by Paul Manocchio

My well intentioned grandmother's premeditation worked as predicted. A charismatic radio personality asserting himself, to be a spiritual healer, the personal idol of my grandmother would finally get the chance, he had considered for some time. I was only twelve years old and significantly skeptical. My brother was seven years old, sitting beside me, wearing a mask of protective fear, to hide a deeper fear for what the so-called healer was about to do to me.

The radio personality now self-ordained spiritual healer approached my atrophied, lifeless legs. My brother and I had been escorted to the living room of the preacher's ranch style house. A one story weathered house, was camouflaged by the shadows of two ageless oak trees and discreetly tucked behind a meticulously manicured foreground of a small dark-wooded Salem-looking church; his house was barely visible from the street.

After spending the summer of my tenth year in a body cast after an operation to put my right leg back into my hip socket, I wore one long leg brace and one short leg brace. Enduring Spina Bifida, and walking with an exaggerated lateral gait, my leg bone was opening my hip socket. On the surface, I was a healing preacher's dream: a boy with a birth defect and a grandmother who thought that the day began and ended within the power of this preacher. Beneath the surface the pseudo-shaman's frivolity mesmerized my mother's mother while insulting my reluctantly seasoned still pre-teen curiosity.

My parents went on holiday for the weekend and served my brother and I to the thoughtful and passionate hands of my grandmother, who promised (my brother and myself) and a friend each, a day of fun at Magic Mountain on Saturday, if my brother and I went to her church, with her on Sunday. My brother and I dismissed the nature of time and set our sights on Saturday. However, like death and taxes Sunday came all too soon.

Attending church as a family had ended even before my first communion. I did get my first communion, but getting our family together to attend church on Sunday mornings was a chore that my mother, surrendered too. My father spoke aggressively and condescendingly whenever the subject of religion surfaced. He spoke strongly and logically of biblical contradictions and a reverent condemnation of and by the church. My brother and my desires for Sundays were cartoons or sports; my mother was fighting an uphill battle when she requested, with a certain level of conviction, that we attend Catholic Mass. She was asking us to attend the service that my father would curse, as they called his boys sinners, when they had not done anything wrong and the same service that would ask it parishioners to live by standards set by words written hundreds of years after the proclaimed author died and had been edited in time and politically or economically motivated hands. After visiting my grandmother's church, the subject of religion rarely came up in our home.

The deceptively titled “Church of the Good Neighbor” was my grandmother's church. She had attended this church and served in addition to her regular job as a secretary, as the preacher's publicist, secretary and fund-raising coordinator for many years before my brother and I found ourselves, preciously perched before its old scary leader.

Sunday morning service started early, as my grandmother tended to many duties and pre-service rituals. She sat in a beige hooded robe in the front row with a more than a handful of other ladies, who seemed to be close to the same echelon in the hierarchy of his harem. My brother and I sat a few rows back, on the outer aisle, close enough to see my hooded grandmother but desperately submerged in a sea of senior citizens.

The preacher emerged from behind the pulpit and stared down onto his followers. His face transposed from frightening into a fiery contorted purpose. He took vicious hold of the wooden podium, leaned forward almost over the first few pews and started to splurge and spray his script with venomous intent. A collective retreating lean by the congregation pushed me back into the pad-less, varnished wood bench. We held onto our seats, as we were not sure which way this religious roller coaster ride was going to take us.

His sermon went on, filled with guilt-ridden accusations and conveniently composed anecdotes that led those falling for the fable to a deeper conviction (delusion) of his blessed and privileged connection to their creator. For those present and still with one foot planted in reality, his message was lost in the fervor of his delivery. The peasants sat motionless as the preacher reached the peak of his performance and as quickly as he appeared, dissolved in to the curves of the curtains behind him. We all took what I thought was our first breathe in more than an hour. My grandmother moved for the first time; turned and gave us a big smile. Her expression did not change at all, when she glared at our eyes, stuck wide open and or mouths agape with bemusement.

My brother and I were obliged to help where my grandmother asked (which wasn't that bad). However, after the hour or so long service, we had to help sell home-made cookies and wait while my grandmother spoke to most who attended. Our patience was further tested as we waited while my grandmother, considered the needs of the narcissistic con man of the cloth. Sunday service at the Church of the Good Neighbor was an all day affair.

After all the parishioners were home and the other church dignitaries finished their chores and left, my grandmother brought my brother and me to the Preacher's haunting hideaway. I sat across from him knee to knee and told me that he was going to put his hands on my legs and send his energy to my legs, so that I might walk. I could see the flim-flam flagging across his eyes and was not fearful in the least. The confidence for my sensitive conclusion soared when he said that I would have to come to his house twice a week, for the next several weeks (If I was to be cured.) Never the less, he was going to wage his whimsical wares on me; so that at best it impressed and satisfied my grandmother's well intentioned and sincere faith.

The sleepy town circus shaman's outstretched hands seized my knees and shook them for a length of time, I thankfully fail to recall, only to add it was not long enough to truly make a difference good or bad, and not so long to breach my level of uncomfortable. What it did accomplish was a scene so filled with emotion; it was etched into my brother's mind. So powerful was the tension, and mysterious his intentions, the first thing my brother said, to my dad upon my parent's return was, “Dad! Grandma took us to church on Sunday and this creepy man grabbed hold of his legs (pointing to me) to try to make him walk.”

My father rarely raised his voice but when he heard what my brother said, he raised his voice. He and my grandmother went into the other room and had a conversation that changed the course of our relationship with my grandmother and our relationship with religion.

We were never left with my grandmother for a weekend again. We never went to church, short of weddings or funerals. If religion was discussed it was Judaism, as most of the families on our street and most of the kids that we went to school with were Jewish. Our conversation about Judaism was short and always circumstantial. It was either a discussion of why we had to go to school when the rest of the children in the neighborhood stayed home on Jewish holidays or when and where was the next bar mitzvahs. I went to more bar mitzvahs and spent many more hours in a temple watching my friends read and sing from the Torah than I sang hymns or heard gospels of the Bible. I never felt any loss. In fact, I was thankful that I did not have to listen to the rhetoric, rules and remarks. I tried to be respectful in the temples but the yamica kept falling off my head. To me a bar mitzvah was just an occasion for parents to spend an increasing large amount of money, so that their son or daughter could receive presents from everyone they knew and many that they did not.

