Monuments to Folly
Introduction
I'm a minister who's done negotiating dignity and identity for a seat at the table with people who mistake power for godliness. I gave up my freedom for comfort. What I got was neither. What they offered was spiritual Stockholm Syndrome with a Sunday smile. This is how it’s done—love-bombed into submission until the you God made becomes someone you barely recognize. That’s not faith. That’s a cult.
I’m done playing nice.
I was that guy—the one who defended the institution, the doctrine, the brand. Until I couldn't. An atheist once said to me, "The church is a cult." I dismissed it. I prayed for their soul. But then I looked around—at the hierarchy, the shame cycles, the cognitive dissonance—and realized: maybe they weren’t wrong.
I silenced my wife's voice because I was told the Bible demanded it. But when I finally listened—really listened—I realized I’d been deceived. Jesus never silenced women. He elevated them. Mary Magdalene (Luke 8:1–3 AMP) wasn’t just tolerated—she was essential. Some even say they married and moved to Gaul (modern-day France). Whether myth or misunderstood history, the facts remain: women were apostles, prophets, and the first witnesses to the resurrection. And it’s church leadership, not women, that needs to shut up and sit down.
Spiritual Stockholm Syndrome
I’ve been held hostage by spiritual manipulation. Gaslit in the name of God. Told that doubt was sin, and that conformity was holiness. They weaponize shame and call it conviction. They suppress the soul and call it order. But Jesus? He didn’t show up with a whip for the broken. He saved that for the temple profiteers. (Matthew 21:12–13 AMP)
The church that demanded I silence my soul in exchange for acceptance isn’t the bride of Christ—it’s a spiritual abuser in white lace.
The Christian Nation Delusion
Let’s drop the mask. This whole "America is a Christian nation" bit is historical cosplay with a dominionist agenda. Jesus didn’t storm Rome with tax cuts and a campaign slogan. He flipped tables. He healed the sick. He dined with prostitutes and tax collectors. He didn’t bless a damn flag—He blessed the poor, the meek, the persecuted. (Matthew 5:3-12 AMP)
Meanwhile, modern “Christian” politicians mock the sick, demonize the poor, and idolize a man whose morality makes Nero look like a seminary dropout.
America was built on the backs of slaves, indigenous genocide, and whitewashed revisionism. The Founders? Many were Deists—thinkers who respected moral frameworks, not evangelical dogma. Read it yourself: Jefferson's Letter to the Danbury Baptists. Or Madison’s Memorial and Remonstrance. This nation was never designed to be run by a pulpit. The Constitution says "We the People," not "We the Pastors."
Want academic backup? Oxford University Press published The Godless Constitution, and it’s not fringe—it’s fact. The founding documents are secular, and any attempt to claim otherwise is a theocratic scam.
Psychology of a False Messiah
Carl Jung would call this mess the shadow self on parade. Evangelicals project their suppressed rage and fear onto society, then worship a strongman who promises revenge in Christ’s name. It’s not a church—it’s a cult of personality with a choir.
Jordan Peterson warns of ideology masquerading as faith. And that’s what this is: ideology, not theology. If your Jesus demands you obey a party line instead of the Sermon on the Mount, you’re not following the Messiah—you’re following Mussolini with a Bible app.
Scripture commands us to test every spirit (1 John 4:1 AMP)—and that includes your pastor, your church, and your party platform. Jesus said you’d know them by their fruit. (Matthew 7:15-20 AMP) So if the fruit tastes like fear, hate, greed, and self-worship? Spit it out.
No-Holds-Barred Knockout
This isn’t revival—it’s regression. This isn’t patriotism—it’s a Christ-washed cult. The Jesus they sell wears red, white, and blue, but preaches none of His original message. He’s been rebranded into a militant mascot for people too afraid to face the truth: the Kingdom of God was never about power. It was always about surrender.
They’re not defending the Gospel—they’re defending Empire. Empire with a choir. Empire with a Bible in one hand and a loaded gun in the other. The real Jesus wouldn’t be invited to their conferences. He’d be dragged out by security for flipping tables in the merch tent.
And if He showed up today? He’d be arrested for trespassing, condemned for being too liberal, canceled on social media, and mocked for loving people without a political litmus test.
