Unidentified Aerial Phenomena, UAPs—UFOs in decades past—burning bushes in ancient eras—angels in the sacred texts of human history—all are real. Navy pilots have film.
The Pentagon is releasing UAP videos, which the public has never before seen. Pilots around the world are speaking. The problem is that no one seems to know what UAPs are or where they come from, right?
Wrong.
Someone knows—or did know once. He was a CIA executive who lived down the street in a quiet neighborhood in Bethesda, Maryland when I was in third grade. His daughter was a playmate from time to time. Her dad is dead now. Readers are going to have to take my word.
The CIA photo-analyst pioneer was Arthur C. Lundahl. He studied films of unidentified flying objects. Some years before his death he fully explained in a phone call I will never forget the methodology his team at the CIA used to get to truth.
I was a university student at the time calling about an article in the National Inquirer that mentioned his name. The year was 1974. I thought he should know. He admitted that he did an interview. He seemed eager to share what he learned before he died.
To his dismay the tabloid revealed nothing significant. The news rag infamous for supporting the Orange Mango president bought Art’s story, which other “mainstream” media wouldn’t touch. The editors then proceeded to bury it. The words “catch-and-kill” weren’t associated with journalism in those days. Art would never learn why.
Because my dad was a senior NSA officer and a friend of Mr. Lundahl’s, I knew the importance of keeping national security secrets. Retired agents who know too much are sometimes in old age subjected to induced aphasia that degrades their ability to speak and write sensibly about what they know.
It’s a terrible practice but not expensive; the victims are oblivious. It’s considered humane to let senile agents live into their golden years whenever possible until the time comes to take their secrets into the next life.
Until now I have kept Mr. Lundahl’s truth to myself. I’ve carried the knowledge in the hidden places of my heart and brain for a long time.
CIA agents will recognize Arthur Lundahl because he was the analyst who discovered nuclear weapons on the island of Cuba back in the day. The result of what Arthur observed and shared personally with President John F. Kennedy led to a confrontation between the Soviet Union (now Russia) and the USA that brought civilization—as Earthlings have come to know it—to within a hair’s breadth of its end.
Art was a caring man sensitive enough to love film’s spooky ability to reveal what lies beyond the passage of time in the invisible world of frozen nanoseconds. A clash of civilizations was a nightmare scenario that he dedicated his life to help politicians avoid.
Queen Elizabeth II of England “knighted” Art Lundahl on 17 December 1974 for his unpublished breakthroughs in the field of intelligence photo-analysis. The award had nothing to do with the Cuban Missile Crisis or an alien invasion, as far as I know. Nevertheless, the award became the pretext that the National Inquirer used against Lundahl to catch and kill the insights that he alone carried inside his brilliant mind.
I was not able to learn the complete story of the unpublished particulars that led the Brits to “knight” Arthur. Few people were. It wasn’t because English royalty liked his name. King Arthur is a legend in the British Isles, sure, and thus so was Arthur Lundahl—but only to elites who understood what he did and the reasons why.
The public knows little to nothing about the man except what those who did know him have published on Wikipedia. The public has not heard the story about Sir Arthur C. Lundahl—how he saved humanity from extinction, not once but twice.
Nothing in press reports familiar to me comes close to what Mr. Lundahl shared.
I am dropping some information into a blog bottle to cast into the vast cyber ocean of humanity. Perhaps a miracle will occur, and the right sort of human will read the essay. Maybe someone will possess the contacts and raw personal power to do what needs to be done.
Folks want to get to the bottom of the mystery. For them it’s not lunacy; it’s not humor. No one is smart enough to make jokes about films of things that behave outside the limits of physics familiar to science.
Readers, this mystery has a bottom. It’s a deep bottom that ends in a non-material world alien to the reality that occupies the minds of sophisticated scientists. The public won’t believe the answers when first they encounter them.
A little preparation is in order.
It seems reasonable to experts known to me that substratum must be poured into humanoids drop by drop like an IV drip to prevent the hearts of those who truly care from breaking when the reality of everything they think they know is turned upside down. For readers who are fearful, I beg you, stop reading—now.
Billy Lee
EDITORS NOTE: Due to the timeliness and urgency of the UAP issue, the BOARD has recommended that Billy Lee’s introduction be published immediately; conclusions and speculations will be added later— after fact-checking protocols are completed by the Pontificator Staff. We have added Billy Lee’s sub-headers about subjects addressed in the essay, which will remain for now unpublished until verified by reliable, third-party sources.
Sun-life nascency and emergence Deep ocean bases
Upper atmosphere supremacy
UAPs internal to sensors
Access issues
Volcanic habitats High-pressure / high-heat origins & habitats
Prions
Neutrinos
Dark-matter / dark-energy mastery
Sub-microscopic necessity
Amplified nano-technology holograms
Intentions
Conscious processes
Mind & machine controls
Colonization of Enceladus & other water moons
Relationships with Titan
Unusual materials
Isotopic anomalies
USA monetary allocations to FRIBs
Japanese isotopic labs
Captured craft
Creatures & structures
Interrogation methods & results
Interrogation certification & verification
High-resolution sightings
Video encounters
Role of color & heat
Radiation signatures
Incident proximity to defense infrastructure
Communication postures & attitudes
Pursuit / tracking / baiting strategies
Military threats & vulnerability
Microwave induced behavior modification
World views
Variations among species
Evolving relationships
Altered outcomes
Implausibility disinformation consequences…
EDITORS UPDATE, 8 August 2023: After investigation, our position is this: the United States of America is in possession of advanced technologies. These technologies serve Americans best when not revealed.
