Blacksheep Speaks

Altar Call

Not for the weak-minded....er, weak-stomached.

I noticed a comment on one of my previous articles in which the reader expressed the opinion that I had left the article incomplete, because, given the nature of the article, in his/her opinion I should have included a "salvation message"......sort of a printed altar call, I suppose. I don't generally do altar calls, chiefly because I am not a minister. I did a quick pole of those who have actually heard my version of the reason for accepting salvation; most said that I am not "diplomatic" enough. However.....just this once....here goes:

PREPARATORY EXCERCISE:

(this is a mental excercise ONLY...please don't be the only wierdo on the face of the earth who actually DOES this)

1. Picture yourself turning on an electric burner.

2. Picture yourself watching the burner until it glows red.

3. Picture yourself firmly pressing your hand against the burner for, say, 60 seconds.

4. Imagine the heat and the intense smell of burning flesh.

5. Now....picture that sensation hitting every inch of your being for eternity and, try as you might, there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

Have I got your attention yet? Or, perhaps, you are one of these people who doesn't believe Hell is hot? Well.....believe it or not, having pulled you kicking and screaming through that excercise....the heat of Hell is not the reason for salvation....although avoiding it IS one of the perks of being a Christian. There are actually a LOT of perks. However, that's another message entirely.

Only one thing is going to get you to God's side. Contrary to popular belief, "leading a good life" isn't it. The sweet little old lady down the street who never hurt a soul (and, incidentally, spent her life ignoring Jesus) will burn in Hell right next to the friendly neighborhood serial killer. There is no such thing as "earning" a spot in Heaven. It can't be done. If it could, then Jesus died (and was resurrected) for absolutely no reason.

Most people simply do not understand the significance of Jesus' final words. Nor do they understand the true definition of the word "grace". "Grace" simply means without cost, free. No strings. If there were strings, it wouldn't be grace. The moment you have to earn it, it is no longer free. For us, salvation IS free, because Jesus paid the price long ago....literally.

Jesus died a truly gruesome death. The spikes through his hands and feet were just the icing on a very bloody cake. He had already been betrayed by someone close to Him, beaten brutally, and had numerous indignities heaped upon His person. You know, all these icons you see of Him on the cross....they don't tell the full story, out of respect. Jesus was naked on the cross. Those soldiers were out to humiliate Him in every way they possibly could. And He took it all, just for you, you know. I mean, this is the Son of God we are talking about. At any time he coulda said, "Yo, Dad, FRY these morons and get me OUTA here!" But he didn't. You were too important to him.

I need to go a little off to the left here to explain a couple things. Ever since the Garden of Eden, human beings have been happily and rather ignorantly sinning their lives away. And as long as we are sinning, we are slaves of Satan, prisoners, as it were. And as long as we are in THAT state, we are separated from God. Now....the other thing you need to be aware of is how the prison system worked in Jesus' time. When a man committed a crime and was sentenced, he was tossed in their version of a cell and the door was shut. Nailed to the outside of the door was a piece of paper/parchment/whatever that had printed on it exactly what the dude's crime was and how long he had to sit there to pay for it. And, back then, there was no parole......in that room he would sit until the date on the paper. When that date finally came, the paper would be taken down and the words "it is finished" written across the front of it. The paper would then be given to the man to prove he had done his time, literally paid the price, for whatever crime he had committed. Now....back to the main point of the story.

Right before Jesus died, he said words that, translated, mean "it is finished". He was telling you that he had literally paid the price for every sin you would ever commit.

As far as I am concerned, that's that. Jesus loved you enough to pay for everything you will ever do wrong. So...if you wanna take Him up on his offer of salvation, all you need to do is ask Him to forgive you, come into your heart, and show you what you need to know. Now....that's about all the "altar call" I am capable of......as I said, I am not a preacher. I do know a few good ones, though, should you need one. Just contact me and I'll get you all fixed up preacher-wise.

Short Story (original fiction)

I sit huddled on my cot, hearing the bars of the cell doors slam and knowing I am in more trouble than I have ever been in before. What waited here at the prison couldn't be worse, I had told myself, than the constant running of the last few months. The hiding, sneaking, and continuous fear had taken it's toll on me. Once I was young, strong, and beautiful. Now, prematurely gray at age 33, I sit awaiting my punishment at the hand of the government. Pulling my knees up and trying to calm myself, I let my thoughts roam to the not so distant past, before I got myself into this mess.