But He’d still rise again. And He’d rise in the hearts of the oppressed, the forgotten, the faithful misfits who’ve been told they don’t belong. You do. And the Kingdom? It was never theirs to gatekeep.
The Divine, the Damned, and the Dirt I Had to Dig Through
Unlearning the Lies
You don’t wind up exploring the Divine Feminine because things were going great in your evangelical man-cave. No—this happened after years of spiritual gaslighting, manipulation, and the slow erosion of my soul in churches that told me God had a dick, a gun, a credit score, and a political party.
My wife and I started waking up at the same time. Like a splintered mirror piecing itself back together. We asked questions. Dug into history. Talked about the Goddess. And suddenly, we weren't just dealing with “heresy”—we were accused of playing footsie with the Devil by people who’ve never read anything past Leviticus. The funny thing is, it wasn't demons we found... it was ourselves.
I leaned into dark paths—not out of rebellion, but out of desperation. I needed to burn the dogma off me like dead skin. I explored paganism, divine balance, archetypes, and energy work. Not because I was chasing power, but because I was starving for truth that wasn’t filtered through centuries of colonizer translations, edited by priests, and approved by kings.
The Bible—Lost in Translation (and Agenda)
Let’s call it what it is: The Holy Bible isn’t some magic book that floated down from heaven wrapped in leather and dipped in gold leaf. It’s a war manual, a monarchy manifesto, a theological ransom note that’s been translated, mistranslated, censored, added to, and redacted more times than a CIA document.
Every denomination claims their translation is the “one true Word of God.” But nobody agrees which manuscripts are authentic, which books count, or what the hell Paul even meant half the time. You’ve got people swearing by the King James Version—commissioned by a man who also believed in witches and divine right of kings—as if it’s the literal voice of God.
And here's the kicker: most of these translations weaponize language. “Wife submit to your husband”? That’s a Greek misinterpretation. “Homosexuality is an abomination”? That was added in the 20th century. Hell, even “Lucifer” was never the Devil—it was a mistranslated metaphor for a Babylonian king. But try telling that to someone who thinks God sounds like Charlton Heston with a Southern drawl.
If your God needs a PR firm, 40 ghostwriters, and a translation committee to get His message across—maybe the message isn’t the problem. Maybe the system is.
Spirituality ≠ Religion
Carlin said it best: “Religion is bullshit. It’s a big, steaming pile of made-up shit.” And the older I get, the more I realize he wasn’t wrong—he was underreacting. Religion didn’t bring me closer to God—it taught me how to hate myself in His name. It didn’t open my heart—it chained it up with guilt, fear, and small-minded men who’ve never known pleasure without permission.
Real spirituality? That’s raw. Messy. Honest. It’s screaming into the void and hearing a whisper back. It’s honoring the feminine and masculine within without needing a pastor’s blessing or a church bake sale. It’s sitting with your shadow and not calling it Satan. It’s unlearning everything you were taught by those who profit off your ignorance.
The spiritual journey isn’t about heaven or hell—it’s about waking up. And once you see the machine for what it is, you can’t unsee it. You stop playing nice. You stop tithe-bleeding for pastors who wouldn’t recognize Jesus if he knocked on their megachurch door in sandals.
Final Word: From Bunker to the Black Pope
Religion doesn’t make you holy—it makes you stupid. It turns thinking people into sheep and preachers into pimps. You wanna find God? Step outside. Look in the mirror. Sit in silence long enough to scare yourself. The truth is, spiritual freedom begins where the church bulletin ends.
—A little Archie Bunker, a little Anton LaVey, and a whole lot of “wake the hell up.”
The Sacred and the Sensual: What Religion Tried to Beat Out of Us
Let’s get one thing straight—sensuality is not sin. Erotic expression isn’t evil. The body isn’t dirty. But you wouldn’t know that growing up in the guilt-soaked theology of the Religious Right, where every orgasm outside their rigid boxes was branded as demonic possession.
The church cult indoctrinated me to see women’s bodies as stumbling blocks and men’s desires as monsters. Then I married a woman whose fire couldn’t be caged by church pews or Sunday school shame. She wore what she wanted - and embraced the outfits that kept my attention focused solely on her, walked with power, and didn’t ask permission. One night, while wearing what church culture would call “a Jezebel’s uniform,” she turned every head—and triggered a patrol car spotlight like we were running an escort business.
