Why Christianity Matters

As fish aren't conscious that they're in water, we followers of Christ take Christianity for granted. Unless we spent time in a pagan culture, we aren't aware of how special our faith is and how it benefits all people.

We read in Galatians 3:8 (BBE) how the world would be blessed through Christ, Abraham's descendent. "And the holy Writings, seeing before the event that God would give the Gentiles righteousness by faith, gave the good news before to Abraham, saying, 'In you will all the nations have a blessing.'"

The gospel is that blessing. As Christ commanded his disciples in Matthew 28:19 (BBE), "Go then, and make disciples of all the nations, giving them baptism in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit:"

And since Christianity is a personal belief system and not a political or national one, it improves the lot of even its enemies. That's why Christ said in Matthew 5:43 and 44 (BBE), "You have knowledge that it was said, Have love for your neighbour, and hate for him who is against you: But I say to you, Have love for those who are against you, and make prayer for those who are cruel to you;"

Imagine how violent this world would be if Christians didn't love their enemies but sought to get revenge. Like a certain Chinese proverb says, "he who seeks revenge must dig two graves."

Even in the Old Testament, we read that God is the only one who can repay evil. Deuteronomy 32:35 (BBE) quotes him as saying, "Punishment is mine and reward, at the time of the slipping of their feet: for the day of their downfall is near, sudden will be their fate."

In a way, Christianity spawned hospitals. Christ told a parable of a man badly beaten and a Samaritan who had compassion on him. Luke 10:34 (BBE)shows how this caring gentleman made sure the beaten-up stranger had a safe place to recover. "And came to him and put clean linen round his wounds, with oil and wine; and he put him on his beast and took him to a house and took care of him." The Samaritan even gave money to the Innkeeper to pay for the man's extended stay.

But imagine if we lived in a non Christian world where vengeance reigned and violence was praised. This is what our western lands are becoming. Since governments have abandoned God, so god has abandoned our countries.

I hope to put my next book together and title it, You Think You're Going to Heaven? Just knowing that there are eternal consequences for wickedness has tempered our collective behaviour.

On Saturday, I hope to publish a post about a great song by The Hollies and how it relates to us believers in Christ.

Is Christianity "All in the mind?"

This all depends on your view of Christianity. Atheists assume it's all a fable while true disciples believe it's the truth.

I wrote in a previous blog regarding the Bible being true. When readers understand the culture, history, and literary genres, all sixty-six books make sense. Having the Holy Spirit teach you also helps illuminate the scriptures to you.

Christianity not only is proven true through archeology, prophesy, and its internal consistency but it is logical. How so? God encourages people to use their minds.

Here are a few scriptures which demonstrate this:

(Romans 12:2 KJV) And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.

(Acts 17:11 KJV) These were more noble than those in Thessalonica, in that they received the word with all readiness of mind, and searched the scriptures daily, whether those things were so.

(Luke 10:27 KJV) And he answering said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself.

(Isaiah 1:18 KJV) Come now, and let us reason together, saith the LORD: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.

I could show many more verses which appeal to a person's reasoning ability but this post would become far too long. Suffice it to say that God gave us minds and expects us to search out the truth with them.

Sadly, many believers assume that searching the scriptures is only for the pastor to do. If I had done my homework, I would have discovered that the false teacher I wrote about in my How I Was Razed memoir was a fraud.

Next time, I'll deal with how cults twist scriptures to push their wicked agenda.

Don't All Religions Lead to God?

While having lunch with friends at a local restaurant, a woman asked me this question. Thanks to excellent Bible teachers such as Hank Hanegraaff, R. C. Sproul, Ravi Zacharias, Alistair Begg, and John MacArthur, I was able to answer her question in a reasonable way.

So, why don't all religions lead to God? Let's look at four major world religions. Buddhism teaches that there are no gods and that we must achieve complete selflessness to obtain enlightenment.

Hinduism teaches that there are many gods. Also, those who live a life filled with good deeds  will come back as a higher life form. If they are wicked, they come back as perhaps an insect or a rat. Those who finally get their spiritual act together will reach nirvana, according to what I've learned about it.