Once, I had been the hope of my family, the first to finish college, only the second to graduate high school. I was the smart one, the pretty one, the one who was going to go places. I had it all. As I grew older and married, I lived the ideal life...perfect husband, perfect children, perfect happiness. All of that was gone now. I haven't seen my husband and children in months. I don't even know for sure where they have gone. Social services took the kids, that much I know. I can only pray that they will survive and overcome. My mother's letters came often at first, then less, and now, for weeks, there has been nothing. I never heard from my husband at all.

Maybe I was wrong to get involved in the first place, but the actions that led me where I now sit were, to me, moral obligations. Even now, I am unsure whether I would change it if I could. Perhaps I would have played with my children more. Told my husband I loved him more often. But the crime, yes, I would have done it. In spite of it all, I would have done it.

I pray often for my husband. I remember his face at my trial, stony cold as he heard me pronounced guilty and sentenced to die. They wouldn't let him see me afterward. And I am not allowed visitors now. Maybe if this had happened earlier, I wouldn't be here. The newly elected government has enacted a zero-tolerance policy for all hate crimes, especially resistance workers, and I am what they call a hate criminal, even though I acted out of love. Love.....I still love them all, loved them even as I watched them die, watched bullets tear through their bodies.

Perhaps if my job wasn't a government job, my sentence would not be so strict. But I and those here on death row with me are to be examples. Zero-tollerance, even for the government's own. Down the hall, they take a prisoner from a cell. Idly, I wonder which one it is. I know most of the people here. Many were my friends, before.

My turn comes soon. I look up as the guards slam back the door of my cell and order me out. Even though I am not resisting, they take my arms and push me down the cold, dark hall. In those moments, the faces of those who died the day I was arrested flash through my memory. I loved them all. And in spite of everything I am glad they are dead. For, even as I tried to save them, I knew I was sealing my own fate, a fate I would not have them share.

The guards push me against the wall and ask if I wish to renounce my crime, my reason for being here. Steeling myself, I look up into the barrel of the pistol leveled at my head, and refuse. In my heart, I am guilty. I am an enemy of the state, for I am a Christian, and it's my turn to die.

Prison Letters, Part Three

Mom,

I never got around to giving you the full story on what happened the night I moved to 1K. It was interesting, in a masochistic sort of way.

I got off the phone with you in a hurry because, appropriately enough, the guard was yelling "HURRY!" So, I hurried and hung up the phone, hurried and packed all my belongings (which took about 5 minutes), hurried to put my things by the barracks door......then hurried to sit on my butt for 2 hours waiting for them to call me out. I was SO glad I hurried.

When I and all my worldly belongings finally made it to 1K, I was greeted by about 30 women, all eagerly yelling "Yo! What room you in?!" When I answered "1124", a collective gasp ran through the crowd, and 2 or 3 people quickly crossed themselves. Not one to be easily dismayed, I proceeded to lug all my junk to room 1124. When I got there, nary a roommate was in sight. I suppose the notebooks on the desk, covered with drawings of skulls, should have told me something. Still blissfully ignorant, I proceeded to put my things away and make my bed. When I finished getting my part of the room in order, I dug out a box of fudge brownies I had been hoarding and ate one. About this time, the guards let back into the barracks all of the mentally challenged persons who had braved the heat to go out to the recreation yard (yes, we actually DO have late night rec sometimes). A low murmur began to be heard throughout the cell block. I later determined that the more pious individuals had begun to recite last rites for the soon-to-be-dead. I suppose that it should have occurred to me that I was probably the one they were praying for. Shortly, I heard a low thwomping headed my way. At the time, it crossed my mind that the guards were certainly remiss in their duties, what with their apparently having admitted a bull moose into the cell block and all. I did wonder how the bull moose was managing to climb the stairs......

Suddenly, a shadow darkened my room. As I looked up in terror, brownie crumbs still on my chin, my eyes beheld the biggest, scariest individual I have ever seen in my life. A quick assessment told me that no, that was NOT fat, she really DID have the muscle to squash me like a mosquito.