On the odd occasion that I would have to go to church, I found it interesting as some of the couples were getting married in a place they never attended, before a man they only knew for the moment. The soon to be wedded-couple would request the services of someone they did not know from Adam to preside over the state sanctioned legally bonding union that in California is about honorable as the newspaper that warms those who have been discarded by society. From what I could see for the right amount of money and a few obligatory classes, the church would marry almost anyone, as long as they said they believe. (You had to say you believe.)

Until the end of high school, I did not think of religion as a positive or negative. I never thought of religion as a force or source of knowledge or conviction. I just never gave it a thought. Until one of my friend's father died because he had appendicitis and would not accept medical care, as they were Christian Scientists.

Community college and a philosophy class began to bend the untouched building blocks of my mind. I began to wonder about the great questions. I began to contemplate in only the deepest recesses of my mind, but lacked the academic background or real life exposure to have the confidence to say any thing to the contrary of what was, commonly considered.

The gates of university life opened and my lazy attention to free thought changed dramatically. College was and I hope (because I think that is all that is left) still is the time and place to explore life and living and the limits and boundlessness of artistic, academic and economic imagination. Where group thinking conformists, free thinking intellectuals, writers and readers, money motivated narrow minded capitalists, vegetarian children of the universe, nationalist (both tolerant and intolerant of the human condition), global newspaper reading critics and humanistic hands assemble to process what was, understand what is and shape that which will be.

A liberal minded university in the center of politically and socially conservative community would become the pallet for the canvas of my character. My roommate in a dorm where alcohol ran from the tap and alternative and traditional rock took the paint off the stucco was a devout catholic. My roommate and his family filled out their election practice ballots together, the night before Election Day. While he was a great roommate and still a friend some 20 years later, his limitless conviction for his faith was the source of many late night debates. These debates were great cognitive exercises, as they required a singleness of focus and an extended range of consciousness. Still a rookie in the game of freethinking, I was exploring my own definitions for the great questions, defending what I thought was right, while formulating my own conclusions.

These discussions examined further challenges, as my definitions disturbed most. I quickly found arguments with an amalgam of antagonists dedicated to cause devouring lack of spirit. When my confidence inclined, I took the part of the protagonist, pronouncing a position that may have tempted the edges of my definitions, just to wrinkle the white sheets of their blind faith. Actively listening to their w(h)ooly pretext, I walked further and further away from their light, leaving myself far short of believing that a man, born some 2000 years ago, without a mortal father, lived as a toddler, a young child and a teen without detail, distinction and distraction. Then well into his adult years, for a documented time of three years, rose to be a god, a maker of miracles, whose destiny decided our fate. The same man told all who would listen, that fate of all mankind was in his word, his life and his death. He told his followers, those who were disgraced, by his conviction would kill him, but his death would save his dissenters and the rest of mankind for time eternal, as they were and all others, born forever as sinners. To comprehend this man, who claimed direct connection to a creator, a single person who could carry the word and the spirit that would be the salvation, would let himself be sacrificed in the purest form of man's inhumanity to man, clearly contradicted his claim of love for all mankind. To prove his connection the believers proclaims that he did something no one had done before or since. The believers say he came back from the grave for a brief time to prove to those who followed his word so closely, that he was truly the spirit of a creator, instead of using his grace to diffuse the rising tumult and lead the ignorant to enlightenment.

My opportunity to believe and follow his word was further challenged when I heard that he authored his autobiography and the history of the creation of the earth and its inhabitants, (comprising of thousands of years of creations and procreation) by a mortal hand written series of documents, some two hundred to four hundred years after his climatic passing. Even if you believe that; these writers were divinely inspired by their fallen prophet, humans with all their flaws, distractions and motivations wrote the words. The opportunity for interpretation and the temptation to editorialize would have challenged their desire and faith.

My thought provoking discussions about religion with my roommate were further fueled by a Utopian Literature class and regular attendance at the bottom of the “Free Speech Steps.” In the Utopia-Literature class, the professor captained a literary and philosophical journey through a sea of books that changed the course of time and human behavior. Most of the time teetering on the fence, I agreed and disagreed with each paradigm professed; accepting the good, questioning the bad, as each exposed the other. Most importantly, I found neither literary genius, ancient or modern philosopher had the market on what or who the way and the light, (the best of them admitted it.) This class, its presentation and debate of unique and diverse intellects, embracing the welcoming nature of the ever growing possibilities, forged a spirit once drenched in questions, towards an always bending optimistic journey, providing many answers to the same questions, stimulating my own perceptions and conclusions. To someone who was skeptical about Christian origins and ancient living standards this class flipped the switch to enlightenment.

My journey to enlightenment would not be that easy. While going to class or heading home, I would cross the path of the “Free Speech Steps” on campus. Most days students would sit, eat, read, study or chat on these steps that lead to the campus center. On certain occasions, a crowd would gather around a brave soul who, filled with passion and conviction for any number of topics, would stand and proclaim for all their wisdom. While religion was the hot topic on the “Free Speech Steps,” at some point or another every view, every conclusion or notion that scattered the popular, cultural or eclectic scene was barked from this tiered soapbox. I usually came onto the scene after the speaker had sufficiently angered the growing crowd. Excusing myself to the front, I would listen with great intent and hope that the taunting tempers would not lead to the need to use violence as a vehicle to sway any opposition. There was no quick escape from the front of an angry mob, but the voice of free expression charged by an inner obligation to enlighten, was magnetic.

Religion; the beginning, the end and all the road in between, was the topic that gathered the greatest crowds, heard the greatest noise and provoked the greatest ponderance. I would listen mostly, agreeing with each side that posed Christian positions as illogical. Yet still a sliver of doubt, would flex my heartstrings, toward creationism, depending on how the believer posed and defined their arguments. I would not engage in these mob-style meetings of the mind. Furthermore, consuming the best of both sides without a comprehensive edict or probable diversion from the considered text made me shark bait for the believers. Less than adequately equipped to support my blossoming perceptions, I sat pensive in the center of the circle.

As small as I felt and an uncomfortable it was to observe one person being intellectually besieged, by an assemblage of people not afraid to challenge and be challenged, was the realization of what I imagined university life would be.

Gatherings that molded my meanings and the most intriguing mashing of the minds came at the site and sound of a brave soul, standing and expounding endlessly of her evidence and sincere belief, against the existence of God. These were the angriest gathering. These heated deliberations were the most perplexing. One side one would argue the inconsistencies of the ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary document, the contradictions of Jesus' motivations and God's egotistical nature. On the other side, the multitudes would argue faith in divine intervention, compassionate or vengeful feats of earthly impossibility. It was a volatile mixture.