Islam teaches that there is only one god who has no partners. Allah is portrayed by the Qu'ran as distant and uncaring. If adherents do good works and beg forgiveness for sins, Allah might consider letting them into paradise. The only way to be assured of salvation from hell is to be martyred in the cause of jihad.

Christianity teaches that God is a tripartite entity, being one what and three WHOs. Unlike in Islam, God so loved the world that he sent his son so that whosoever believes in him would have eternal life in heaven. And unlike all other belief systems, no human works are righteous enough to allow people into God's holy presence. Christ paid the price for those who turn from their self-centered ways, ask forgiveness of their sins,  and surrender themselves to his rulership.

As you can plainly see, none of these religions agree with each other. This is why history is filled with religious and sectarian violence.

From my study of these religious systems, I conclude that only Christianity corresponds with reality. The Bible has proven itself reliable through its fulfilled prophesies, textual consistency, historical accuracy, and understanding of sinful humanity's behaviour.

I hope to write at length about this and other topics in a new book called You Think You're Going to Heaven? Eternity is a long time and scripture shows us that there are only two destinations for souls after death: heaven and hell. I hope people think long and hard about this. According to Christ, there are no second chances after death.

Please check out my previous paperbacks. How I Was Razed is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Powell's Books.  Deliverance from Jericho and When a Man Loves a Rabbit are for sale on my book page.

IN THE WORLD BUT NOT OF IT

Back in 1973, I looked much like any other high school student. I wore jeans, had long hair, and had a complexion that resembled the surface of Mars. Inwardly, I was anything but like my peers.

Astrology was popular back then but not with me. When people asked what my sign was, I told them that I believed in Christ. His cross was my sign. I endured plenty of scoffing remarks and insults as a result of my stand for the Lord.

Though I listened to rock music, I objected to songs with raunchy lyrics or those blaspheming God. Rather than listen to them, I turned the radio off. In addition, I made up Christian lyrics to sing along with my favourite tunes.

My fellow Christians also caused me grief. They claimed that I was listening to worldly music which would pull me away from Christ. Some even worried that I'd be possessed by a demon if I kept listening to that "terrible music." Obviously, nothing happened.

In that era of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, I never fornicated, took drugs, or drank myself legless. The only alcohol I imbibed was during the Sunday communion and at a party which a church friend took me to. It never became a habit with me. Neither did I smoke, unlike three of the congregants of the house church I attended back then.

Gambling was not an option for me either. I learned my lesson at age five when my dad placed a bet for me at the exhibition Roulette game and it lost. I resolved from then on not to bother with such a foolish sort of game.

So how did I resist all those traps which catch most Christian and non-Christian teens? It was only by the power of the Holy Spirit living in me that kept me faithful. In spite of worried adults and nagging peers, I never bothered with messing around. Neither do I regret any so-called fun that I supposedly missed.

Better still, I had a great time during high school. Being a loner, I entertained myself with my shortwave radio and open reel tape recorder. As I listened to my music, my imagination took me far from the mundane trials of high school life. I had my church friends and a few kids at school which I hung out with as well.

I chronicled my journey from a cultic house church to a proper understanding of God's sovereignty in How I Was Razed. Read more about this amazing act of love from the heavenly Father at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Powell's Books.

A NEW KIND OF WAR

I'm so glad that we have a day where we remember the sacrifices made by military personnel in years gone by. These brave people secured our freedom at great personal cost. Anybody who doesn't respect what these guardians of our freedoms achieved for future generations ought to hang their heads in shame.

Even so, there is a new war declared on us which we must understand. It isn't from a particular nation but a religion. While I'm allowed to, I want to warn as many people as possible about this insidious belief system.

I've heard many folks claim that Islam is a "religion of peace." If this is so, it creates many awkward questions for people who are able to examine facts dispassionately. If Islam is a peaceful religion, why are so many people, mostly young men, involved in horrendous murders such as what happened in Canada on October 20 and 22? Look at other acts of jihad, such as the Boston Marathon bombing. Every perpetrator of these vicious acts believed devoutly in Islam. I've never heard of moderate Muslims doing such crimes.

I've also heard the argument that those thugs aren't real Muslims. What is a "real Muslim" anyway? The answer is obvious. Such a person follows the teachings of Mohammed. I'm no Qu'ranic scholar but I know that the serious devotees of any religion go by their book or traditions. Since there are passages in the Qu' ran which command killing and subjugation of infidels, it's only logical to assume that true believers would take the injunctions seriously.