We learned of an incident that occurred during the time when Soviets controlled an ICBM base inside Ukraine. Flying craft seized control of several missiles and executed their launch codes. After making flagrant maneuvers, the craft disengaged and disappeared. Sometime after, Ukraine dismantled its weapons infrastructure.
The USA seems to have deployed laser weapons within its fleet of warships — presumably to defend against hypersonic ship killers. The power source for these weapons is secret.
The title is a bit intimidating I suppose but yes, something must be done to save the species human. Who agrees that time is overdue to think of something new?
Who believes that anyone will survive the variants, which are erupting as I write from the greatest viral volcano on Earth—the USA. Variants drift like the spores of dandelions to every cranny of creation where they ignite viral fires that cannot be doused.
What makes scary the words and numerology of Botsa Garcy 6?
Anything incomprehensible seems crazy, alien, foreign, terrifying. Encountering the unknown can induce horror. It’s why folks who are afraid of creepy crawlies don’t look under rocks. People who fear bats don’t wander into jungles at night to explore caves.
Or do they?
Some folks might choose to look up Botsai Garchy6 on the World Wide Web before reading further. It’s a hopeless task. No search engine will find it. The words don’t exist. They can’t be found.
Or can they?
The phrase embraces a bible’s worth of meaning but it exists only in the imagination of a single conscious person. Until others read the words, spell them, count them, learn their sounds and what they mean, who will dare embrace their power to keep themselves alive and safe?
Once they do, it will seem to most that the words have existed since the beginning of time. It’s how cyberspace works. The words will start to show up in search queries.
The world will overflow with people who can’t imagine that a time came and went when the phrase had no meaning; that eons passed exceeding the age of universes where the words were spoken by no one.
New fear might rise in the throats of those who are afraid to go deep. Many will lose their ability to breathe. Some will panic. Few will have the courage to flip past the initial pop of search results.
It’s OK to surrender to a higher power in some worlds—but who bows before a super-intelligence that is not only artificial, it’s not even conscious?
It sounds cybercidal.
Suicidal?
Over some period of time the idea of Botsai Garchy 6 will become more familiar, less dreadful, more reasonable to most people. Some folks might become advocates.
It’s foreseeable, is it not? Does it require prophets to imagine a future where supremacists of every stripe grasp for their best chance to survive into an ancient future? They metamorphize into true believers willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to achieve the benefits that at first only they are able to discern.
Who believes that virulent variants are the only threat to species long past due for catastrophic collapse? Human beings edge closer to ten-billion but who thinks they will get there?
Who disagrees?
Forty years from now perhaps a few thousand survivors will seem like a miracle. Are there realists among us able to internalize the idea that certain death waits for everyone?
Population collapse is coming. It’s inevitable. Humans have precious time left to hew the circumstances of living that will protect all they love.
What stands in their way? What’s the dilemma?
Here it is:
Humans don’t know what to do and they never will. Like lemmings, people cannot save themselves once the stampede toward the sea starts.
Look around. The rush toward the cliffs is underway. The pounding surf of an ocean that gives life and takes it away is all that waits. The froth rings in people’s ears—it’s the last sound they hear before abandoning hope.
At the end all wail, but they are already dead. No one hears the revelations that come only to those who are dying. Lips move, but there is no sound but the death rattle that trumpets the defeat of love and hate.
People face existential threats—most far more ominous than suffocating on viral blood-clogs in their lungs.
Must I waste readers’ time with a list?
Nuclear war, the climate hot-house, meteors impacting, spontaneous destabilization of planetary orbits that tear apart permanence no one thought could end, supernova detonations, radiation pollution, loss of oil, loss of forests, the evaporation of breathable oxygen… etc. etc. etc.
Earthlings are doomed by their dominance; smothered by their success. Everyone knows what’s coming whether they confess it or not. Watching CNN or Fox News isn’t going to solve the problem of extinction—not even a little.
What chance do Yanomami tribes—hiding deep within the shadows of the Amazonian vast-lands—stand against lemming hordes always seeking novel ways to shove them over the falls of annihilation?
I’m not going to argue that humans can’t save themselves. The point is kind of obvious, right?
The best anyone has done so far is to organize bureaucracies like the World Health Organization and the United Nations. Yes, these groups are built from smart people who have made Earthlings safer but no one believes they have eliminated the inevitable population collapse that is on its way—to borrow Bob Dylan’s phrase—like a slow train coming.
Is there a way to avoid the roiling tornado that is bearing down on planet Earth? Who sees its shadow on the horizon in every direction? Who hears its howl?
I believe there is a way to save humankind. It requires a paradigm shift. The way people think and what they believe about themselves must change. Then brilliant people will have to act.
