Well, it must have done SOMETHING, because I *read *what was written here, but what I *heard *was the Crazy Frog… 
Ahhhh… I remember that stuff - I hung out with a bunch of folks who did all this ‘applying the blood’ business all the time; “the blood of Jesus on my car, etc” - Weird and somewhat consumerist, or actually not all that different from spell casting, really.
They also did this ‘Putting on the armour of God’ thing, supposedly based on this passage in Ephesians. See, I had always imagined that the instruction to ‘put on the belt of truth’ meant you were supposed to… y’know… be truthful in word and deed, and so on…
But apparently I was wrong, what it really means is that you stand in front of a mirror in the morning, mime putting on a belt and say “I put on the belt of truth”, then carry on as normal.
F’ckin morons.
What were their beliefs on D&D? Because I would be sorely tempted to tell them I stand in front a mirror every morning and put on my Helm of Disintergration every morning.
(I haven’t played D&D beyond NWN, so cut me a little slack. I’m sure real players could come up with much better things.)
Generally against it, regardless whether or not they knew what it was.
Why… who are these people?
Are these the same people who cover their workspace and themselves with various religious slogans like “Too stressed to be blessed, I confess God caress my duress with finesse” or shit like that?
Why did I hang out with them? - I had a profound religious experience and they pretty much siezed upon it and imposed a whole load of Fundie Christian claptrap over the top (including, but not limited to, young Earth creationism and name-it-and-claim-it prosperity stuff). Took me quite a few years to get free of it all. I’m still a believer and still consider myself a Christian, but I’m a bit more careful now about what I allow to be heaped upon me.
Who are they? Evangelical Christian Fundamentalists (in the UK, of all places), trying to model themselves by various high-profile American travelling(or broadcasting) speakers such as Kenneth Copeland - the group I got sucked into has now largely dispersed (and those that remain are now more moderate).
This is probably the single theme of American Evangelicalism that I can comprehend the least. The very idea of God promising earthly riches to believers strikes me as so profoundly anthithetical to the teachings of the Bible that were I a Fundamentalist Christian, I would probably assume it was a belief created by Satan to tempt Christians away from their beliefs.
Yes, but it’s also telling people, “God will give you what you want because you’re a good person” which is what people want to hear. Haven’t you ever had a time in your life when you didn’t want to think and just wanted to hear someone tell you it would be all right? That’s what this does. I disapprove of it, myself and it’s antithetical to what I believe, but I can see the appeal.
Indeed; it’s not any different from the big promise made by, say, Amway, or a whole bunch of other such entities; they use it because it draws the punters
“I APPLY THE BLOOD OF JESUS OVER WHERE I LIVE AT!”
Not sure about changing into a Christian, but after reciting it 3x, I now feel the need to use American grammar and spelling - go figure!
Thank You for posting this! I recited the prayers and something *did * happen. **I FOUND CHRIST! ** He was under the sofa cushions along with 87¢ and half a nilla waffer! Now I know true bliss! Thanks again.
Maybe you can teach some of it to the fine specimens who put that crap together.
So… they’re saying that they’re putting on a belt… but they’re not actually putting on a belt?
I can’t help but think that there’s a profound insight about righteous-minded people lurking here somewhere. Or, possibly, that good intentions are instantly corrupted when combined with mime.
That’s bad grammar in any Anglophone country.
They all went off to some conference or other (I was unable to join them due to work commitments) and they came back with this ‘putting on the Armour of God’ thing.
Anyway, yes, the thing you had to do was to stand in front of the mirror every morning and say “I put on the full armour of God - I stand firm with the belt of truth buckled around my waist, with the breastplate of righteousness…” etc - miming each piece of armour as you go. You had to do it afresh every day because (and I’m not joking here - this is what they said) ‘the devil comes and steals the armour every night’ (Ummm… chapter and verse please?)
I tried on many occasions to explain that I thought this was meaningless, superstitious butchery of scripture and Christian doctrine, and that I thought the passage was imploring the reader to be truthful, righteous, peaceable, etc and that the act of immersing yourself in those virtues might be likened to wearing armour, in that it could concievably set you beyond reproach, or something like that. I never managed to prevail with this argument and it was pretty much brushed aside - if I’d only been at the conference, I’d have understood and wouldn’t be saying such silly things.
- in fact, there was always something like that that was brought back from meetings or seminars that was going to change everything; usually it would only last a month or two, then fade, but the Armour of God incantation lasted for quite a bit longer.
Don’t you have to take the armor off at night? Seems to me it would be awfully uncomfortable sleeping with your sword and breastplate on.
No more uncomfortable than, say, Marcel Marceau in his imaginary glass box
'Course, not everybody is equally good at bringing these concepts to life for themselves. For those less talented, there is the Full Armour of God Play Set.
Although at $26.00 a throw, de Debbil could seriously deplete your resources with his thievin’ ways. Better to make sure there are some good sturdy locks on your doors and windows.
I always find it interesting to see Fundamentalist Christians practicing superstition and pagan-like rituals. It suggests to me that there’s something very fundamental about people’s desire to have magic rituals. It’s fascinating.
Until Jackie Chan stole it.