The atheist spoke of the insensitivity of a god who supposedly compassionately sacrificed his only son to atone for the sins of man and the fate of the world. The same god, then and since allows birth defects, war, disasters of 'mother nature', mental derangement that results in murder, disease and violence that steal the best that mankind has to offer. The same god shows a lack of understanding that inhibits most from living a life worth living. The believer would say that their god was a god of war as well as a god of love. They would go on to say that their god was a god that allowed free will of man, (forgetting what they pledged in baptism, the believer ask their god to be; the master and ruler of every man's life.) That their life and the lives of all who believe, are planned, destiny determined. Such destiny would egotistically glorify him and be such that the person would be worthy of entrance beyond the pearly gates of heaven.

It was usually a bitter and sometimes shameful debate. The atheist would say you cannot be a god of love so thoughtful and caring for the welfare of the human race that you would sacrifice the life of your son and be the dictate and designer of evils. The believer would respond that it is his way: one, which we may not understand but must find confidence in his all knowing wisdom and greater plan. The argument was heated to say the least. The non-believer was the only one who extended the least amount of courtesy for the ignorant thoughtless conclusions, which have been the concern of mankind, as long she could think.

Discussions continued when the atheist pondered aloud how, a being so selfless that she would sacrifice a child to save and protect so many more, could ever be so blatantly condescending and aggressively egotistical. Believers shouting from the circle could not listen when the atheist suggested that this concept of living for the glory of their god was born of the idol worship of those who penned the chapters of the ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary document. The believers shouted louder when the atheist continued with declaration of the human element, who had and took the opportunity to shift and sway its people and economy, editing and re-editing the original text of the ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary document.

When these passionate speakers met on the free speech steps at my university it was the exposure to the intellectual free thinking that I had hope for and how every student, should be exposed? The purest form of learning where which the student processed background knowledge, comprehended and compounded a complex notion, considered its abstract and practical tendencies and exchanged all that could be consumed into a brand new synthesized supposition. Unfortunately many walked away frustrated; one side chose not to believe and the other, stifled by it source.

After university I rarely found myself in the position to defend my position. On occasion I landed in a scene similar to those debates on the free speech steps. I would try to present my logical points but was usually chopped down by a pack of intolerant believers, who had not the capacity to consider anything beyond the binding or between the lines of an ancient document that created many more questions than it ever intended to answer.

The believers would proudly claim that his god believed that terminating a pregnancy was murder, that war is an acceptable tool, proponents of the death penalty, also insisting that suicide is a sin, which redirects a victim to perpetual torture, (without realizing the blatant contradictions.) Blindly the believer preaches against logic. Too many become aware of these illogical conclusions, when one of their own falls into any one of the aforementioned, completions.

Believers accept the death penalty with an amount of righteousness and fighting sometimes violently against abortion in the same breath. Atheists scoff and say where is the holy compassion. How can they approve of the state killing a man for a crime or killing men in a war, but insist on bringing an unwanted, or deformed baby into the world, because life is precious. Compassion is traded for faith in a vengeful being; logic is traded for a promise.

As a disabled person there have been countless occasions where those who could not help disciple to those they felt were less fortunate would corner me, requesting my allegiance, asking if I know their god, wanting to know if I had asked to be healed. Then in an egotistical expression, profess to know what is right for me because it was right for them. Being a polite person for the most part, I allow them their expression, putting aside for the moment that while their intentions are good, they are at the same time telling me that I am not as good as they are. The people who listen in their church, to the lesson of discipleship and charge out into the community are looking for a stronger ticket to heaven. They would see me, and hope that I did not possess a militant attitude and approached. Unfortunately, few cared for my feelings, as theirs were more important. Few realized that by singling me out of the crowd to “save” was like saying the rest can find their way but this sad soul needs a helping hand. No one would ever conjure up the notion that for a person who has been disabled all of her life, it is hard to swallow the idea that some consciousness, who is known to be the very essence of love, somewhere sometime determined this life for you.

To a certain extent, I cannot blame them, as they do not know what is like to be disabled. In fact, few disabled people will be honest with anyone who would slow down to listen about how difficult it is. It is like asking the athlete how she feels when she has just won the sport's greatest prize, and the athlete struggles to respond. If you do not know how they feel at that point, you will never understand any explanation.

All in the instance of victory, the athlete recalls the years of pre-dawn bitter cold and or wet mornings that started their day. They remember the hours of practicing the same skill, the sore muscles, the injuries, the sleepless nights from over training, the losses from under-training. The athlete who stands before the world victorious at the peak of their athletic performance remember when asked how they feel, they think of their sacrifices of diet, dates, dances, socializing, being away from home to compete or train, the pain that is felt from giving your all and the pain that comes when you fall. In the instance of victory, that is how they feel. If you do not know, you will never understand.

Similar is the question that has been asked many times, “How it feels to be in a wheelchair?” You would get an encyclopedia of answers, and maybe just maybe someone will tell you; what it feels like to know that you cannot get into a house, restaurant, hotel or stadium seating because there are stairs. You might hear what it feels like when you have to be carried, onto a plane (and if there is an aisle chair carried to the restroom.) I doubt you will hear what it is like to be carried or dragged out to a campfire at a beach picnic, then to know whereever you are set down or stopped, is where you will stay for the duration of the party (and hope you do not have to go to the bathroom). Maybe the person answering your question will tell you how it feels when, after being invited to a friend's house, calling to see if the entrance and bathroom in the house is accessible. The friend shares an enthusiastic yes; only to find that there are stairs to the front and only one step in the back door. Unfortunately, to get to the back door, you must go through the side of the house and they have to move half the stuff they are storing. Once past the garbage cans, storage shed and a scattering of broken toys and garden tools, you find the step so high it takes all the strong men at the party to get you in; who, in turn help you leave early, as the bathroom door of the beautiful old home is so narrow most perambulators enter turning one shoulders a bit forward or backward. And even fewer will tell you the truth about the woes of boy friends, girl friends, dating or even being considered a sexual being as it is far too embarrassing to openly realize.

I will not bore you with retelling each account where which the message of the “good news” has been presented to me as most share a common presentation and similar vocabulary. I would like to share two occasions that define the perplexing nature of such an encounter.