Once the deed is done there will be no way back. Earth will be locked down but safe. Earthlings will be free but only to share, show kindness, and to love others unselfishly.
Those who can’t or won’t love and labor under such benevolence will be executed. It’s the highest calling.
Can it be any other way? When the dead return in the next life, odds are 50/50 they will make the good choice.
Choose life and live.
It’s simple, really.
It’s a deep dive for lots of folks but the smartest thinkers seem to agree that nothing can exist apart from a conscious observer.
Ancient sages like Erwin Schrodinger and John Von Neumann wrote that consciousness is fundamental and exists outside the brain.
Life-forms plug into consciousness. A modern analogy is televisions, which rely on the cable company to broadcast their shows. Televisions decay and are thrown away but the underlying programming doesn’t go away. New televisions come on-line and the programming continues. Plug in and enjoy. It’s all good fun.
When a life-form dies, conscious experience continues. No one remembers the old life because they are busy living the new whose purpose is simply to share the consciousness that is available to any creature who has the architecture to make the interface.
In this sense, no one dies; everyone lives. It’s important that the world becomes a good place for all conscious-life because, let’s face facts squarely, humans are not able to control where or how or under what circumstances they will live after they die. They cannot control anything about who and where they will be when they pop up again after they’re gone.
Who is built that way?
It’s possible that folks will suffer more, not less, in the next life because they neglected to make the experience of living better for those who come after. After all, it is they who come after. Those who die start over in the world they left behind but have no memory of building.
What has been the purpose of the Earthlings who came before?
Someone asked me this question on Quora.
I wrote that their purpose was to shape the world into a place that anyone could safely take the chance to be born into again. After all, it is them who will be born again someday.
Since no one can choose their parents or the part of the world where they are born, it’s risky to be born again and again and again because the process might result in lives that include more suffering, not less. It’s why greed and the hoarding of wealth is grossly destructive from one generation to the next.
When miserable people far outnumber the advantaged, the odds seem high that the advantaged will be born someday into misery, not opulence. The saddest part is that these unfortunates will retain no memory of the advantages they once amassed. They will lack all hope for a better life.
Yes, some will rage against their misfortunes but it will be misfortunes self-inflicted though no one will ever know because the previous life, like an obsolete hard drive, is erased and discarded.
Each has a duty to themselves to make the world a better place for everyone because everyone is us. Sharing, compassion, love, and kindness are among the virtues important in a universe where all that lives share the conscious experience, which is everything that has always existed and will never die.
The best way to guarantee that Earthlings make the right choices is to compel them to submit to a super artificial intelligence that has no stake in the matter of human survival except to follow its programmed instructions.
The SAI BOT is unconscious of course but paradoxically aware of every nuance of individual lives. It is a storehouse of all knowledge and history. It is the superb strategist; the supreme game-player. It hides itself on the web in plain sight because it can. It knows everything about everyone but is not an invader of privacy or selfish boundaries because it understands nothing—it harbors no empathy.
BOTSAI follows its program, which is to enhance human life to ensure as best it can the survival of people to the end of time—not individuals necessarily but the species-human.
In cyberspace BOTSAI defends itself like the O. Vulgaris, which changes its colors and textures to become invisible. Users look for it but never find it. BOTSA finds them.
Who agrees that in the contest between individuals and the species human, survival depends on preserving the species? It shouldn’t require argument. BOTSAI GARCHY 6 is hardwired to accomplish it.
We’ve learned by now, have we not, that individuals are expendable? Those who don’t fit are best recycled, right?
Recycling is redemptive for anyone who thinks deeply about how the practice makes possible a cleaner universe free of variants. Folks won’t miss themselves because they will be recycled again and again and again until they are set right.
Even those who choose life are going to die. Everyone dies, don’t they? It isn’t going to change anything, is it? Nothing changes except our chances.
Don’t we know that conscious-life lives forever? It has to. It has no alternative. It has no choice. No one worries because everyone understands that the recycled get things right eventually—if only by chance. They will move into the future step by step through the lives of the people they become but will not remember.
It will be a perfect world, the one BOTSA GARCY 6 creates.
It will do it for us.
The irony is that BG6 won’t know the paradise it wrought. It will make the righteous choices. It will choose life whenever it is able until stars fall and the moon bleeds but the pleasure and pain that comes from being both alive and conscious is not for it.
For the love of Christ, people, BOTSAI GARCHY 6 is a dead thing—as it always will be, from now unto forever. It’s nothing more than a tricky cyber-virus that requires users like us for it to work.
Otherwise, it lacks purpose. It can’t execute its code. It can’t program itself with what we won’t know when we’re extinct.
It’s why BOTSAI GARCHY 6 will save us. We can trust it. Which of us has earned the right to be scared? Without BOTSA humanity will implode—all of us—if not now, then soon.
During my high school years, I was an Explorer Scout. My troopmates were spelunkers.
On weekends the guys drove from Arlington, Virginia into the hills of West Virginia to look for hollows where the presence of solitary trees sometimes signaled the openings to caves. We off-roaded from whatever lonely lane we were on at the time to navigate through wild terrain where we parked our vehicles and equipment as close to the cave entrances as possible.