From my sketchy acquaintance with other religions, I can tell the serious practitioners from the phonies by how closely they live out the tenets of their faiths. I also know that in Christianity, those who really follow Christ love their enemies and pray for those who despitefully use them. It only makes sense therefore to realize that the serious Islamic devotees believe they have to fight for Allah and conquer the world for him. Christ, on the other hand, taught his disciples to preach the good news around the world. That's much different than murdering and coercing unwilling masses to convert.

In addition to this war of world views we now are fighting, there has been a spiritual war going on for almost seven-thousand years. For more than twenty-four of those years, I had been misled and actually believed lies about God. Find out how he lovingly liberated me from bondage to cultic ideas in How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. This inspiring story of the Lord's providential guidance is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Powell's books.

ON OWNING ONE'S OWN BELIEFS

One of the big problems churches in the west suffer from is the defection of teenagers from the faith. This is understandable to anybody who takes the time to think through the decisions which their children make. It all boils down to owning one's own beliefs.

Since churches tend to teach doctrines without apologetics, the "why" questions of teens go unanswered. "Because" isn't a sufficient reason, especially when students head to college or university. These unprepared young men and women are thrust into a hostile environment without the defenses to withstand the onslaught of atheism.

I believe I was fortunate to have come from a nominally Christian family and being taught the gospel at a vacation Bible School when I was twelve. Because of these circumstances, I owned my own beliefs rather than just accepting what my parents said. Because I witnessed about my faith to my fellow high school students, I often received taunts from them.

While I ate lunch at the cafeteria, a group of boys at my table began poking fun at me and my beliefs. As they mocked, I kept eating. Even when one boy tossed bits of his Styrofoam cup onto my chocolate pudding, I meekly picked them off.

Another "Jesus freak" came over to my table and sat down next to me. He encouraged me to keep the faith while the mocking boys ate in silence. As my Christian brother and I talked, I felt reassured that I did the right thing. Though this sort of persecution seems light compared to what believers in third world countries suffer, it still was hard for a teenager like myself to bear. Once the other Christian and I sat together, the mockers realized our bond of solidarity.

This is why Christian parents must help their kids to know why Christianity is true. Teenagers need logical answers, not trite sayings. Matters like why there is evil in this world need good answers. Otherwise high school and college students will adopt the pseudo-logic of the naturalists who believe energy and matter are all that exists.

My passion for Christianity is manifestly obvious in How I Was Razed. Read more about my journey from cultism to true Christianity on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm Publishers.

WAS I RIGHT REGARDING THIS MORAL DILEMMA?

Don't you just hate that when somebody manipulates you into doing something you don't feel good about doing? I've had that happen many times in my life. This doubtless happens because I'm too nice for my own good, especially when I was young.

Back in August of 1971, a new clothing store opened in my home town of Fort Saskatchewan, Alberta. To celebrate their opening, a local radio station did a remote broadcast. As part of the promotion, the store gave away free merchandise.

While this was going on, I sat in the basement bedroom that I shared with my sisters. Diane suddenly burst into the room. "Bruce, get on your bike and go to that store," she urged. "They're giving away a pair of size thirty pants."

"Why don't you go if you want them so much?" I said, annoyed at her importunity.

"Because they're guy pants," she said as if that was obvious to everybody. "I don't see why you can't go," she continued. "I bought you that Yellow Submarine album, remember? Why can't you do me a favour and get those pants for me?"

My mind filled with worries as I peddled as fast as I could to the shop. "What if they see the pants don't fit?" I fretted. "What if Diane doesn't like them or the legs are too short?" By the time I leaned my bike against the wall of the store, I felt as if I wouldn't be able to speak.

"Can I help you?" A man in a white shirt and black tie asked when I entered the shop. I screwed up what little courage I had left and asked if anybody had claimed the size thirty pants yet. When he said nobody had and gave me a pair to try on, I changed into them in the dressing room. They were tight on me but I sucked in my gut to make them look as if they fit.

Instead of changing back into my jeans, I wore the slacks home. All the while, I worried about them splitting. I worried that Diane would give me a tongue-lashing if that happened.

