I walk through vaguely familiar, double glass doors. Looking around, the building hadn't changed, yet, as I took my childhood church in... Everything else had changed. Hundreds of people were where seventy-five had once been. A once small church had been given a mega-church feel with a light grey paint job and chairs to match. A sea of people in turmoil, all from different places, yet some were still familiar from five years ago, the last time I had stepped foot in that church.
As the time grew near for every person in the packed room to hear preaching, I held my own rebellion in that seat, three rows from the back, as the singing commenced, not a word escaped from my mouth. Nor the mouth of my very beautiful girlfriend. One preacher of another church stood at the pulpit, spilling a God-forsaken message of what to do in storms. Saying many things that had more to do with the many people on the ship and Paul's actions and circumstances upon the ship. Yet, if I could still see how to do it without God, how many others could see it as well?
One more song, maybe two and the head pastor is on stage. Talking of the three Jewish rulers under King Nebuchadnezzar. It devolved into insulting other denominations, people, music, and other states.
YOU ARE READING
A church service from the point of a Luciferian Satanist
Non-FictionI went to a church last night and now you get to hear about it from my perspective
