(153) Fjólublár

Jesus is heavy, like a ball and chain. “Don’t lay your Jesus trip on me,” says the hippy, as he reclines on his caftan rug. It’s okay—I’ve taken off the ball and chain, I give you permission to be light like Buddha (you can feel the mark on your ankle where Christ was). It’s fun to move about without the Jesus-ball-and-chain. We mostly do today—although I always include Jesus, if you shut him out you’re dominated by him more than ever; so I say—I have removed my Jesus ball-and-chain and invited him back in.

The Christian comes to you and he says, “Here is the Bible.” I take the Bible and say, “There is a tear on the first page.” The Christian says, “Oh, we can get a new copy, but I want to tell you the Good News—it’s still in there.” I say, “But there’s a tear on the first page of your holy book—you say you want to talk about religion, but I think you want to talk about something else.”

Belief is the enemy. I don’t believe in anything. Q: “Is to not believe in anything a belief?” No, it is not atheism or agnosticism—those are beliefs, beliefs there is nothing or beliefs there is no way to know. This is a technique, not a belief—it kills belief. Christians and Muslims are heavy because they are fanatics; they are like the Marxists—it’s the Jewish way you see, from which they derive so much. A heavy meal. It’s not really about religion, it’s about the power and the pride. That’s why you’ll find a Christian smacking another man’s head on the floor and you’ll say, “But it’s not Christian!” And he’ll say: “It’s all predestined, I accepted Christ and now I’m saved—it’s not salvation by works, whatever I do I’m damned or saved.” That is a great belief, Calvin—it’s so great, Jesus needn’t have bothered to come after all. Kill belief.