I remember the words to an old (very old) not so well know Jimmy Buffet song:
". . . my head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus
It's that kinda mornin'
Really was that kinda night
Tryin' to tell myself that my condition is improvin'
And if I don't die by Thursday I'll be roarin' Friday night"
Now, I'm not saying my life imitates the song - exactly. I have a headache - literally. And, religion is not a subject I best discuss in mixed company, adult company, or any company come to think about it.
Now, I'm not saying my life imitates the song - exactly. I have a headache - literally. And, religion is not a subject I best discuss in mixed company, adult company, or any company come to think about it.
But if fire and brimstone are going to be preached, snakes handled, and souls are going to be saved (with the ladies in white up front to catch those who "fall out" in the process) then the occasion calls for revival music, my favorite being by George Cromarty and Ed Rush;
"I don't care if it rains or freezes
'Long as I got my plastic Jesus
'Long as I got my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Through my trials and tribulations
And my travels through the nations
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far"
Of course the church ladies will be singing to save my heathen soul:
"Temptations, hidden snares. . .
for a thoughtless word or deed . . .
but we'll understand it better by and by."
Which all comes back to Question 19 of the Presbyterian Catechism -
What is the misery of that estate where into man fell?"
See Granny, I was paying attention after all.
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