I also felt bad for implying that the pants were for me. I had given my life to Christ a few years earlier and felt as if I sinned. "Please forgive me for lying about the pants," I prayed as I peddled.

Fortunately for me, Diane liked the slacks and they fit her. The garment didn't split either. I also believe the Lord did forgive me. Even so, I felt bad about the whole situation.

I wrote extensively about my faith and how I became involved with a toxic house church in my newly-published memoir, How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. Please check it out at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm.

IN THE BAD OLD DAYS OF CHRISTIAN ROCK MUSIC.

Whenever I tune in a Christian rock music station, I'm amazed at all the god-honouring tunes available to teenagers. When I was their age, music like that was difficult to find.

In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I wrote about the continual chiding I received from elderly members about my love of rock music. In this excerpt, I sought to find records that rocked as well as praised the Lord.

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While looking through the records in the Bible store one day, an exciting idea struck me. I rushed to the counter and asked the cashier, "Do you have any Christian rock music albums?"

"We only sell contemporary Christian music, but you might like this album by Emmanuel," she said. "They're a local group too."

I took a chance and bought it.

When I worked up the nerve to listen to the Crayons album, I liked a few of the tracks. I particularly enjoyed "You Colour My Life." With the proper promotion, the tune might have been a hit on secular radio stations. Most of the other tracks suffered from the same form of blatant pontificating common to that genre. I ended up listening to the handful of songs which appealed to me.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

"THAT AIN'T WHAT I CALL ROCK 'N' ROLL."

In one of his comedy routines, Bill Cosby related how his mother used to put raisins in his Cream of Wheat porridge so he wouldn't notice the lumps. That didn't fool Bill's throat one bit. The lumps still made him gag.

In a similar fashion, one church elder thought she could lure me away from the supposed evils of rock music. In this excerpt from my upcoming memoir, I knew that whatever she wanted me to hear wouldn't satisfy me.

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Sister Eileen dropped the subject but Sister Roberta phoned several days later.

"You really shouldn't listen to that horrid rock music," she admonished. "Why don't you listen to nice wholesome records?"

I sighed and then replied, "Well, I happen to like rock music better."

"You shouldn't be listening to that worldly music. It's so ungodly. Remember what Paul wrote to the Philippians about thinking on things noble, good, and praiseworthy? There are so many uplifting Christian songs you could be listening to."

Then an idea struck her. "Say, why don't I tape some nice sprightly tunes for you?"

"No, thanks. I like the stuff I hear on CHED."

"Well, if you ask me, you're certainly being influenced by satanic forces when you listen to that unholy racket."

I fumed the rest of that day. "Why, Lord, is it so hard to find Christian rock?" I repeated as I paced my room.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

"WHY SHOULD THE DEVIL HAVE ALL THE GOOD MUSIC?"

Christian rock pioneer, Larry Norman, expressed this sentiment in a song on his album called Just Visiting This Planet He received plenty of persecution because of his God-honouring tunes. Because many older Christians believed rock music would lead teenagers into hell, they condemned every form of it.

In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I related how one church member took it upon herself to rectify my taste in music.

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In spite of my efforts to bring people to Thee Church, certain members fretted once more about my apparent lack of sanctification. Because I remained a fan of rock music and had already purchased several dozen LPs, they sought to rectify my musical tastes.

"I'm concerned about the music you're listening to," Sister Eileen began as we finished eating supper one Wednesday evening in August. "I've bought you this nice album of music for young people." She pulled a record out of a plastic shopping bag and handed it to me. "I'm sure you'll like it."

I frowned as I examined the contrived cover art on the album in my hands. "Thanks," I replied, though I felt little gratitude.

The record sounded far worse than I feared when I played it the next afternoon. The moralistic, goody-two-shoes tone of its ghastly tunes and skits set my teeth on edge. Whoever composed both tried to relate to teenagers, but it sounded mawkish. Only my duty as a friend to Sister Eileen kept me listening to both sides of the disk.

"So, what did you think of that record?" she asked at lunch after the Sunday service.

"Well," I stalled, "I certainly appreciate you buying it for me."

"Yes, but did you enjoy the music?"