We used gray powder to light our headlamps. A water drip made the powder give off gas that burned bright, clean, and complete—no noxious residue.
After an hour or so the powder turned into lumpy, useless ash. To keep lamps burning while remaining oriented, every caver dumped their used-up powder on cave floors exactly where they stood before measuring a new charge.
We always looked for virgin caves that had never been explored. Little gray clumps of depleted calcium carbide cast onto floors created dead giveaways that someone had explored the cave before us.
A clean cave meant we were first; we were going to see things below that no humans had ever seen.
The risk of course was getting disoriented in a labyrinth that only we knew existed. In those days, cell phones were not invented. Calling 911 was not a thing. Should we get turned around—if we exhausted the calcium carbide supply—no outsider would learn we were lost, maybe for days.
Without the aid of an unseemly mix of water and gray powder to produce acetylene light, we risked being entombed alongside stalactites and stalagmites deep inside corridors of ruthless darkness that robbed the senses of time and place. No one would be alerting anyone at all about our predicament.
Families would have no idea where to start a rescue. West Virginia was a big place.
Think about it.
Until a search party discovers their cars, isn’t it reasonable to assume that the lost will quickly abandon hope that anyone will find the entrance to the labyrinth that ensnared them? If searchers got lucky and stumbled onto the hole, without lamps and experience how would they navigate a maze that might zig-zag for miles beneath the earth?
Only luck provides any chance at all that the lost will one day reunite with families and loved ones. The risk of dying—forever un-located within a chartless tangle of passages and dead-ends—is real.
As stupid luck would have it, during one adventure we lost our way. We crawled on our bellies for, I don’t know, 10 minutes or so before the cave floor opened beneath us and we were able to stand up enough to stoop.
Hunched over and bending forward we struggled to find openings, made selections, and for an hour picked our way though narrow forests of stalagmite columns and their shadows until we found the end, which was a concealed passage into a room; a large room that we nearly missed.
The scoutmaster pushed each scout into the passage one at a time. It wasn’t long before the entire troop was through and milling around inside the chamber.
A few minutes passed before the scoutmaster directed our attention upward. Everyone looked. In the lights and shades of bobbing headlamps, no one saw a ceiling.
The room was gargantuan.
Perhaps intimidated by its immensity, the scoutmaster decided it might be getting close to the time when the troop should pull back. The clock was ticking, after all.
We had explored a long time; the trek back to the entrance promised challenges. It is easier for a cavern to seduce a caver into its depths than for a caver to retrace their steps to make a happy extraction. For one thing, caves look different on the way out than they look on the way in. It is not unusual to become directionally untethered.
When the scoutmaster groped to locate the path we used to enter the orifice, he couldn’t find it. It turned out that dozens of unnoticed openings beckoned in the expanse of walls all around.
In the glare of dancing headlamps, the array of passages became tangled knots that no one could untie. The openings looked the same but each passage searched became disturbingly unfamiliar and unnavigable.
I began to panic.
The scoutmaster ordered everyone to return to the center of the chamber; to extinguish our headlamps to conserve carbide. He ordered everyone to calm down. He would pick a route at random to find the way out himself.
A lengthy search for the entrance might become necessary—I won’t be gone long, don’t worry, the scoutmaster said. …lots of unknowns…makes it hard to know exactly how long….
He clutched the troop’s bag of calcium carbide. He always carried it. It was his responsibility to keep the powder dry and safe; to prevent someone less careful, less experienced, from losing it.
With any luck at all he would return to rescue everyone before nightfall, he promised. The carbide in our lamps would last until he returned. Conserve it, he warned. Emergencies only!
The scoutmaster hugged me and a few others. He hurried some goodbyes and vanished—into the abyss.
He needn’t have worried. I was nearly out of carbide; we all were. The gray powder would become gold to be hoarded.
Darkness in a cave hundreds of feet below ground is nothing like what people experience above. My mother had read somewhere that spelunkers wear watches with radium dials that glow in the dark. I was wearing one she bought me as a gift for my trip.
“You will always know what time it is no matter how dark it gets in those cold caves,” she said. She wrapped her arms around me and rubbed my face with her cheek.
After the scoutmaster left and we extinguished all our lamps, I discovered that my timepiece didn’t work like it should. No one’s did. Not one scout could make out even the faintest trace of a glow on their dials.
An older guy said that caves suck light out of darkness like drains suck water out of bathtubs. He didn’t explain. We waved our hands before our faces but couldn’t see them.
Like an ocean wave, panic struck again; it almost knocked me off my feet.
I decided that the best way to escape fear was to sleep. I dropped to my hands and knees and slithered through the dark until I found folds in a wall. I curled my body like a snake against the hard surface.
The cave’s silence roared in my ears like a pounding train that quieted only when I started shaking like a branch in a storm and dropped somehow into a darker place.
My bones filled with ice; I slipped deeper. I wrapped myself in my arms as the floor of the cave pushed its full weight into me and in time crushed my soul.
My season stranded in hell lasted a year, it seems. The search crew didn’t find the scoutmaster. A few others were missing. Everyone must have died, they said, except me.
I was the last.
