A site of satirical musings, commentary and/or rhetorical criticism of the world at large.

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Location: Southeastern, Pennsylvania, United States

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

A Prayer for Rev. Phelps

Dear Lord,

I wish to pray to you today for one of your children, Rev. Fred Phelps from Topeka, Kansas. As you know, he and his followers believe that our soldiers are dying in Iraq because the United States tolerates the gay lifestyle. As you also know, we had some trouble this week in Lancaster County, and the Amish community suffered a terrible loss of five girls. The Rev. Phelps and his followers were preparing to attend the funerals for these girls and stage a protest. They wanted to let everyone know that you had brought this down on the Amish people because the Pennsylvania governor had criticized his followers from the Westboro Baptist Church. The good news is that his group backed off their plans, but I was hoping that you could do something more for Rev. Phelps.

The Amish are good people, and they have already forgiven the man who brought this violence to their town. I would like to ask you to put some of that forgiveness in Rev Phelps’ heart. Please don’t get me wrong; I’m not asking that you slay Rev. Phelps. That would be a wrong misuse of your forgiving guidance to ask you to do that. I don’t know why Rev. Phelps has such hatred inside of him, but I trust that his feelings are all part of your plan.

I wonder if you could somehow send him a small sign that his efforts are counter productive and give Christianity a bad name. Perhaps the next time he is leading a protest on a city street near another soldier’s funeral, if you could arrange that he might stub his toe. Then, as he stumbles, the force of gravity would make him drop his sign, breaking it, and that the jagged, broken shaft would impale him. Then as he struggles to remove the shaft from his body, but without any divine intervention from yourself, he could lose his balance and fall into the street. Then, as his followers reach down to help him out of the street, through a coincidental, cataclysmic conjunction of the cosmos, a Mack truck could speed down the street, lose its brakes, and run over the whole lot of them.

If this small sign could come to pass, I know many people in this country would be very grateful.

Thank you, Lord, for listening.


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