"Well, it's really not what I like listening to," I mumbled as I stared at my lap.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

THE CRUEL SHEPHERD.

We should expect every representative of Jesus Christ to speak the truth about all matters. Furthermore, we believe they should have our best interest at heart in whatever they say and do.

Such isn't always the case in houses of worship today. I once attended a home-based church led by a lay preacher who had delusions of grandeur. In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I wrote the following account of the cruellest thing he said about me. Even worse, he spoke it behind my back at a meeting that I missed due to work. I borrowed a recording of it from the church and heard his outrageous diagnosis of my poor sight.

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The minute I arrived home, I threaded the tape on the machine. I enjoyed the recording until I heard Sister Roberta ask, "Why isn't Bruce being healed? We've prayed faithfully for him, but he still has poor sight."

Brother Herald drew a long breath, then explained, "The reason God hasn't given him full sight is because he lusts after it."

I gasped as if he had kicked me in the crotch.

"But can you blame him?" Brother Herald continued as his voice became choked with emotion. "To see his young playmates running around and not being able to join them when he was a child - it's no wonder he wants sight so badly."

Then he opened the scriptures to James 4:1 and read. "From whence come wars and fightings among you? Come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your members? Ye lust, and have not: ye kill, and desire to have, and cannot obtain: ye fight and war, yet ye have not, because ye ask not. Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts."

His follow-up statements wounded me even deeper. "There is also generational sin in his ancestry. I will not mention the scarlet lady, but we know God punishes those who hate him to the third and fourth generation. It has been revealed to me that this is a generational sin but I have put a stop to it. His children will not be affected by this curse."

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

BEWARE OF HYPOCRISY.

Have you ever noticed how easy it is to find fault with others while ignoring your own? Like it or not, we all tend to excuse failures in our own beliefs and conduct. Like using a mirror to check if our faces are dirty, all of us need to objectively examine ourselves with unflinching honesty. The best mirror I know of is The Holy Bible.

From How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity, here's how hearing of the phony profession of my brother offended me while I was guilty of the same thing

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While Linda and I strolled toward Diane's house one evening after eating at a fast food restaurant, I vented my frustrations regarding my lack of success in bringing people to the Lord. "It's too bad Roy doesn't want to come to church anymore," I complained. "He just wouldn't let the Spirit take over his tongue."

"Did you know that he just went there to learn Brother Herald's secrets?" she replied.

"Really?"

"Yes. He told me he liked knowing things that other people didn't."

"That's no reason to attend a church. We're blessed with an anointed teacher from God. Roy's supposed to be learning the teachings so he can help others who want to advance spiritually."

"I know, but that's what he told me. He also didn't like being ganged up on by Sister Roberta and the rest of you guys."

The closer we approached Diane's house, the greater my anger grew. Roy had always acted like a steadfast believer while in my presence and at church. I believed those occasions when I caught him swearing and saying how he loved Lucifer had been exceptions. The metaphorical scales fell from my eyes as I understood at last he had always been putting on an act so he would receive praise from us.

Because of my blind devotion to Brother Herald, I failed to recognize then that I also attended in order to learn his pseudo-secrets.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

Housesitting WASN'T THAT HARD.

Have you ever looked after somebody's house and dog before? How well did you do? When a friend offered the job to me, I thought it would be difficult and that I would be a failure at it. Fortunately for that family whose house and dog I took care of, I did a good job. Even better, the money they paid me was an answer to prayer.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here's the story of my one-and-only experience in housesitting.

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God answered my desperate pleas sooner than I expected. Mrs. Boyle, whose family I boarded with during grade eight, phoned me one evening. "We're going to visit New Foundland for a month in June and we need to hire somebody to look after the house. Would you like to do that for us? We'll pay you two-hundred dollars."

I wrestled with indecision. Looking after a house seemed a huge responsibility. On the other hand, I desperately needed money.

When I agreed, she added, "Why don't you come over to our place? I'll fill you in on what you'll be doing."

As Mrs. Boyle's teenage children, Stephen and Mary Jane, joined us in the living room of their elegant older home near the Alberta Legislature, she listed my duties. "I also need you to do Mary Jane's flower and newspaper delivery routes at the hospital," she finished after ten minutes. "You'll have to walk and feed Lady every day too. Can you do all that?"