For about approximately seven years, as part of the courtroom staff I worked in the downown county court house. The floor where I worked lacked a staff bathroom so I had to use the public restroom. This was a problem until I asked the maintinance guy to remove the door from one on the stalls, so that I in my wheelchair could get to the toilet. Once removed the entrance to the toilet was accessible without the privacy of a door. Privacy is not a priority when it makes the difference between enjoying the luxury of using the restroom. Until the moment when privacy would be appreciated.

That time came one day when I was sitting on the toilet doing and minding my own business. A gentleman walked in and stood at the urinal (a partition separated the toilet from the urinal) to my left. Without a hello or any conventional bathroom small talk, the man asks me (as I am the only other person in the room) “Do you know God?” I stalled, in a pregnant pause hoping a silent message would be sent and received, as I was rather annoyed. These numerous confrontations challenging my relationship with their god was now breaching my personal time and space, in a bit more intimate fashion than it regularly does. The message was not received. “Excuse me sir. Do you know God?” I knew from experience that it was to my advantage to say “yes” even though I did not know their god. I have said “no” in the past and the astonishment and argument is barely escapable.

I was still sitting on the toilet and this gentleman finished his business, washed his hand and began his sermon. I told him I believed, but that was not enough for him, he felt as many feel that they are here to share the “Good News.” He then went to a new level of discipleship and boldly forged ahead without caring how I felt. He turned, faced me sitting on the sink of the restroom, directly across from me sitting on the toilet.

Being a compassionate soul and rarely confrontational, I sat and listened in awe of his delusion. Other men came and went and the messenger continued to preach from the bathroom sink to whom he thought was lost, to whom he felt was someone so far away from him in status of being a person that he could not and would not give me the dignity that the moment would otherwise request. After more minutes than most would have afforded him, I interrupted his blind passion, thanked him for his wisdom and asked if I could have a little time to myself. He added a few finishing, intrusive, and fear motivated pious directions and was finally on his way.

(I went back into the courtroom and said to my colleagues, “You will never believe what happened to me.”)

My life long connection to those blessed or cursed with religious fervor continues with a story that started after a wedding. I left the wedding reception hall in search of my car in the parking lot. It was night and a car with its headlights on facing me, as I was unlocking the door of my car. A voice rang out from the direction of the light and asked “Do you teach at --------Middle School?” I said 'yes' before I knew whom it was, as the wedding that I had attended was for a teacher who works at the school I used to work at.

Silhouetted by the bright headlights a large woman emerged. She continued, “You taught my step niece.” I recognized the name and quickly recognized the women as the student's pseudo aunt. We spoke briefly as to why each were at this location and she explained that she was here listening to a man who was presenting his religious wisdom. It was at this point I knew I was in trouble. I had already shared some of the struggles I was enduring. Knowing these struggles, she asked if she could pray for me. I said “Sure and thank you.” Thinking that she meant she would pray for me when she prayed on her own time. I was wrong. She said she wanted to lay her hands on me and pray for me at that very moment. She noticed my un-comfortableness and tried to assure me that it would just take a moment.

In the dark and in the parking lot my only thought was that if I am polite and let this women pray for me I feared my friends still in the wedding would see me and never let me forget it. The women said it would be quick, so I remained polite and gave way to her request. As soon as I gave the OK, she put her hands on both of my shoulders and leaned into me. Her head was over mine, her hair was draping both sides of my head and any closer and I would have been buried in her extending cleavage. Now the later condition might not have been so bad under different auspices, however, the longer she prayed, the more my focus was directed away from her. As her words repeated and led to detail, I focused on the chances that this scene would be an embarrassing story in the wrong eyes. When the women released me from her biblical bondage and tattering of tongues I was glad to find that no one I knew was in sight.

I share these two experiences so that my position may find deeper understanding. Then I read as I write to see, the depth of the impact of these experience on my examination of those who have forced their good news on me lacks the breath of which I wish to convey. If these two experiences were the only two experiences my profound displeasure and disrespect for the source would be without merit. Yet, if my forty-five year old life were a journal, the pages would be scattered with a splattering of the same stories featuring different characters in scenes of living color, demanding my dedication to delusion that delights them. Scribbled in the margins of my journal are the notes that illustrate the condescension that punctuates these encounters and the clear selfishness that motivates the intrusion.

While working at the courthouse and later as a schoolteacher, religion did not make an impact in my life. The same public encounters continue happen, but because of their continued self-centered nature and their semi-regular occurrence I did not equate them to religious connections, I connected them to insensitive situations that I wished would cease. I do not walk up to strangers and ask them if they believe in god, then ask why and intrude on their privacy to tell them that I feel that they are wrong. With my disdain for these instances came many questions as to why they had to infuse their beliefs onto me, while I did not have the intention or motivation to infuse my beliefs onto them. I was perplexed for some time.

Entering my mid forties and becoming more comfortable with teaching, I was allowing myself more time to think about life and my place in it. On a non-significant early summer night, a certain familiar depression was peaking. The phone rarely rang, as everyone I knew was married with children. As a result of the time needed at home to complete my job I rarely saw the friends that I felt the closest too. I did not have a friend that I could call or would call that would to simply say, “I want to go (somewhere) let's go.” I did not have a friend that might just show up, walk in the door and sit down, and hang out without a word needed to be spoken. Everyone had someone. Everyone had someone to walk through their journey and share his or her passion and fear. I had my family, but I as all of us, was looking for more.

On this particular evening, I was speaking to my brother who was by chance telling me of the great works and great personalities that he was enjoying at the church he and his family were going to. Any consideration of joining him and his family at church was against everything I believed to be right and true, but I felt myself desperate, lonely and on a speeding train away from feeling anything. I asked a silly question. My brother's wife had extended the invitation to me to join them, for many years. I asked my brother if I could join them at their church. (Thinking that I would find some new friends, without the intention that I would ever change my belief system, but open to learning the history shared in the Bible.) I would go to church the next weekend and start a two and half year tour of Christianity.

In the right emotional place to absorb a charismatic preacher and a sincere welcome from the congregation this decision sustained my initial goals. Sermons contained an interesting combination of biblical history, scriptural direction and modern day application. In my weakened state the answers to complicated questions were simple, and the rhetoric was reasonable. Mostly though the people were polite and respectful, seemed sincere when they greeted me and asked of my welfare when I missed a service.

I felt like I was a part of something, gave my time volunteering a few times and went to extracurricular activities. With a professional respect to the intimate and inspirational leader of the church, I felt his knowledge, preparation and presentation was worthy of compensation. I tithed handsomely in comparison to the many who gave nothing. The preacher spiritually and verbally divided those who tithed and raised those who did, from those who did not.