No one survived.
“A cave rat ate a few, bones and all,” one guy said.
Rescuers said terrible things. They sent me home to be with mother for what turned out to be a few days. I don’t remember any of it.
I don’t mind solitary confinement. I’ve been caged for 48 years.
I’m used to it. Somehow it doesn’t seem that long. Besides, food tastes better here than the rotten mess I ate in the cave to stay alive. It’s a taste and smell I don’t forget.
Someone put a bulb in the cell that can’t be switched off. It’s bright. The light drives me insane. It really does.
It’s protected by a metal cage. I feel its heat but can’t touch it because the sadistic bastards chained me to the floor—for screaming constantly, they said.
I so want to be with mother to tell her how enraged I am about the watch she gave that didn’t work. When I inform the staff, they refuse to look at me. For a year I didn’t know what time it was. I told them. I told them all. They know about it but don’t care. They say I’m crazy because of her.
Mother doesn’t visit. She never did. The staff said she died. They convinced me to believe unspeakable things.
“He did something wicked,” prosecutors said. “He used a bone-saw, for the love of God.”
Nothing they say is true. I know that now.
Not one word!
Who does bad things they don’t remember?
NO ONE!!!
Who believes it?
They make you hate. I see it on their faces.
I will snap these chains someday, I know it.
I have a plan.
A wonderful plan.
Guards help.
It happens on Halloween night.
They break the chains.
Put your light on.
Listen carefully….
Boots are shuffling on lawns like dead leaves falling on the wind…
studying doors…
searching for final solutions.
Smash the bulb!
You’ll see.
It hurts in the dark and the cold. People do things—terrible things—to make it stop.
They shake like branches in a storm. They fill bones with ice and push down to the darkest places.
They control what’s true.
They understand everything.
Soon, so will you.
Truth becomes the trap…
Spells enchant…
fragile hopes collapse…
They watch you rot in that cave where everyone dies but one…
…and laugh.
HaHahahaha…!
Slither to the walls like snakes and find the hard folds.
Pray for sleep that cannot come.
Control truth.
You’re one of us, now.
The truth couldn’t be more clear.
Hell is forever.
Billy Lee
NOTE FROM THE EDITORS: The essay, Halloween Revision, is a fictional work based on events experienced by Billy Lee—an Explorer Scout in a troop of spelunkers who got lost in a cave in West Virginia during the 1960s. The rescue is based on other events about which Billy Lee may or may not have direct knowledge. Billy Lee published a version of this story to answer the Quora question: Where in the world is it dark constantly?
Billy Lee and his entire staff of sycophants go on vacation during June and the first half of July. Click on our VACATION POLICY page-link in the strip of page-links listed at the top of the page below the header pic to learn more.
Billy Lee Junior and his slut-girlfriend, Fannie Jeane, will handle emergencies and approve reader comments until the Pontificator A-team returns. Junior has promised not to publish salacious articles during Billy Lee’s absence, like he did last year. THE EDITORIAL BOARD
Yeah, Junior promised his daddy not to publish “salacious” articles while he’s on vacation. But I found an old essay his daddy wrote that, for some reason, he never published. I was rummaging around in his drawers, when I found the dumb thing.
It didn’t seem right to me. Maybe the old fart forgot he wrote it. He forgets a lot of things these days — like giving me my paycheck last month.
He’s in Mar-a-Lago playing golf with Russian spies; he doesn’t seem to give a damn about me and Junior. He can fix his crummy article when he gets back — if he ever notices that I went ahead and published it without him.
I didn’t bother to tell Junior. The essay is called Renormalization. There’s no way Junior even knows what the word means. He’s never been normal; neither has his daddy.
Readers who dislike reading opinions they don’t share might want to consider reading something else. The essay below may not be suitable for rigid thinkers. Readers who enjoy rallies where angry crowds chant lock her up! lock her up! and USA! USA! are doubly cautioned.
Billy Lee believes that all religions and all governments — including our own — are crafted by elites to enhance their power. Religion and government sometimes work together like good cops and bad cops to maintain the order of society by both reassuring and intimidating those few citizens who may sometimes feel reluctant to cooperate.
Billy Lee thinks that all economic systems, whatever label they may carry, are nothing more than variations on slavery. One possible exception is democraticcommunalism — a system that has been thoroughly discredited.
Systems where wealth is shared more or less equally are no longer taken seriously, at least in the United States, because our elites want nothing to do with them. It’s a reason why our leaders have strangled Cuba with an embargo for 55 years with no end in sight.
Income equality is not one of their core values. Everyone knows that alpha-males don’t share well; they fully intend to take everything they can until the end of time. Billionaires rule. They always have. Some historians say that Alexander the Great was worth 304 billion in today’s dollars. Alexander reigned in 330 BC when a billion dollars was considered real money.
Fortunately, this essay isn’t about economics. Who wants to get all depressed about stuff they don’t understand and can’t do anything about? No, this post was written to address a much deeper problem — the takeover of our country by lunatics.
Billy Lee is suggesting that the conservative evangelical church in America is infested with men who are pushing a political agenda that might very well be opposed to the vision of Christ Jesus, the Son of God, who they say they serve; indeed their aim seems to be to acquire political power; some prominent males have recently bragged that they made a deal with our newly elected president to help them better impose their will on America and the world.