She leaned against the door frame, a slight frown darkening her brow. With mighty

concentration, she boomed forth the words, "Who you?!?!?" I tried to answer, but only a squeak came out. Gulping, I tried again, managing to introduce myself as her new roommate. She very companionably rumbled back, "Don' wan' no roomy." Quickly assessing the situation, I decided to attempt further conversation. I slowly raised my hand and squeaked, "Want a brownie?" She stared at me in utter disbelief for quite some time. In fact, my upraised hand was beginning to fall asleep. Finally, she thundered, "You soun' like you offerin' food to a critter so it won' kill ya." Never one to lie when my life is on the line, I said, "Yes Ma'am." Her mouth dropped open. Then a slow grin spread across her face and, taking the brownie, she said, "Girl, you awright." Her friendly box on the arm sent me reeling, and I surmised that I would in fact live another day.

Prison Letters, Part Two

Mom,

I figured it was about time for one of my occasional non-news update letters. Today's topic: Sleep. I need some.

Usually, starting about Friday noon and extending through the weekend, I have plenty of time to catch up on sleep. This is a good thing, as my normal day now begins at 4:30a.m. and doesn't quit till around 11:00p.m. So....weekends are a good time for catching up. I generally only surface for meals, and even then, I have to be pretty hungry.

Friday afternoon I got all set for bed. I had just climbed happily under my covers when a guard poked her head in my door and informed me that my posterior had 5 minutes to get to Stress Class. Being under the distinct impression that they probably wanted the rest of me there as well, I hurriedly dressed and got down there. After sitting through the final class in the series, I was told that, since they keep neglecting to call me out for the class (they are forever changing meeting times and places----I've made it to 3 classes out of 8 because of this), I am required to repeat the entire series. OH! I thought, I know a way out of this! I quickly informed them that, since I was not actually required to take the class, I would like to exercise my option to forget the whole thing. "No no," said my instructor. "This is a PILOT class, and we will not fail you. Since you were obviously stressed enough to take the class voluntarily, we are doing you the favor of insisting that you see it through." But, said I, it is interfering with my Life Skills curriculum. My instructor looked me lovingly in the eyes, smiled softly, and said, ".....and this affects me......how?" He then offered me another option.......a major disciplinary and a nice, stress-free solitary room to think about it for a nice, long time. Since he was so sweet about it, I opted to do him a favor and stay in the class.

By the time I got back to the barracks, it was supper time. Since we are not allowed to smoke while food trays are in the room, I decided to stay up long enough for a cigarette and mail call, which is usually around 7p.m. I gave up waiting for the mail at 10p.m. I went back to my room and snuggled under my nice, thin, nearly see-through all- purpose simulated blanket. Sure enough, about 5 minutes later......."MAIL CALL!" Sighing slightly, I got up and got dressed. I went out, collected my Kenneth Copeland flier, and headed back to bed. I had just nicely dozed off when a guard threw open my door and joyfully informed me that if I wanted my toilet paper ration for the week, my posterior needed to be in line within 3 minutes. (You know, these people sure have a fixation about that part of my anatomy......perhaps I should recommend counseling.) Pausing momentarily to reflect upon why they waited until midnight to deliver the toilet paper, I again got up, got dressed, and slunk down the stairs to collect my lonely little roll of toilet paper. After standing in line for nearly an hour and a half, I procured my prize and slowly staggered back to my room. On the way, the sweet little lady who handles program work assignments stopped me and informed me that I would be volunteering my day off to fill in for a sick worker.....and that I needed to be up at 4:30a.m. to be fed and ready for work at 5:15. I made it to bed by around 2:30, and, after a refreshing 2 hours of sleep, reported for work.

Saturday was a pretty normal workday, off and on until after supper. Since there is no mail call on Saturday (we get Saturday's mail Sunday night after they read through it all and claim they haven't) I figured I could sleep after supper. On the way up the stairs to my room, the lady in charge of barracks cleaning assignments stopped me and told me I was the lucky individual selected to clean out the showers that night---about a 2 hour job.

Sighing, I headed back down the stairs to wait......since the showers can't be cleaned until everyone is out of them. We aren't allowed to start showering until after 6p.m. 52 women. 4 working shower heads. YOU do the math. Around 1:30a.m. I finished my job. I oozed up the stairs, dropped my wet duds on the floor, contemplated actually doing something with them, decided against it, and went to sleep.