As my level of comfort was rising to unperceived heights, I followed the preacher's calling for the year and joined a 'life group.' Life group was just deceptive vernacular for bible study. I considered it a chance to meet more people and maybe learn more about the literature that is the Bible. This attempt to make more friends was the nudge that generated the tumble and fall.

This life group was comprised of couple nice ladies, one man struggling with his post divorced life, the group leader (once a preacher's kid) and myself. The leader and I clashed without words. Most of the time, I would relate biblical lesson with my life experiences that he may seem to be jealous of. However, the argument that we had that left a bad taste in my mouth was when the church organized a night to go to a Dodger game. My group was planning to go. I told them that it was fine with me if they went to the game, but I would not be able to go because I could not get to the seats that the church reserved. The seats were in the left field bleachers at Dodger Stadium. There was a long flight of stairs to get to the first row of stadium seating and there was not an elevator to this level. The leader of the group decided that I had to be wrong. He insisted that it was the law that they have an elevator to all the seats. He insisted that it was the law that there needed to be accessibility everywhere. I assured him of the correctness of my information, as I have gone to Dodger Stadium hundreds of times and knew that there was not an elevator that could take me to this level of the leftfield bleachers.

This argument was without volume, but came with purpose. The leader of the group insisted that there be an elevator because it was the law. He said again that people in wheelchairs have to be able to get to each area of any public facility. I tried to enlighten him of such discriminations and could reference many places that did not comply. He as the leader of our group and had to be the expert on everything and denied my expertise. His insulting approach pushed me down further when he said he would conduct his own investigation on the subject. I politely represented that if I were mistaken I would thankfully acknowledge my mistake. I wanted to go to the game with them. However, I knew I was right. The following week he came and rather softly and mixed in with other life group business, he said that he called the stadium and found that there was no elevator in the bleachers. I did not respond, but could not forget that he would not let me be an expert on something that directly affects my life.

Later in the course of our life group term, I asked the same leader if he could write a letter of recommendation for me, as I was applying to a school that would upon completion, award me with the proper certificate to teach English abroad. My life group leader said he would ask the church advisors. He came back the next week and he said that he would only be able to write a letter of recommendation after I went and had a meeting with his supervisor (one of the church pastors). I felt this was odd, as I wanted a letter from the person who knew me best, the leader of the life group. I could not understand why one of the leaders of the church wanted to talk to me when I did not ask for a letter from him and he did not know me. I concluded that he probably wanted me to join the church's membership.

If that was the case I felt a bit betrayed. I was going to church every weekend and generously tithing and they could not write a letter that share with the university that I was a regular member in good standing. Besides I could have never joined the church, one of the rituals upon joining was baptism. The baptismal was large enough that each member was totally submerged. The architecture of the baptismal was such that two short flights of opposing stairs kept it from being a possibility for me.

On two Easter Sunday's I volunteered to assist at the service before the one my brother's family and I would attend. During one season of the performance of the Passion Play I volunteered to help usher people to their seats. When it came time to acknowledge the volunteers with a party, an invitation never reached my email or mailbox. However, I did not volunteer to get a party, so while this did not sit well, I was still attending.

The country was leading to a general election; the sermons were becoming increasingly political. It was at this time that I began to feel anything but welcomed. The preacher would use the term that would identify my political and social thinking in a derogatory way. He would speak of the demise of organizations that protected the rights of all to freedom of speech. I even spoke (though only loud enough for my brother and sister-in-law to hear) when the preacher changed the L in ACLU to the word Liberal and used it a derogatory way.

On too many occasions, the preacher spoke in support of war as an acceptable option for our government to keep peace and spread freedom. Most offensively he communicated with clever vocabulary and speech patterns that touched the congregation in ways that they clearly understood, that this was his way of telling everyone how he would vote and how he wished everyone else to vote. This attempt was a great insult to my intelligence. The preacher did not think well enough of the congregation that they would vote for what they thought was right. The preacher showed that he was not confident that the congregation was intelligent enough to comprehend the greater conflicts of our time and draw conclusions that would exhibit the greatest good for the greatest number of people so he professed his own opinions. Then to his own contradiction, those who chose to connect the sermon that told us that god had a plan for his people and the world. If that is so that any effort to change the course of our own lives through our right and freedom to vote comes with value when the results will be god's will. As the preacher said God's will, will be done.

Too often too many contradictions filtered into the repeating agendas. One day the preacher would preach that all we had to do to get into heaven was have faith in god and his love and power, to deliver us from evil (the crowd would cheer.) Then few weeks later he would preach that, faith was not enough, salvation must come through works, works that prove faith and glorify god and his church. It is not enough to be honest, help your neighbor, be charitable and serve others. You must serve the church, tithe, attend regularly and volunteer. The preacher spoke many times in a derogatory way against those Christians who only attended services on holidays. Christian leaders speaking condescendingly against believers of a lesser degree was common and disgraceful.

At the same time as the coming election I joined another life group, as the first one dissolved. I joined the life group that my brother and sister-in-law were leading. I had met some of the members of their group and they seemed to be a lively, comfortable and friendly group of people. I joined the group and found the same to be true. The group numbered 11 and the people were friendly. Our weekly meetings were filled with thoughtful sessions of sharing, great snacks and growing friendships.

I was glad to be part of the group even though I did not agree with them on most social issues. They were in favor of the current war and (as the preacher pronounced) war as a political and sociological option. At the same time, they were against abortion. I would not use the term Pro-Life as how could you be pro-life when killing in war was acceptable. They would argue that life was so precious no one should have the legal right to end a pregnancy because they would be killing a life. However, it was OK to kill thousands of people who did not attack our nation, in some foreign land and kill thousands of our own citizens, because of our president's lack of foreign intelligence and knowledge of social studies. The people of my group were so nationalistic they would suggest that America was right most of the time with the only moral conscience. Without saying the words exactly, they suggested that the United States of America should govern the world and decide what all that other countries should or should not have. They felt it was our right to go to any country and take away what America thought they should not have.

On the subject of abortion, the group concluded that those babies born (if abortion was deemed illegal) and not wanted by the mothers could go up for adoption. The support for this notion dominated the conversation and clouded their vision. At present, the line of children waiting to be adopted is many times longer than the line of parents who want to adopt. If abortion were made illegal the line of babies waiting to be adopted would lengthen exponentially. Moreover, a notion that would not have sat well with the group is that; while I think life is so precious and so precious that I sometimes cry when I think of the home life of some of my students, I believe from experience that every life is not worth living.