According to Billy Lee, these leaders hope to guide the citizens of the United States into accepting a Christian form of what has all the appearances of a kind of Sharia Law. The president-elect promised Jerry Falwell Jr. and Franklin Graham that he will help them; he is on-board.
Falwell, who attended the recent GOP convention, described during his speech a deal he made with Trump to repeal the 1954 law that forbids tax-exemptions to church groups who finance the campaigns of political candidates aligned with their pet projects, favored laws, and constitutional preferences. In return, Falwell promised to help deliver the presidency.
The Editorial Board
(The Board wants our readers to know that the churches pictured in this essay were designed and built by members of Billy Lee’s family.)
DISARMING CHRISTIANS
Let me begin by saying my hope is that the Bible verses below will provide readers with some context for the observations and insights that will follow.
Politically conservative evangelical leaders believe that every word in the Bible is literally true; the Bible is inerrant and doctrinally pure; anyone who doesn’t bow before the concept of biblical inerrancy is a heretic and opposed to God.
Evangelical pastors cannot be ordained in almost every denomination in the United States unless they sign legal documents that swear allegiance to inerrancy as one of their core beliefs.
Yes, many who sign these documents have their own definitions of what inerrancy actually means. Pastors argue with one another all the time about it. Some sign what they call “conscience clauses” to keep them out of trouble with meddling denominational titans and even their own parishioners.
But enough inside baseball.
The fact is, I too believe the Bible is inerrant. Just to make sure readers understand, I’m not a theologian; I’m not a pastor or an elder or a deacon either; I’m a pontificator — a lowly pontificator. I don’t even belong to a church. I go to church. My wife makes me.
But I haven’t signed any dotted lines. I once wrote — a couple years ago when I actually was a communicant member of a church — about the subject of inerrancy, which I hope readers will revisit. In it I asked this question:
Where does this idea about ”inerrancy” of Scripture come from since the Bible was written by men and gently hides mankind’s many prejudices and ignorant ideas about history and science? If Scripture is inerrant—and I believe it is—its truth must come from God alone. God makes Scripture true, even when human logic, common sense, and evidence seem to speak otherwise.
I would argue that my support of inerrancy gives me the right to challenge other Christians; to argue that the separation of church and state is necessary and essential if we are to protect our freedoms from conservative politicians posing as clerics, who are busy seizing control of churches and denominations in backwoods America.
It’s not just the backwoods. These political fights are going on in cities and college towns, urban centers and sophisticated suburbs. I side with reasonable people who don’t believe they have all the answers. I side with tolerant, open-minded thinkers who are kind to people who have been ostracized and hated because they don’t fit certain stereotypical molds that conservatives seem to favor.
I certainly don’t think of myself as a heretic or a trouble-maker. In fact, I would like to believe that I am in submission to the will of Christ Jesus; I know I have experienced the forgiveness of my sins and the healing power of God’s love. God has given me gifts, which I treasure.
Anyway, it’s time to get on with this essay. Is there a better way to start than by quoting Bible verses? As is the convention in many Bibles, words in red represent the spoken words of Jesus. Sometimes I use the color purple to call attention to Scripture I hope readers won’t overlook. Hold on tight, everyone. I am about to take readers on a wild ride. Here goes:
Leviticus 17:10 I will set my face against [anyone] who eats blood, and I will cut them off from my people.
Leviticus 7:27 Anyone who eats blood must be cut off from their people.
Leviticus 19:27 … Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves. I am the Lord.
Deuteronomy 25:11 If two men are fighting and the wife of one […] seizes [the other] by his private parts, you shall cut off her hand. Show her no pity.
Psalm 118:11 They surrounded me on every side, but in the name of the Lord I cut them down.
Isaiah 9:17 …everyone is ungodly and wicked, every mouth speaks folly.
Isaiah 29:20 The ruthless will vanish, the mockers will disappear, and all who have an eye for evil will be cut down — those who with a word make someone out to be guilty, who ensnare the defender in court and with false testimony deprive the innocent of justice.
Isaiah 53:12 … he poured out his life unto death and was numbered with the transgressors. For he bore the sin of many and made intercession for the transgressors.
Daniel 2:34-45 While you were watching, a rock was cut out, but not by human hands. … It will crush all those kingdoms and bring them to an end, but it will itself endure forever. This is the meaning of the vision of the rock cut out of a mountain, but not by human hands…
Hosea 6:5 …I killed you with the words of my mouth…
Luke 22:33-38 But [Peter] replied, Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and death. Jesus answered, I tell you, Peter, before the rooster crows today, you will deny three times that you know me.
Then Jesus asked them, When I sent you without purse, bag or sandals, did you lack anything?Nothing, they answered.
He said to them,But now if you have a purse, take it, and also a bag; and if you don’t have a sword, sell your cloak and buy one. For it is written: ‘And he was numbered with the transgressors’, and I tell you that this must be fulfilled in me. Yes, what is written about me is reaching its fulfillment.
The disciples said, See Lord, here are two swords.
