Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
I can’t be the only one who roots for the bad guy.
I’m not certain what that says about me, but aside from rare cases I’ve always sided with The Joker, Lex Luther or that psycho chick from The Hand that rocks the cradle.
Maybe that accounts, to some extent, for my distrust of the street pastors, who bravely wander out at 3am on a Saturday to intercept the previous nights’ socially lubricated bar trawlers.
Holy… Water
The bottles of water, lollies and cheap flip-flops handed out seem on the surface to be generous gestures, aimed at sparing further nausea or discomfort for the intoxicated masses. It’s only when biblical literature is belatedly proposed that this thinly veiled entrapment etiquette truly unravels.
Don’t get me wrong, for some people religion is authentically liberating and offers a refreshing outlook on life, possibly removing much of the fear associated with old age and death in the process.
Creepy
Still, to me there is a creepy element to certain recruitment styles – while I’d like to subscribe to the notion that the majority of these gestures are performed with kindness, there does seem to be plenty of sleight of hand surrounding the surface gesticulations.
Having been privy to more than one Christian Union assemblage during my University days, I’ve yet to witness a meeting free of agenda.
You prove it
I could always follow the Christian ethos: It’s your job to prove I’m wrong, not mine to prove I’m right, that would probably just be facetious though.
Perhaps, standard to form, I’m just the bad guy in all of this. A raging anti-pastor, querying acts of kindness for the glorification of my own belief system.
