Christianity Stupidity

It's in our culture to behave logically, to think logically, to live logically.

And yet, so much of our faith is illogical. There's a lot in our religion that's.. well in fact-stupid.

I agree, in the beginning I was relentless in believing in a savior who performed all these miracles and also came back to life. And even mathematically, how could the death of one perfect being be enough to save an infinite number of lives?

But I think that's our flaw. It's our flaw to think or believe beyond the tangible point. We so much want things that are in our reach, we only want to believe in the things we are capable of seeing, touching, witnessing, etc etc. And maybe that explains why divorce rates increase year by year. We are incapable of knowing love. Because love like faith is not tangible. We feel both, yet we fear it's not real. And we repeatedly go through all the math equations, logical explanations, and science to disprove or prove what we are feeling- in terms we can only understand logically.

"People say that love is a feeling produced by an excess of a certain chemical that is produced in the brain. Love is not a heart thing, it's a mind thing."

Why can't we just let things be? Why must there be justifications for everything?

blegh, im not sure where im going with this.

anyways free write ***

I spy

a couple, in the student center:
Meira & Jonathan.

Meira looks like indulgence itself, a gelatinous fire hydrant conspicuously dressed, attended by her iPhone and oversize designer bag. She probably left her Yorky at home. Jonathan stares as she conquers her fudge cheesecake. I do too. Fat people make food look extra delicious.
Jonathan himself is your tall gangly anorexic hipster, a contradiction part American Apparel, part I-only-eat-bread-cuz-I-live-in-Williamsburg. He’s like 6-foot-5, maybe 6-6, and looks grungy because he is, and because he tries.
“So did you listen to that record I got ya?” He looks hopeful.
Meira looks up. Her eyes are eruptions of refracting green, sparkling jewels inlaid in fat. Freckles orbit. She chews, gulps and takes a drag from her Diet Coke. A crumb appears on her upper lip.
“Well like I said Jon-Jon, I called daddy and he said he would have his secretary send one of those record players over. Those record things are like totally too big to fit my living room stereo.”
“You got to listen to it. You got to listen to ‘City Moonshine’. The guitar on it… the riffs… and the way they talk about issues without talking about them. I wished we could have met before they came to play that show here. Who knows when they’re gonna come back from Europe.” He talks about this band like Christians talk about their Savior.
“Well I’ll listen to it as soon as the player gets in okay?”
This placates him. “Okay.”
She shovels another mound into her mouth, and reaches over, tousling his raggedy beard. His smile radiates satisfaction, like a dog’s when you rub its belly. Meira still chews, but a dreaminess enters her eyes, and her delectable greens soften and turn milky.
She’s surfing that wave, of warmth and newness and love, and it’s honest, so deliriously honest. I watch her and envy her for it. I wonder what I've done wrong in my life; I wonder how deeply the cynicism’s creeped in.
“You ready?” He stands up, (to the fucking ceiling it seems) and hoists his tattered messenger bag.
“Oh my God, I hate Professor Wilkins! I didn't even do the reading!”
He looks down and kisses her. “Don’t worry, I took notes on it.”
She smiles, and the crumb is gone.