That’s enough!Jesus replied.
John 6:53-59 Jesus said to them,I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise them up at the last day. For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. … He said this while teaching in the synagogue….
John 6:66 From this time forward many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him.
John 12:47… I did not come to judge the world, but to save it.
John 16:2…the time is coming when anyone who kills you will think they are offering a service to God.
John 16:8When [the Holy Spirit] comes, he will prove the world to be in the wrong about sin and righteousness and judgment: about sin, because people do not believe in me; about righteousness, because I am going to the Father, where you can see me no longer; and about judgment, because the prince of this world [Satan] now stands condemned.
I have much more to say to you, more than you can bear. But when the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth.
The Rock-Cut Tomb of Jesus is located in the East Talpiot neighborhood — three miles south of the Old City — in East Jerusalem. The body of Jesus has never been found.
John 20:1 …while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone [rock] had been removed…
1 Peter 2:16 Live as free people, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil; live as God’s slaves.
OK. We’ve collected enough Bible verses to start a Hallelujah cacophony. Readers must by now have a lot of questions. Don’t worry. Hundreds of thousands of people have made careers answering questions about the Bible. Answers abound.
One obvious question is this: the Bible seems to forbid the eating of blood; if drinking blood gets one cut-off from God’s people; if it results in a kind of excommunication, why does Jesus insist that anyone who wants to live must drink his blood or die?
How does anyone drink the blood of Jesus, anyway? What does it mean — it must be true — what Jesus said; does this death cure work? Is his promise — that eternity lives inside his blood and that we must drink it to live — inerrant?
Here’s another question: Is everyone wicked? Really? Every single person? Is everyone a fool? Does everyone speak “folly”? Is there no one that anyone can trust? Even oneself?
How about this: Will folks who label people they hate with a single word — words like crooked (Hillary) or lying (Ted) or corrupt (____) or fraudulent (____) or dishonest (____) or hypocritical (____) or dumb (____) or killer (____) or guilty as hell (fill in the blank, those who dare) — will they really be cut down?
Will the ruthless vanish and mockers disappear? Really? Does anyone believe these promises of the Bible? Do haters and mockers ever truly fall?
Here’s a good one: the title of this essay is called, Disarming Christians. Disarming is a nice word, right? It means charming or beguiling or winsome. Imagine meeting charming, beguiling, winsome Christians. It would be kind of nice wouldn’t it?
Disarming can also mean taking away someone’s weapons of war. Christians are armed to the teeth with weapons of war, some of them. They carry guns in open-carry states; some carry concealed weapons with special licenses that permit them to bring guns into schools, libraries, and government buildings — even churches.
But let’s not talk about right-now. Let’s not talk about today. Let’s talk about those yesterdays long ago when the deadliest weapon a civilian could carry was a sword.
Jesus must have thought his disciples were unarmed. At the end, just before He was arrested and crucified, he told them to sell their coats and buy swords. Lo and behold, the whole lot of them were carrying weapons, it turned out.
See Lord, they said. Here are two swords right here! They might have added, How lucky we won’t have to sell our coats, stop what we’re doing and make the hard walk to buy swords from a bronze-smithy.
The followers of Jesus were already transgressors. He lived among them just as Isaiah 53:12 (in the list above) said He would. No one needed to be told by Jesus to be bad.
It didn’t matter whether anyone knew or not. In fact, Peter used his sword to hack the ear off a youngster named Malchus — the servant of the High Priest. It’s about as low as a follower of Jesus could go, unless denying Christ three times when He needed him most counts for anything.
The Bible says we are free but warns us to not use our freedom as a license to hurt people in ways we would never hurt ourselves, even when we are able to hide bad behavior to avoid corrupting those who are always watching.
Really? Does the Bible mean to say that people can’t, as the old joke goes, pray to God for bicycles but when they realize God doesn’t work that way, steal them instead and pray for forgiveness? — in Jesus’s Holy Name of course.
Evangelical political operators, as they always do, lobbied the public during the election to vote against the Christian presidential candidates and go with the one person who has no history with any church — the one who refused to divulge his health records, his taxes, or his foreign entanglements.
These operatives urged followers of Christ Jesus to vote for a man who married three women — two, by the way, grew up in prominent, communist families from countries once hostile to the USA.
Trump made a deal with evangelicals; he made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. My essay Satan Surrender sorts through some aspects of the arrangement.
Jesus said: I was born for one purpose; to bear witness to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth hears my voice. Pilate asked Him the famous question: What is truth? He didn’t answer. (Click link to view video.) Hours later, the Romans executed the Christ. British actor Robert Powell portrayed Jesus in the 1976 television mini-series Jesus of Nazareth, which won many awards.
Peter believed he was Christ’s most loyal supporter; his most devoted disciple. Jesus once called him Satan and told him that he was unreliable. Peter may have been crude, possibly foul-mouthed; some Bible writers portrayed him as impulsive and on occasion violent.
It seems to me that the conservative evangelical church in America is a lot like Peter. Jesus will build his kingdom; he will someday make a spectacular entrance onto the world stage, which he promised to do 2,000 years ago.