But we weren’t selling sex. We were rediscovering our souls.
The Divine Feminine and Masculine: Not a Power Struggle—A Power Fusion
What I once called “dangerous” or “lustful” was actually sacred. The divine feminine isn't weakness. It’s raw power, intuition, sensual wisdom, and holy disruption. The masculine isn’t domination. It’s protection, strength, clarity, and unshakable presence. When the two meet in truth—without manipulation, without shame—it’s not sex. It’s alchemy.
Porn and sex work? I don’t condemn it. I studied it. I unlearned the lies about it. I saw people reclaiming agency over their bodies, monetizing their trauma, finding power in performance, and—believe it or not—forming authentic communities around mutual desire and consent. Not everyone’s path, sure. But don’t dare reduce it to filth when the church is still hiding abuse behind pulpits and robes.
We embraced parts of that world. Not for cash. Not for attention. But to rewire our trauma—to stop apologizing for wanting each other. We touched skin and soul at the same time. We didn't just explore kinks—we rewrote theology with every moan that echoed through the silence religion beat into us.
Jordan Peterson Would Call This Integration
In Jungian terms, I had to confront the shadow—the part of me religion buried under performance and fear. According to Dr. Peterson, the mature masculine emerges only when the chaos of the feminine is integrated, not silenced. He often says, “A harmless man is not a good man. A good man is a very dangerous man who has it under voluntary control.”
My wife wasn’t the danger—I was. The danger was my indoctrinated belief that power meant control, and that passion was poison. When I laid that ego on the altar, we found something deeper than submission—we found union. Not in dominance, but in dance. Not in hierarchy, but in harmony.
We Survived Our Personal Hell—and Fucked Our Way Out
Yeah, I said it. We survived mental illness, religious trauma, alcoholism, abuse, suicidal ideation, and spiritual gaslighting. We clawed our way back from the brink, holding each other close enough to feel the scars and still say “I want you anyway.”
We didn’t rediscover God in church. We found Spirit between tangled sheets, late-night conversations, laughter in the dark, and kisses that forgave what religion never could. We became each other’s temple—not to be worshiped, but to be honored.
"Church told me sex was shame. Spirit told me it was sacred. The difference? One wanted control. The other wanted truth."
—Archie Bunker would've called it perverted. Anton LaVey would've called it freedom. We just call it home.
The Church Tried to Silence What It Feared to Understand
The 1980s PMRC hearings weren’t about protecting kids—they were about protecting a fragile, frightened religious hierarchy that couldn’t stomach art that held up a mirror to their hypocrisy. From Twisted Sister to Prince, from Madonna to Mötley Crüe, the music didn’t *corrupt* us—it exposed the rot that Sunday sermons refused to touch.
The Real Message Behind the Music
Mötley Crüe didn’t introduce us to Satan. They warned us that darkness lives in drugs, in greed, in manipulation, in obsession. Their flirtation with the devil was a mirror—not an invitation. Their lyrics didn’t summon demons; they exposed the ones already hiding in pulpits and pews.
Fast forward to modern bands like Dimmu Borgir—songs like “Progenies of the Great Apocalypse” tell darker tales, not to seduce, but to warn. They narrate spiritual collapse—what happens when religion is hollow, and the soul aches to be seen. And if you want to understand how spiritual trauma births rebellion? Listen to Blutengel's “Lucifer” and then talk to the broken people the church abandoned for asking hard questions.
Sir Christopher Lee Got It Right
Even the late Sir Christopher Lee—who actually studied the occult and didn’t just cosplay it for clout—warned against playing with powers you don’t understand. But instead of educating seekers, churches shamed them. Instead of offering spiritual depth, they handed out doctrine pamphlets and offering envelopes.
The problem isn't dark music. The problem is a church so focused on tithes that it forgot about truth. You can’t silence spiritual pain with a worship set and a stage-lit sermon. You can’t pretend mental illness is a demon and call it healing. And you sure as hell can’t gaslight the broken into obedience and call it faith.
"When the Church put a price tag on obedience, the devil started handing out microphones. And some of us listened—not to glorify evil, but to understand the silence of God in the face of religious betrayal."