The group and I did not agree about gay marriages. They knew in their heart of hearts, that it was wrong. Their ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work (A.Q.A.N.E.L.W.) tells them so. The A.Q.A.N.E.L.W. tells them that a marriage is between a man and a woman. The same Christian will tell you without research or investigation that living life as a gay man or lesbian women is a choice that they made and had the free will to make the right choice. Yet, I wonder, who in their right mind would make such a choice unless it was an instinctive selection. Who would elect, especially in this country, to have a disability or to be of any other skin color but white, if given a choice. The United States of America is filled with prejudice, laced with intolerance and the nonsensically violent. Why would anyone who has the chance to choose to fit the mold and live life as member in good standing, forego that. Christians believe that gay men and lesbian women choose a life as a second class citizen, scorned, without the freedoms others enjoy. Christians believe that those living homosexual lifestyles, lives without the same legal rights and facing the unwritten stigma that will keep them from climbing every social and corporate ladder is a decision they considered to be promising direction. If so then they further think that those people who are living homosexual life styles are not always wondering what people think and who is using their lives as fuel for their insensitive humor and mean spirited verbal abuse, for the sake of their own promotion. Christians believe that with the knowledge of the ridicule and revolt, homosexuals make a cognitive and calculated decision for a life that they see as a clear and sensible approach towards fulfillment. No one would choose a life of ridicule and revolt.

If those intolerants let themselves see children presenting early evidence of such tendencies, so early that they cannot articulate them, they may understand that like heterosexuals, the decision is in their creation (DNA). Heterosexual people do not have an epiphany and say, "Today I decided to be a heterosexual!" They just are. It is a feeling that has not a definition only origin. Christians should understand such a concept, as it is the sub-title of every holy marquee. Sexuality, homo, hetero, bi, or trans, comes from the same place where biological and anthropological paths is planned. Christianity's attempt to suppress and or ignore it is greater evidence that they could have, may have, and probably did editorialize so-called scriptures to contour control from chaos, as it would benefit those composing the culture.

In as much as it would deny the American society and Christianity have created these notions of choice, in their own ignorance. There comes a time in the lives of homosexuals that they announce to their families and the world that they are indeed homosexual. These announcements do not mark the time they decided to be homosexual. These announcements are significant for the numbers of those living such a life, as they are still small in comparison to those living as heterosexuals. However, the significance of these announcements has been misconstrued by the intolerants. The intolerants are so many and so loudly and physically adverse to any alternative lifestyle, that those who are designed to it, hide and deceive the world around them. Until their confidence is great enough to defend themselves against the close-minded, white washed-television dictated, sublime American society that are further in the closet about their feelings for god, religion and alternative lifestyles than they will ever care to admit.

The mean, close-minded quasi biblical connoisseur preaches with such a heavy hand that any individual who seeks to be his own is cornered, by those led by the fears pronounced in their ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work.

More often than not, the preacher would preach a sermon on believing in God to those who came every Sunday. He would speak on believing to the believers and they would shout out interrupting his words with spiritual expressions of loyalty, concurrence, consensus, harmony and conformity. The longer I attended the more I would hear the same sermon led off of a different quote or storyline from their ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work. There was little to challenge my mind. Selective and scarce historical background mixed in with the moral to any dilemma was simply and passively believed in a story that was written almost two thousand years ago by many authors and editors who had ulterior motives, about a man who lived and died, who told great stories which included the performance of great miracles and his own return from the dead; who told his story as a spirit to those who were closest to him, from the hereafter.

One story that the preacher told us with the intent to reinforce our belief in his god was a story about Abraham Lincoln. He told us that when Abraham Lincoln was shot and killed there were 150 people there to witness this tragedy and everyone in the world believes that it is true; the way historians have explained it. The preacher goes on to say that when Jesus died and came back from the dead, he came back for three days and spoke to may people, and too many in the world find it hard to believe this to be true. I sat in astonishment as he made this analogy. The believers sat on the edge of their seats, nodding their acknowledgement and praising the preacher and the one who they believed was their savior. Few freed their minds to see that Lincoln did what everyone in the world has done or will do in their lives; he unfortunately died and did not return. Jesus is the only one who has said and tried to make us believe that he died and returned to tell us about it.

The analogy was worthless, but it was not challenged by anyone as no one gave it much thought. Thought and analysis is not part of the equation in the parishioner's life. Critical thought and freethinking has been taken out by 'the word and the light' that is god. How sad that the beauty, challenge and mystery of our life and this world and our universe, is solved in an ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work. Believe and do not question and salvation (from what) will be yours.

I continued to be part of the life group as the holiday season was approaching. Our group would be taking a break during the holidays at it was a busy time for all. However, we would do one thing before our break. It was the idea of one, to help a family less fortunate then our own, with gifts and necessities. It was a grand idea, one in which I thought was the most honorable of this groups activities.

The woman who came suggested the idea contacted a welfare group who assigned us a family. Upon hearing how destitute and deserving this family was, it was selfishly uplifting to know that we in a small way could do so much for so many. Plans were made and people in the group chose whom of the family they were going to buy clothes and gifts for. We also contributed money to the cause of the family, for items that the household could use. Our hearts were warm with charity, until two suggested that they were not completely comfortable giving to a family that they did not know. They were not sure without meeting the family, if the family's need was worthy of their charity. These two members went as far to say that a few of the group and one of the pastors of the church should go over and assess the situation.

Gladly this proclamation did not settle well with the group. I did not speak up at that moment. I was becoming physically sick in the presence of such indignation. In a most compassionate way, the group voiced its disgrace for such a situation, far better than my anger for the ridiculousness could have ever defined. The two who made this suggestion are gentle people and reeled for cover by sharing that they had discussed this with one of the pastors in the church; who agreed that their idea of review would be a good idea.

The church agreed that a visit to someone's home, to introduce ourselves with the intention of determining whether this family was worthy of the charitable efforts of a supposedly Christian Bible study group. A family where there was a mother without a job and spending a short time in the hospital just before Christmas raising seven children (the oldest a young teenager, by two fathers (fathers were not in the family picture at any time), in a small two bedroom front house without beds, a stove or heat. Then, if the visit took place, we the charitable group would leave, leaving the family to wonder if they were desperate enough for our charity and if they would ever see us again? This measurement and determination of worthiness screamed of elitism, screamed of exclusivity, it screamed.