At around 4:30a.m., a guard tiptoed to my bedside and happily exclaimed, "Get your posterior out of bed!" Opening one eye, I inquired as to whether she might be mistaken, as this was my ONLY day off this week, and as far as I knew, I didn't have to be anywhere. The guard chortled back the information that the kitchen needed volunteers to do a thorough cleaning (first time for everything, I guess) and I was volunteering, and it was mandatory. Still half asleep, I asked the guard when they had re- defined the word "volunteer". {Note to self---in the future, reserve smart-posterior comments for other inmates, who can't retaliate. Guards do not appreciate perky witticisms at 4:30a.m.}

After dressing and breakfast, I reported to the kitchen for a rousing 14 hour shift (which is, I think, illegal, but what the heck). Finally staggering back to my barracks, I sat down to await mail call. I gave up on the mail at around nine and went to bed. Around 11:00 or so, a perky little guard bellowed a request for my posterior to pick up my mail. At this point, I was truly wishing I COULD just send my posterior, so that the rest of me could get some sleep.

Okay, slight break in the story to explain that Pat has apparently stuck my name on a "Christian" inmate pen pal list that she uses in her ministry down in Texas. Please remind me to send Pat some hate mail. You wouldn't BELIEVE the number of highly deranged convicts who have opted to write me. My trash can is overflowing.

Anyhow.....one of the letters that I waited in line an hour for was from a young man named XXXX who pulled my name off that list. He wrote a nice, Christian letter....and enclosed, without one word of explanation, a lovely snapshot of his bare butt hanging out of a tree....(I am NOT joking.......)

I love you.

Prison Letters, Part One

Mom,

*yawns*

Good morning. I hope you are doing well today. Me, I am searching my memory for appropriate curses to hurl at the prison medical staff. Yes, I am kidding........sort of. A couple weeks ago I put in a medical request to have my ears examined. At that time I received a memo stating that I would be seen in medical that evening. They never called me out for it. So, I wrote another request, being sure to be specific about the problem, using short, precise wording so that when the head monkey read it, it would still be legible through the banana smears.

Now, let me tell you about yesterday: Thanks to the....er.....extreme generosity of our guard staff, I was allowed to sleep in until 2:30 a.m. I really would have appreciated the extra 30 minutes of sleep IF I didn't have to be at work until later.....but I was scheduled for 2:45 clock-in. Okay....so....I made it to work by the skin of my teeth. Maybe 30 minutes after I got there, Medical called me out. I got down to the sick bay and was met by a sweet-looking nurse with a cheery "Good Morning!" At this point, I still had no clue why I was there....until I made it back to the examining room and Miss Sunny Thoughts started to grow fangs and hunger for my blood. This, by the way, was my third unannounced blood draw in as many weeks. Anywho, she picked my left arm (in spite of my telling her she would be better off with the right one) and proceeded to poke around for several minutes before cheerfully announcing that I apparently don't own any blood. My left arm (at that point skewered and bruised beyond belief) was then released as she looked hungrily at my right one. Pouncing on that, she poked around for another few minutes. Finally, I offered to do it FOR her (yes, this IS me talking). She refused my offer, and, a moment later, actually found the blood she was looking for. Unfortunately, after satisfying her hunger for hemoglobin, she couldn't turn off the spigot, and I bled rather freely for several more minutes.

Okie. I finally made it back to work--not one of my better mornings. I finished my shift, headed back to my room, and went to bed (because of my shift, I sleep whenever I can). 30 minutes later, a guard was standing next to my bunk poking at me. "Are you (name withheld)?" (poke, poke, poke). {Note to self.....18 year old self-important prison guards do not appreciate half-awake witty responses from inmates.} Once it was established that I was, in fact, myself and not Pudentain (sp?), I was hustled off to Medical again, this time for a meeting with a psychiatrist and several rather psychotic-looking inmates, one of whom actually WAS from the psycho ward. It seems that, unannounced, the "Coping With Stress" class that I signed up for (weeks ago) was ready to begin. At this point, I was too asleep mentally to appreciate the subtle irony of being roused from my slumber and bullied about just to attend a stress reduction class. Anyhow, as soon as the class finished, I went back to my room and crawled gratefully into bed.

