The Flaming Fear The flaming fires of hell with torturous analogies crowded my over active mind with vivid imagery; while my pulse da dum in my ear like water propelling over a precipice. The metallic taste of fear filled my mouth like a spoonful of magnesium as the preacher administered the dosage like medicine. He preached that this burdensome feeling of dread was supposed to save my soul from an eternal damnation, orchestrated by a loving God. This God gave his only Son so that I could live my life without this same terror washing over me. A Catch 22 you might say with an illuminated twist of irony. So I laid low my young head as a cascade of tears flowed down my baby soft cheeks. The wrongs that I’d done swept over me like a roaring river over obstructive rocks. I acknowledged the years that I’d live, wasted in shame and moral defeat. Guilt stole over me and wrapped me in its grizzly embrace. The preacher pointed at the audience and scrunched his face as his fist slammed down onto the wooden podium. “Salvation is a free gift paid for by Christ!” he barked, “So that we who are sinful now owe Him our lives!” I frightfully begged God’s forgiveness for my wantonness and fear; for all of the disobedience that I’d commit in the six years since my birth. I pleaded with Him to spare me from judgment and to keep me from the fires of hell. The story of love got lost on the canvas of the dramatic picture the preacher painted. The Christ-child who came to learn of our ways got buried in the sin of this place. The God-man who was hung on the cross was replaced by horrors, wrath and disgrace. The fear that was supposed to save me on that day became a noose around my neck. And although throughout the years, I’ve walked with God, I still doubted his unconditional love. For whenever I slipped and erred, I dreaded his anger and wrath. He was the King who sat on his throne perched to strike me when I did wrong. Suffer the little children to come unto me was never given a chance in my heart. For as long as I could remember my existence, borne of sin, seemed another bothersome plot. So once in a while that ol’ familiar fear finds its way into my psyche; tempting me to fall on my knees and plead to my Savior Divine. The older I get, the more I realize that this mindset was never from God; it was an attempt by an imperfect man to execute The Perfect Plan. For some who preach rather have emotions and an uproar than a true revelation that can transform lives into magnificent beings. So hear me dear pastors, loud and clear, tailor your message to The Gospel of Good News. For it should bring to a child comfort and joy, and not a terror-filled mind. All rights reserved, 2013 copyrighted by KKelman
Posted on: Sat, 17 Aug 2013 17:20:13 +0000
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