Sitting one the bent edge of this gathered circle, my mind filled with the memory, many times, over when the preacher's thundering words would bounce off the tall white ceiling of the sanctuary. The preacher would promise that those who do not take the words of an ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work as the exact words of an all knowing, all seeing, vengeful god, as the light and the way, would be delivered to eternal torture. Ricocheting within my maddening cranium were the demands of a man who believes he was sent from heaven to tell all that if you believe what I believe and what we believe you will be given the gifts of grace. At the same time threatening those who do not believe that Christianity is the right way and the only way, you will endure the penalty eternal torture.

I know what it is like to be excluded, and I cannot be a party to the same. I cannot say to anyone and everyone that I am right and you are wrong about questions of why we are here and where we are going. I cannot be so egotistical to say that our way is the only way and your way is wrong, so wrong that you will be tortured forever. I cannot believe that a god who defines love would be so egotistical to say believe in me and nobody else, or I will punish you beyond anything you have ever known. I cannot believe an energy whose name is love would allow his children to kill his children, would not at some point step in to right a horrendous wrong. Believers say it is god's will, or it is his plan, that we will understand when we get to heaven. Why does a god have to act without rhyme or reason, when the embodiment of his essence are his children, flesh and blood, control and chaos, rhyme and reason. Would not he the Lord, the Father get more cooperation if he would make his truth known, would make his ways intelligible.

The phrase 'punished for eternity' is perplexing. Why do preachers use the word eternity to describe the beginning of death? Time does not change. We are living in eternity. Eternity can only be used to measure time for living things, things that go on in time. Whether you believe that there is life after death, time remains the same. The energy that you are and possibly become goes on in the same time, eternity.

Salvation is another interesting word. Christians pray for salvation from a world created by (they say) God. If he sent his son Jesus to bring the good news of the Lord and his love for all mankind, who created the world for his children to live on, before they would come to him in heaven, why do they need to be freed from the same? If their god were so powerful that he relieves the sins of all mankind in the sacrifice of his son, why would he create a world where 'his children' would wish to be, freed from it?

Parents try to pass along a life for their children that is the best they have the power to give them. They try to anticipate all the obstacles and troubles and save their children from the evils of this life. However, mortal parents are not all-knowing and all-seeing so children no matter how well prepared have to confront the evils of life. If a god is all-knowing and all-loving of his children why would he create a world that he did not prepare us for? Even worse why would a god who has the power to create mankind, and the place that she lived, sit back and watch it's demise and destruction? A mortal parent would not sit calmly and watch her children continue to destroy their home, when left to its own devices.

The questions I ask if viewed by a Christian are perceived as ridiculous, lacking the true understanding of the Bible and their god's will. To that I say that the illogical convenience of their beginning, morals for the present and predictions of the end, have produced a lackadaisical intellectual effort for too many compounding complexities and be-twixed concern for the good of all its inhabitants. Priorities of Christianity have stifled society so much; many look for a way to release the pressure that they have tried to suppress. If God plans good and allows evil he is both good and evil, God and the Devil.

Ever since Jesus was made a deity by Constantine, who deemed Jesus' conception to be such that he was not produced by the pleasure of the skin, the human body and its beauty and form have held a certain measure of taboo in the morals of the church. This conclusion is the pressure that has fueled (especially in America) the fire for pornography, teen pregnancy, peer pressure and an intuitive inhibition for the sense of our bodies. Sex only in marriage in a morally prescribed fashion, only between a man and a woman, nudity only behind closed doors and the list goes on. The writers of the rules did not consider that when you tell people they cannot do this or they should do that, it is the desire of the citizens of society to investigate what authority deems taboo. If Christianity is asking its followers to change their human nature they will fall to the fate of the factions that thought Communism would work.

This is not the condition of a mass media culture. The desire to test and know what is taboo has existed as long as she has walked the earth. There has been homosexuality, prostitution and over indulgence in every society since Ancient Athens. We cannot blame the times. Human nature is instinctively curious and thinks more is better.

Christianity polarizes people. You are either on our side or you are considered less fortunate. They preach that their way is the right way, yet their way was set in motion thousands of years ago. The world has changed in so many ways since then. We have created and imagined so many more ideas and concepts since the son of their god walked. We have discovered more cultures, lands, traditions, customs and possibilities since the years when the ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work was conceived. And still the Christians say it must be this way, as their author not only knew all that was then, he knew all that would be forever.

I further do not understand that within their ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work the chapter titled Exodus was written 2500 years before the chapter titled Hebrews, and the chapter titled Hebrews happened after the chapter title Genesis, while the ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work was written, two to four hundred years after the so called author died. How is anyone supposed to believe anything that is written in it?

One could explain that the stories of the ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work were passed down from generation to generation and written from those stories. However, Christianity does not take that conclusion and chooses to conclude that divine intervention fueled the text. They take this approach so that they can deface the other origins of life and history of man. If believed, then you are stating aloud that the ability of all the other people in the world to retell their own history of their own beginning and its progress through ancient to modern times is weak. Christianity would tell us that all other descriptions of the beginning and the answers to life's greatest questions lacks the proper details that could have only been conceived by a group of Caucasian people living in a land that has been populated for a long as history can recall by dark skinned natives of the Mediterranean sea, Africa and what we now call the middle east. The intent was to design an (again) exclusive and less arguable text, that through its simplicity and attractiveness to feeble and less than educated consumers of the time of its oral presentation and written publication, who through the implied fear of the opposition, rested compliant. Editors were most likely economically motivated to twist and turn the epic novel to accommodate, the powerful and appointed.

The exclusivity and egotistical desire for a stranglehold on the truth would otherwise be an easy and unmitigated target, if not for the fact, that it has suppressed believers for more than two millenniums. It has gained the support of millions who are willing to face the scrutiny and violent nature that took their savior. Christianity leads with the tools and talons of its own abomination. Believe or be tortured forever. Believers will say it is god's law and endures with great commendation. They attempt to reverse the connotation to exclaim that it is love that brings you closer to the light and the way. And as aforementioned love is conditional. Love means, faith in his power, contribution to his house, contribution to those, who say he has chosen, consistent attention in person and place to his ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work. If any of these are neglected, the believer's value is diminished and admission to that place that only exists in the lives of man will be denied.

