christianity”. The rest of the world shakes its head, rolls its eyes and says ,“Christians.”

And therein lies my problem.

How do you counter that? How do you even begin a discussion about God with people who think that all Christianity looks like that? You hear your friend, neighbor, or coworker is going through some raw shit. They talk to you about it and you, wanting to be helpful but having nothing else to offer, say something like, “I’ll pray for you”.  Instantly the person you’re talking to is thinking of all the things they’ve said or done that you’re secretly judging them for. If not that, then they’re thinking of  the things they feel or believe that they’ll never tell you because they’re automatically filing you away under the mental file of, “Christian: crazy”.

Honestly, it’s enough to make a girl renounce her faith.

Well not quite, but the lack of any sort of accountability for the things fundamentalists say and do in the media  bothers me tremendously. By itself that wouldn’t be enough to make me doubt if the whole thing was worth it, but if you add to that quandary my ongoing struggle with believing in the Bible, the end result is a person who’s looking at the vast majority of Christianity going, “. . .I’m not sure I actually believe the same things these people believe.  Does that mean I can’t continue to call myself a Christian?”

So that puts me in an uncomfortable position. Neither my call to morality nor my faith in God are in question. I can never again believe that God does not exist (though I can be mad at him, which is another blog post as well). However, when I sit down and look at all the points of dissension between myself and fundamentalist Christians, and then I add to that how blatantly and proudly off-target fundies seem to have gotten from whatever it was Christ was actually trying to teach us . . . I just find it really hard to swallow the idea of being in any way associated with them.

"Thanks for paying attention, idiots."

“Thanks for paying attention, idiots.”

Does that mean I want to give up my faith? Previous suggestions to the contrary, no, I don’t think so. My faith is more than what people think of me, or how other people act out beliefs that are similar to mine. Faith is very personal. That said, I fight with this regularly, because it’s hard for me to separate what I believe from what people think I believe. In a world where image and brand are paramount, how separate can those two things really be? I know I’m not a prejudiced asshole – have other issues, certainly, but exclusion isn’t one of them. But if everyone else in the world thinks I am a prejudiced asshole, and I’m reacted to and treated accordingly, does it matter what I really am?

I doubt I’m the only one with this issue. I think that until we, the reasonable and rational Christians, stand up and get as loud (though not as ignorant, please) as the people who are damaging the whole of Christianity’s brand (while making the devil laugh and dance with every word), we will continue to lose my generation. If we don’t find some way to reclaim ourselves and our image as people of love and charity, there are tons of people who are making the decision I didn’t, and join the ranks of “the nones”. If you haven’t yet heard about “the nones”, you can do so here – and you might want to, because that’s the future the church is facing if we continue our current course.

On behalf of all of the people struggling with the issues I’m struggling with, and I’d put money on the fact that there are thousands. . .  Christians, we have to do better. We have to; we have no choice. I don’t know what that means, but we can’t keep letting the ignorant, narcissistic assholes in our community separate us forever from people who would make wonderful Christians if they could only see we weren’t all hate-filled monsters like Marc Monte.

So, long story short, I don’t know what to do. Do we give up entirely and make up some new faith that allows us to separate ourselves from that tarnished image forever? Do we make our own placards and signs, organize our own rallies and try to beat those Westboro Baptist Church douche bags at their own game? I don’t know. I don’t have the answers. I’m sure I’m far from the only budding Christian who’s ever wondered what the hell they were doing being associated with these crazy people. I don’t have the answers for this query, except that I know that something needs be done, and Christians. . . I’m sorry, but I’m afraid the responsibility to hold our own people accountable to a higher standard falls on us. If we don’t do it, someone else will do it, but in passing the buck we do more damage to our image.  If ongoing scandals within the Catholic Church show us anything, it’s that people are very unforgiving when it comes to large, powerful organizations that don’t police their own for misconduct. The world needs to see that we’re not all crazy, and that we’re willing to call out our own when they are.

What do you think? Is there more that we, as a community, can do to take accountability for the hatred and ignorance within our ranks? Do your non-Christian associates think less of you because of the tarnished “brand” your faith has earned?

This conversation really happened – a WTFaith Quickie

Last night, at What the Faith National Headquarters in Minneapolis, MN, the follow exchange was recorded by nobody.


Me – “You must think I’m Jesus, and I feel like walking.”

Brandi – “. . . . . . why?”

Me – “Because you sure are riding my ass.”


I'll be here all week.

I’ll be here all week.


“Yeah, and I’ma da Pope!” – A WTFaith Quickie

My favorite pontiff, personally.

My favorite pontiff, personally.

I know I’m not a Catholic (he said with some certaintly) and I get the impression that most of my readers aren’t Catholic, either (he said with less certainty), but I’m gonna throw my two cents into the ring here (he said, mixing metaphors). I’m kinda feeling this new Pope. I mean yeah, he’s against gay-marriage, and yeah, he’s against birth control, but. . . I mean, were we expecting something else? I would have been flattened by surprise if the Holy See had elected a Unitarian Universalist. Let’s take what we can get, people.

Why do I like this new Pope?

1) He’s named himself after the awesome St. Francis of Assisi. ‘Nuff said.

2) He’s 50% less white than your Regular Pope!

3) He chose not to receive his election on the Papal Throne, or wear most of the Papal Bling that comes with the job. A humble pontiff? Surely, you must be joking.

Não, e não me chame de Shirley.

Não, e não me chame de Shirley.

4) He looks like Jonathon Price!

How do you feel about the new Pope? Is it “All hail the new Pontiff, same as the Old Pontiff?” Or are we going to see some (incredibly incrimental) change in the Big Church?