I pondered her question, then replied, "Yeah, I guess I could learn to do all those things."

Then she noticed the sole of my right shoe. "You certainly do need the money. Look at the size of that hole."

Contrary to my over-exaggerated fears, I quickly learned Mary Jane's flower and newspaper routes. By the end of the week, I made my rounds confidently each afternoon. Likewise, caring for the house and dog grew easier each day.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

WAS IT SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION OR DEMONS?

Have you ever witnessed something weird which had no obvious explanation? In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I recounted the following strange tale.

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Most Sunday services were uneventful, but I'll never forget the bizarre events of the third of June. Sister Roberta opened all the doors and windows beforehand that evening to let the warm breeze waft through the house. Cynthia, Brother Bhagan's daughter who lived in Edmonton, arrived with a friend named Sunil. Though he was a Hindu, she wanted to show him how we worshipped.

As Brother Herald delivered the sermon, a thud shook the house. It sounded as if an overweight person jumped off a chair above us.

John raced upstairs to investigate. "Attention everybody," he called from the top of the stairs in his police officer tone of voice. "There's a fire in the kitchen. You'll all have to leave in an orderly fashion out of the side exit."

We stood in the yard as John and Sister Roberta extinguished the flames. Then we filed back into the sanctuary to resume the service. Though all of us felt somewhat rattled, we stayed to hear the end of Brother Herald's sermon.

John called the fire inspector the next morning. Having scrutinized every aspect of the scene of the blaze, the municipal official found no cause of the explosion. It originated amid a small collection of paper bags next to Sister Roberta's stove. The man ruled out spontaneous combustion because the appliance was off.

Furthermore, the inside doors stood wide open and a steady breeze flowed through the house. Spontaneous combustion, according to him, never happens in well-ventilated areas.

In addition, the range had no brown residue on its enamel leading from the pilot lights to the point of the fire. That ruled out ignition from them.

The inspector returned and questioned Sister Roberta later that week. "We didn't find any matches, cigarette butts, or traces of accellerants in the ashes," he concluded. "Are you sure there aren't any disgruntled church members who may have set the fire?"

She pondered his question, then admitted, "I can't think of any."

As the inspector turned to leave, he paused by the back door. "Let me know if you come up with any names or if you remember any
The inspector closed his investigation some months later without reaching a conclusion.
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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

THE MARK OF THE BEAST.

What is this "mark of the beast" that so many preachers talk about? It comes from Revelation 13:16-17 which reads, "And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads: And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name." The host of The Bible Answer Man radio program, Hank Hanegraaff, recently explained that this mark was a metaphor of character, not some sort of RFID chip or tattoo as many teachers claim. This interpretation makes logical sense as John's letter, which is the last book of the Bible, was written to seven first-century churches. It has no prophetic relationship to twenty-first century believers, with the exception of Christ's return. In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I wrote about the erroneous explanation that the minister of the house church gave us and how it frightened me in May of 1974. ----------------------------------------------------------------- As with that explanation, I accepted everything else which Brother Herald taught as gospel. During one Bible study in Revelation, he informed us about the mark of the beast beginning its advance. "My son, Brian, was approached by some promoters of the mark at his job in Fort McMurray," he began. "They wanted him to sell their tattoo banking machines for them." He opened his Bible as he continued, "It says in Revelation, chapter thirteen, verse sixteen, that no man may buy or sell unless he has the mark in his hand or forehead. These machines tattoo a person's right hand with numbers which glow in ultraviolet light. It's pretty hard to misplace your hand, whereas credit cards are easily lost or stolen." While we absorbed that, he continued, "Brian informed me about this and I told him it was nothing less than the mark. He told those men never to come back with their satanic machines or he'd bust their faces." A chill of fear shot through me. "Will it come to Edmonton soon?" I asked. "I believe it will, and it will come quickly," Brother Herald replied. The chain stores will soon own every aspect of food supply. The banks already want people to use the MasterCharge cards so it will condition them to accept the mark. This is why we must save up food for the day when we can't buy it in the stores." ----------------------------------------------------------------- How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

WOLVES DISGUISED AS SHEPHERDS.