30 minutes later......the guard is again poking me on the shoulder. "Are you (name withheld)?" {At least this time I had the presence of mind to forego the witty response.} The guard informs me that I am wanted in the infirmary. I pull myself out of bed, get dressed, and hobble back down to Medical. This time, I am escorted into an examining room containing someone masquerading as an actual doctor. He looks up and says, "Are you (name withheld)?" I bite my tongue and just nod. He then looks at me and says, with a straight face, "What seems to be the problem?" This time, I couldn't help myself......since I had absolutely no clue why I was there anyway......I opened up my mouth and blurted "SLEEP DEPRIVATION!" He looks at me oddly, regarding me in the same manner as one might regard something stuck to the bottom of one's shoe....and, consulting my file, says, "it states here that you are having a problem with arthritis flaring up at work." For the next few moments, he pokes around on my hands. Looking very thoughtful and intellectual, he finally delivers his wise opinion: "The bone leading to your little finger is crooked. Why is that?" I told him that it had been broken and never casted. At this, he stares at me in utter disbelief, prescribes extra-strength Tylenol for the arthritis, and sends me back to my dorm. I crawl back into bed, sure that the ordeal is over, and fall asleep.

30 minutes. *poke poke poke* "Are you (name withheld)?" I just sigh and get dressed and head to Medical. THIS time, I am met in the waiting area by an artificially sweetened technician who hustles me back to X-Ray. Apparently, the doctor doesn't believe that my hand had been broken and wants proof. After several x-rays and a consultation with 2 other medical-type people, she shows me the x-rays and delivers the startling diagnoses that yes, the bone had at some point been broken. The x-ray verifies 4 breaks. (It was actually 6, but I don't feel like arguing.) They send me back to my room and I again crawl into bed; this time, thankfully, I am allowed to sleep.......till AFTER supper. *grumble*

Fast-foreword to this morning.......I received an answer to my medical request about my ears. The response was: "Seen yesterday in Medical by doctor. Problem dealt with."

Now, if you will pardon me, I need to fill out a medical request.........

Signed,

Your Loving Daughter

Wicca, Mother Earth, and Squished Cinnamon Rolls

Mother Earth, New Age, and Christianity...are they really all that different?

-----

What is a Christian? If you ask 20 different people, you will get 20 different answers. To some, being a Christian means living a good life, never hurting anyone, and going to church at least once a week. To others, it means rosary beads and Mother Mary. Still others believe that everything on earth has a spirit, and we must treat them all with respect...every tree, dandelion, mosquito, and gnat. As for the New Age movement....well, there's nothing new about it. It's about as old as the earth itself, give or take.

***WARNING---if I just described you, stop reading now or one of 2 things is gonna happen...you are either gonna get REALLY pissed off, or you are gonna learn something***

One of the reasons there are so many different definitions of the word "Christian" is that there is no reference whatsoever to it in the Bible. The word didn't come into use until a couple centuries after Jesus died, I believe. Actually, the word itself, if taken back to it's root word and meaning, probably wasn't intended to be used as we use it today. The root word, "Christ", literally translated, means "The Anointed One and His Anointing". Therefore, taken at face value, to be a Christian we would literally have to practice the anointing of the Anointed One. Few do. Even fewer believe that it CAN be done. Some who swear they know what they are talking about have never even experienced the Anointing.

There are those today who are trying to tie all major religions together, to make us believe that we must each find our own "inner truth". However, if you happen to believe in the Bible, this just can't ring true. I have heard very convincing arguments that "Mother Earth" is simply the feminine form of God Himself, and I have heard so-called "white witches" tell me that their powers come from God. They give good, convincing arguments. Even some people who believe themselves to be Christian fall for this....if they have never read the Bible. You see, there is one thing I have noticed about God. He never says one thing and then does another. He always means and does exactly what He says. Why would He want to make a liar out of Himself? If what these "witches" say is true, then the Bible lies when it says "thou shalt not suffer a witch to live". Harsh words. But they make it very clear what God's stance on the subject is. Case closed. So, why are so many "white witches" convinced their power comes from God? And, how could it be evil if they only do good things with it? The answer to this question shows how truly devious Satan can be.

Satan has carried many names over the years. In this case, "Prince of Deception" is probably the most accurate. You see, Satan is not capable of the act of creation. He can only make twisted copies of things God has done. Through the years he has made mockeries of abilities given to the prophets and used them for his own purpose. Perhaps the biggest deception of all is that these people, many of them, really believe they are working for God. White witches, at least theoretically, only do "good" things. Cures for illness. "Love" potions. Herbal remedies. Now, if Satan is behind all this, would it not be hurtful to his own cause to help people do good things? No. And here's why: If a person goes to a white witch and actually gets a cure/love philter/forecast that works, they are convinced, as is the witch her/himself, that God is behind this, and they are drawn to the form of worship involved in witchcraft. At the very least, their minds become accepting of the idea of magic cures and knowing the future and whatever else the witch offers. In so doing, they are no longer following the one true God, who has no part in it. So, even if a witch does nothing but good works all his/her life, he/she has spent a great deal of time pulling people away from God and into a web of deception that some never get out of, thereby stealing these people from God and any shot they had at a happy eternity.