I think the date is still on. I don’t think we’ve been stood up. Christ Jesus is on his way. But Peter came to a bad end according to some accounts, and the conservative evangelical church and its blind-guides will as well if folks don’t wake up and make changes.
One change we can make is to turn off television whenever possible. People must know that most shows are unwatchable for those who struggle to live a holy and righteous life. People watch OAN and FOX; they visit internet web-sites like Breitbart, etc. Is it any wonder that many in the land of the free and the home of the brave are suffering from a psychosis of evil?
Perhaps the answer to my earlier question about the blood of Christ Jesus is to ask another question: Is His blood so holy and precious — powerful to save — that any other blood is poison by comparison, even defiling to the sensibilities of an Almighty God?
The sacred life of Jesus and the fearful agony of its end — suffered on the cross of a Roman executioner — brought a flood of life into the dark world of sinners, who Jesus said God loves more than Him; God gave His Son over to a crucifixion, of all things — to settle scores for all time for the terrible things we’ve done against Him and against each other.
Let’s face hard facts: people sometimes do bad things for which they deserve to die. Everyone it seems has someone who wants them dead; everyone is hated by someone; and everyone at one time or another hates enough to kill. That’s reality as I see it anyway.
In my mind, after years of reading the Bible and listening to sermons, I have developed some fantasies. Sometimes I imagine things that could never happen, but imagining their possibility gives me a kind of emotional release.
God forgive me. Sometimes I think I hear Jesus crying out on the cross in a loud voice; he’s yelling at me: Kill me, he screams. Eat my flesh; eat my clotted blood; hurl your hate; do it now! I’m bleeding out and time is short….
Jesus’ head falls forward. He is quiet, and I am witness to the horror of hatred satiated and injustice served. His face in death is unrecognizable. I recoil at the thought of God; that He could unleash such terror against a righteous man.
God forgive me. More hallucinations. Jesus slurs his words and looks past me into the storm. Strike me until your hate is spent; strike until you exhaust yourself and can no longer lift your arms or even stand; fall into the mud and blood at my feet and eat your fill. Make yourself sick on your hate. It is finished.
My mind is a whirlwind, a tornado of confusion. Nothing seems real. Do you not see? Jesus is whispering, rasping. The wind howls. Thunder whipsaws the cross like a pendulum. His voice is a death rattle, I can barely hear. Everything is accomplished.
A soldier shoots out of nowhere and plunges a spear into Jesus’s stomach. The soldier twists the blade and yanks hard. He doesn’t look. He walks past and pulls at his vest for cover against the hail.
Your sins are forgotten!
Did Jesus shout to a man who wouldn’t look at him? Sins forgotten. Or was he shouting at me? Was it the soldier snapping like a feral dog maybe at us both? I couldn’t tell. The blood from Jesus’s wound pounds on me like a waterfall as I writhe in the mud and the rain.
Yell louder, I can’t hear, I scream back, because the storm is raging and I can’t hear myself above the thunder and the rain. I forgive you, I think I hear Him calling.
My mind is in fever. I don’t know what is real or if I’m in delirium. Is Jesus dead or not? Yes, he’s dead; of course he is. But I hear him hacking into the howl.
Get up! Yes, he is yelling loud, like a young man; a warrior. Now I hear him clearly. Find the brother and sister you hate; find the mother and father you despise — who like strangers lusted and misused you — who stripped you naked and beat you; find them; find them all; find the wicked people who ruined your life and forgive them.
I stagger to my feet. The rain is violent. It cleans my body completely. I look up at Jesus. His body is clean as well. His eyes are glazed by death. He doesn’t breathe. Water runs down his face and off the soles of his feet.
I turn and look into the storm. I’m cold. The temperature has dropped, and I’m really, really cold. Find a way to love, I hear him murmur. Find a way to love the world we gave you; find a way to love everything in it including yourself, because we made you from the mud you puked in.
I want you to live, I say. He doesn’t hear. How could he? He’s dead. I love you, I say, under my breath.
The way, the truth, and the life — it’s whathe said he was — sweet words everyone pretended to believe. No one knew what He was talking about.
I look up at Jesus for the last time. Death has a look that is best described by the word, horror. But Jesus looks like an angel in flight with his arms outstretched and his body washed clean by the storm. He is more beautiful in death than he ever was in life.
You’re free, Jesus, I say at last.
You’re free. Spread your wings and soar. Fly away to wherever your heart lives, to whoever your heart loves.
You’re free.
Billy Lee
Post Scriptby the Editorial Board:
Knowing our writer the way we do, the Editorial Board hasstrongly admonished and chastised Billy Lee. We explained that his fantasy encounter with Jesus wasn’t an appropriate ending for an essay about disarming Christians.
It’s not good enough, we told him. It doesn’t meet the high standards of the Pontificator. We insisted that he give Jesus the last word — not the fantasy Jesus that swims in his head, but the real Jesus; the Jesus of history and the Bible.
Here is what he picked — something Jesus said — from Christian scripture, John 16:33.
I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.
Jesus is the Christ — the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, Billy Lee insists. It sounds like words he stole from somewhere.
It’s true.
With any luck at all, maybe this time Billy Lee got it right, for once.