How cruel can people be? In my life, I've had certain individuals say many hurtful things to my face or behind my back. One of the cruellest lies came from a man who I once trusted with all my heart to tell me the truth. In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I recalled the evening in May of 1974 when i asked the minister of the cultic house church I attended why I was born with poor sight. Below is his heartless and unbiblical explanation. ----------------------------------------------------------------- This most recent failure of my faith nagged at me day after day. When Brother Herald invited our questions at the end of the next mid week Bible study, I burst out, "Why did I have to be born with bad eyesight?" He drew a deep breath and explained, "God gave you a choice of where you would be born, but going through the birth canal erased your memory. This is why we don't remember our pre-birth existence. God showed you the two choices you had and this one seemed better to you. We all were given an opportunity to be born in a different family." "You mean I could have been born somewhere else?" "Yes, and perhaps in another time. You chose to be here in this age. You could have been born with sight, but in a different country and time. You could have been one of those starving Third World babies we read about which die in the bondage of their religion. You could have been one of those Muhammadans in the Middle East. Your sight wouldn't help you to be saved, you know." ----------------------------------------------------------------- How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

STIGMATA: DIVINE SIGN OR FAKERY.

One of the most curious mysteries in Christendom is the stigmata. Throughout the centuries, a variety of oddball people claimed to have had the marks of Christ's crucifixion appear on their hands, forehead, and sometimes their feet. A few have even claimed to have the spear wound of Christ in their side.

Forty years ago, I was in a cultic house church where the minister, who I call Brother Herald, claimed to have the stigmata. Back then, I was an awestruck new believer with no discernment skills. Because of that, I accepted whatever this charismatic leader and his elder taught me. Now I know from proper exegesis of Scripture that this man was a liar and a fraud.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here is an excerpt that tells of my introduction to what I now believe was a false sign.

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Meanwhile, an incident on Good Friday strengthened my faith in Brother Herald. As proof of his being a teacher of God through divine election, according to Sister Roberta, he suffered from the stigmata.

As Sister Eileen, her mother, and I sat waiting at the card table, I asked them, "Where's Brother Herald? I thought I just heard his voice."

"He's in his room," Sister Roberta explained. "Don't disturb him. He has the stigmata."

"What's that?"

"It's a special burden of God which only a few exalted people get. Brother Herald bears the wounds of Christ in his body every Good Friday. He bleeds a lot sometimes and he doesn't want to be seen."

"Why?"

"It might be too disturbing for people."

Then she opened her Bible and read to me the passage from Galatians 6:17. "From henceforth let no man trouble me: for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus."

She looked up at me and cautioned, "He's in a lot of pain so he doesn't want you disturbing him with questions."

Sister Roberta's rebuke smarted but I held my peace. After all, I still knew little of the faith whereas both she and Brother Herald seemed well-educated in its particulars.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

SICK OF VISITING THE SICK.

Have you ever done something that you felt ill-prepared to do, yet you knew it was your duty? As part of a church outreach, a few members and I sang Christian songs to patients at a hospital. It seemed like a good idea at first but, as you can read from this excerpt from my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, the novelty wore off quickly.

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Apprehension nagged me as we trooped into the hospital the next Saturday afternoon. Institutions seem to exude an atmosphere of perpetual hopelessness. I experienced more than enough of that at Jericho.

Sister Eileen led the way as we walked down the hall to the nurse's station. Having received her permission, we stepped into the first room.

"Excuse us," Sister Eileen ANNOUNCED, "We're Christians and we'd like to sing a few songs for you. Is that all right?"

One patient said "Yes," but the rest of the patients ignored us.

We sang several hymns and then walked to the next room, doing the same there.

As the weeks passed, I became disenchanted with our hospital visits. All I did was stand with the others and sing. Though nobody complained about our presence, I had the impression that the patients tolerated, rather than appreciated, our efforts.

As we sat around the card table before one Bible study in March, Sister Eileen announced, "We're going to have to discontinue our hospital visits."

"How come?" I wondered.

"We've got too many things to do on Saturdays and nobody seems interested anymore."

I considered her answer for several seconds, then replied, "I suppose that's all right. I don't really want to go anymore either."

"It's settled then, Sister Roberta concluded, "There won't be any more visits."

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

BLESSED ASSURANCE IN A TIME OF SORROW.