Okay, so maybe you aren't into Wicca. What about this "respect nature" thing? "Earth Day"? "Mother Nature"? What compels otherwise sane people to actually USE the self-descriptive term "tree hugger"? Well.....having a healthy respect for "nature" can be a good thing. Parts of it can kill you. People die of exposure all the time. And....I don't wanna be the one to try and NOT respect a grizzly or a rattlesnake. But to actually personalize nature and make a goddess out of it? "Mother Nature" has many names, usually a variation on the name "Gaia". All the variations boil down to one thing... earth-worship. It's an easy thing to get pulled into, too, because as with most of Satan's deceptions, there is just enough truth in it to make it ALL seem plausible. For example, conservation is a good thing. We really should take better care of our planet. Recycling is good. Respect for the natural world is good. But to personalize it makes the whole thing a breech of the commandments of God. God says, "Thou shalt have no other gods before Me. Thou shalt not make unto thyself any graven image, or any likeness, of any thing that is in the heavens above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor worship them". For those of you still ready to argue with me about this, what part of "Thou shalt not" confused you?

Actually, that particular section of scripture brings me to the next thing I wanna discuss, since it is essentially about the same thing. There are 2 or 3 religions out there that seem to believe that crucifixes, prayer beads, ritual prayer, and praying to the saints are all GOOD things. As far as crucifixes and altar statues go (even those of Jesus Himself), I refer you one more time to the previous passage's "thou shalt not" list. Nuff said. Now....about praying to the saints, or, more accurately, asking the saints to be "intercessors" for us, to speak to God on our behalf, since they are already right next to Him and all. I simply have one thing I would like to you to ask yourself, and then I'll drop it: During all of the instruction Jesus gave on prayer in the Bible, where exactly did he say, "Hey, guys, wait till my mom dies and then pray to her"? Yeah.....I couldn't find it either.

So....Mother Earth, New Age, and Christianity...are they really all that different? Yes. If you happen to define "Christianity" as the belief that Jesus is the Son of the Living God, who died as a sacrifice for your sins so that you yourself wouldn't have to pay the price, and that He was resurrected and is even now with God awaiting the signal for His return......yes, there is a major difference. And I hope, in some small way, that what you have read today might keep you from being deceived in the future.

Oh, yeah.....the cinnamon rolls. They have nothing to do with it. I was just trying to get your attention.

Hate Crime Part Two

Besides, there are some ominous overtones to this new "hate crime" crap. Legislators appear to be leaving a few nice little loopholes which allow them to prosecute us for thought crime. You think I'm kidding? Well....how many of you played "cowboys and indians" or "cops and robbers" as a child? Even if you didn't, you probably knew someone who did. These days, any kindergarten child who points his/her finger like a gun and yells "bang" is in deep doo-doo. Apparently this is considered evidence that this future junior high student has the potential to swipe his grandad's hunting rifle and blow his class away. When I was a kid, any time someone in the prepubescent set got angry, they tended to shout "I'm gonna KILL you!" I never knew one that actually acted on that statement. Yet these days, children are being suspended from school for saying far less. And it doesn't stop with the kids, either. Just for the sake of this article a "Christian" is going to be partially defined as a person who believes there is only one God, and Jesus was His son. Now....say any Christian picks any street corner in any major city, raises his hand in the air, and proclaims "There is only ONE GOD!" This person has not harmed anyone. He has simply expressed what he mistakenly believed was his right to free speech. The consequences? In extreme cases, he could be arrested for attempting to start a riot (a "hate crime", because of it's religious nature); the hand in the air being construed to symbolize a threating gesture. At the very least, he will be labled intollerant and threatened with a citation if he is unwise enough to do this in front of the wrong police officer. In effect, he is in trouble for having an opinion.....thought crime.

Admittedly, that was an extreme example. However, with the changes that have been occurring in our country, it will not be long before even more ludicrous laws are made. It's not precisely illegal...yet...to be a bigot. But....give it five more minutes of legislation, and it probably will be. And, while I personally have no great love for the bigots of this world, I do see the path down which we are headed if we allow our legislators to make crimes out of things that were once just considered opinions, and if we allow people to be jailed for simple words when no criminal act was committed.