Christianity would like humanity to act, walk, talk, think and feel the same, as a man who may have lived 2000 years ago, whose life vaguely resembles our own, is an intellectually unreasonable request. The request begs the question, “If Jesus came back today and we knew him to be him, would he act the same?” If you were a believer, you would have to say, 'yes' because he knew all and was all, for all time. However, if Jesus came back and we knew him to be him and he did not change his ways, lessons, observations or conclusions, his fate would be quick and his legend brief. Ultimately either of these issues need not be debated. If Jesus ever came back, humanity would never recognize him to be him. The Christians who wait everyday for his triumphant return would be the first in line and loudest of the crowd to deny his existence. Christians would be the first in line and the loudest of the crowd to shove him aside, push him away and persecute the imposter for ever trying to fill the shoes of their savior, the man who brought the word and the light. Faith and its double-edged sword would as it changed the past, change the future.

Christianity with ravenous flavor will debate against any similarity between the behavioral, instinctive or characteristic relationship to the animal kingdom and herself, while blatantly using violence and intimidation to get what they want. Too many wars in the name of god have killed too many people, but we are not like animals who kill only to survive and fight to protect their territory and their young. Christians have ten fingers ten toes, breath with lungs, bare live babies, breastfeed babies, have fingernails, toenails and opposable thumbs as do chimpanzees. I believe that the stumbling blocks for Christians to accept evolution is the concept of time. Christianity has engrained an accommodating period that is confirmed by their god and any other consideration in unreasonable. The idea that the earth is hundreds of billions of years old is beyond the comprehension of most. Millions, billions and hundreds of thousands of the same are inconceivable to mere mortals, who understand one year, a decade, and a century if we are lucky in our lifetime. It is complicated to conceive of a living moving being changing its size, shape, strengths and instinctive behaviors, when the change usually does not make it obvious in the span of one person's lifetime. The philosophy that a brings simple answers to complicated problems as Christianity has done, stifles thinking and makes a revelation such as evolution ludicrous.

While considering evolution, the believer will likely not connect monogamy to the topic. However, it is connectable. Christianity has professed and protected the concept of monogamy. If we believe that the source of life, the fate of its people and it place are not wrapped up in the words of an ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work might, look and learn from our cousins of the animal kingdom. Monogamy is not practiced and not a problem. Christianity will say that humans need to lead church sanctioned monogamous lives, as anything otherwise would be a sin. They would go on to say that, because we are a higher life form we should exhibit greater civility. Yet, we are not higher life forms if we cannot help getting jealous and effecting feelings of mistrust and abandonment through a physical exchange of affection.

Lately the hot topic are the gospels that were edited out of the ancient questionably authored numerously edited literary work and how some say that they confirm that Mary Magdalene and Jesus were more that friends. The closed thinking that has maintained the morals and memories of Christianity are the same who will not consider such a thing. They are too blind and cannot see how agreeing that this is possible and that Jesus was a man who had human feeling and desires would probably bring more people into the church, than it would stand to loose in accepting this evidence.

While there are many differences between Christians and myself, the most important is that in the course of my life I have not been afraid to know what the other side thinks. I have allowed myself to be a free observer of wide collections of points of view. Some may say that I have “Danced with the devil in the pale moon light” by writing this essay. I think that if there is a source that created and guides this life she would celebrate those who did not sit back and accept that which is irrational and inconsistent.

If I am wrong, and there is a source that created and guides this world, she would not silently rest while chaos ensued. She would not let her children beat each other down; she would not let her children act in such a ways as to diminish the others with words more powerful that sticks and stone. She would not watch without waxing poetic with continuous wisdom that would lead her children with graceful generous compassion. She would extend a hand when a hand was needed.

Does the rapper who decimates the English language, degrades everyone but himself with ignorant intolerant lyrics truly believe that a god who influences the fate of the world would take the time to wave a magical hand over him, often enough that he can stand to accept a monetarily motivated recognizable object of recognition. I cannot believe that there is a god so insensitive to the plight of mankind, who would sit and waste a day watching football games on Sundays so he could pick who will win and who will lose, for a bunch of millionaires playing a game. Do those players truly believe that there is a god, who thinks they are more important than all the troubles in the world to be helping them hit a homerun or make a touchdown?

I cannot believe that there is a god, when millions who go to bed hungry, in a world so plentiful. I cannot believe there is a god when millions lie sick with incurable diseases and millions drink contaminated water, as it is better to be sick than to die. I cannot believe that there is a god, who blesses the rich and ignores the poor. Yet award winning artists, winning athletes, the wealthy and the powerful thank their god if asked of their ingredients for success.

If there is a god, he is without compassion, love or guilt. If there is a god, he wears his anger on his sleeve. Believers say through their tears, about one who has died that god needed that person to help prepare heaven. Can one say the same for the thousands who die in war and the hundreds of thousands who die in natural disasters? I suppose that he needed a couple hundred thousand this past year, when he allowed the war Iraq to continue and the Tsunami in the Indian Ocean.

If there is a god why does he discourage against abortion when the baby is not wanted. Alternatively, if deformed or intellectually challenged. The believer will say that each child brings something special to the world and that something should be celebrated. This excuse for the imperfect creation is completely selfish. Able-bodied and able-minded members of the human race can never know the pain and struggle of those who are less than that. They may be considerate and accommodating but the soul of those struggling with less can never be completely appreciated. The feelings are too deep to be articulated. Children who are born with diminished faculties are not celebrated, society learns little from them and if they learn anything is it usually biological and not psychological. Children and adults on earth that do not have equal access to their physical and mental capacities do not help us become closer to being a tolerant and appreciative race. Children that are born with diminished faculties are neglected, deprived, pushed away, shoved aside and sometimes worse. And the church in its infinite wisdom and it worshipers reinforcing its ill advised morals insists that every conception should be brought to fruition. Every life is precious, but not every life is worth living.

Believers will say of children with disabilities that this is how God made them, so they are perfect in his eyes. It is then cruel to be born perfect in his eyes when sentenced to a lifetime on earth before the eyes of the aesthetically orientated, extrinsically sensitive yet intrinsically inflexible family of earthbound brothers and sisters.

There is not any god, no heaven or hell. There are not any angels, who guide and protect us. There is no power that directs or pre-plans your destiny or mine. We came from the beginning and we will leave at the end. When will we leave? It all depends on the close-minded, ignorant and intolerant, without guilt or delusion speed up our conclusion.

Lastly one asks if there is a creator, who created the creator?

Paul Manocchio