Have you ever met somebody who continually treated you as a problem person, liable to mess up everything? I had the misfortune of meeting just such a character. This woman, who I refer to as Sister Roberta, was a thorn in my side for more than fifteen years.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here's an excerpt about how I comforted a grieving grandmother in spite of Sister Roberta's profound misgivings.

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One Wednesday evening, Sister Eileen and her mother seemed preoccupied. As we sat in the sanctuary, awaiting Brother Herald, I asked, "Is something going on?"

Both women looked away from me as if they felt embarrassed. Then Sister Roberta broke the silence. "Little Closius died a few days ago. Linda was bathing him and when she left the bathroom to get a bar of soap, he slipped beneath the water."

"I'm sorry to hear that." I mumbled.

"We're having the funeral here on Saturday afternoon. You can come if you wish but don't ask any foolish questions, all right? I don't want Linda to start crying because of your impertinent questions. The last thing grieving people need is for somebody to ask about how it happened."

Around a dozen people attended the funeral for Jay's year-old son.

"If only I had brought the soap in first," Linda kept repeating to herself. "Why did God have to allow this?"

Words failed me as I shuffled my feet and gazed at the floor. Every answer that came to mind sounded trite.

After Sister Roberta served communion and gave a brief eulogy, she allowed the congregants, two or three at a time, to view Closius' body in Brother Herald's room. This inner sanctum interested me more than paying my last respects as Sister Roberta had always forbidden me to see it. A double-sized bed had been placed in the far corner. Next to it stood a varnished wooden chair and writing desk with a lamp on it. I noticed with some surprise that the small room had no windows in its pale blue walls.

Doing my duty, I glanced at the small, brown casket on the centre of the bed before I walked out of the room.

Linda's mother wept as she followed me out from Brother Herald's room. "Poor baby. I'll never see him again," she sobbed.

"You'll be able to see him again in the resurrection when Christ returns," I blurted.

Instead of upsetting her, as I feared, she exclaimed, "Oh yes, I'd forgotten about that. Thanks for reminding me."

I smiled, realizing that I comforted her with the eternal aspect of our lives.

While the congregation disbursed and Sister Roberta Gave several people driving directions to the cemetery, I asked her, "Can I come too?"

"No," she ordered, "You will stay here with us. Only the family members can attend the burial. You'll just get in the way anyhow."

In spite of this snub, I remained loyal to Thee Church and the supposed truth I learned there.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

ZEAL WITHOUT KNOWLEDGE.

My Random House Webster's Large Print Dictionary states that a gimmick is a device or trick. Thirty-nine years ago, I didn't realize that I used devices to trick people into hearing or reading the gospel. Instead of piquing my fellow student's curiosity, I upset them. I meant well but I lacked the wisdom to build personal relationships with my schoolmates before talking to them about the gospel.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here are two examples of how my enthusiasm for the Lord lacked that much-needed personal touch.

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But not everybody approved of my zeal for Christ. I recently purchased a tiny white plastic spinning top with the words of John 3:16 printed in blue ink on its underside. While waiting for class to begin one morning, I idly spun the top on my desk.

"Hey, let me see that thing," a classmate said. Without a word, I handed it to him. "Oh man! What a ripoff!" he groaned when he read the message. "It's just some religious crap."

I offended the cleaning staff too. Since few students wanted my tracts, and I often received taunts from my peers, I assumed that pasting the messages onto the door of my locker would be a more effective way to let people know about Christ.

When I arrived at school the next morning, somebody had removed all the tracts. I replaced them but those vanished too.

"What do you think you're doing?" the cleaning woman demanded as I pasted more tracts on my locker's door the third day. "Don't you know that's not allowed?"

"Isn't it? I didn't know that."

"You're not allowed to paste anything on your locker. It doesn't matter what it is. That's the rule."

"I thought it was just some mean kids who were taking them off."

"No. We have to remove them. It's a lot of work too. Imagine how ugly the place would look if we let you kids paste whatever you felt like on your lockers."

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't realize."

While I shuffled toward my next class, I hung my head. My well-meant evangelical zeal resulted in wasted tracts and extra work for the cleaning staff.

The rule extended to lamp posts by the school as well. I pasted a tract on one but someone had removed it the next day.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.