Posts Tagged ‘Bible’

The Second Angel’s Trumpet and Vial

Sunday, July 4th, 2010

Long ago I heard the trumpets of the angels of Revelations were volcanoes.  What have we today?  An underground volcano of crude oil gushing and bloodying the seas.

And we have man adding even more toxic chemicals making a far more deadly soup.  Might the “vial” of the “second angel” be the EPA approved then dissaproved highly toxic oil disspersants?

Revelations 16:3

“And the second angel poured out his vial upon he sea; and it became as the blood of a dead man: and every living soul died in the sea.”  King James Version

I have no accounting for the order of appearances and the apparent lack of accounting for the first angel’s trumpet of Revelations 8:7

Perhaps there is a reader who can shed some light upon this?

Are we in the midst of the deployment and use of a weapon of mass destruction?  A WMD?  Is this eco-terrorism?  A red flag event?  To push through Obama’s agenda of enslavement?  Cap and Trade?

All I know is that the more I read my Bible, the more I am reading about my country, these United States of America, especially the writings of the Major Prophets of the Old Testament.  Isaiah and Jeremiah appear to have written about present day America!

Might the “Israel” they wrote about be our country?

The second angel sounded his trumpet . . .

Saturday, July 3rd, 2010

I did not think of this, until (a) after I saw the U-Tube video of Kendra Arneson, also spelled Kindra, on June 30, 2010.  Apparently, the video was first posted on U-Tube on June 22.  The title page of that U-Tube video is  “Gulf Emergency Summit 6-19-10″ (see  my blog entry June 30).  And this flashed through my mind (b) while I was walking and talking with a dear friend.

Yesterday, when I tried to post about this, my website was apparently getting so many hits that access time was too slow and made it very painful to attempt to blog this any sooner.  In fact my website is still responding uncharacteristically slow.

During my walk and talk with my dear friend, while watching for bears having come upon the dismembered foreleg of a moose calf on the trail near Hillside, it donned on me.  I suppose a man of God of old would say “the Spirit of the LORD came upon me,” but I’m not so confident that I have that level of discernment.  Nonetheless, perhaps it does at particular moments.

As I open my Bible today and study regarding this matter, I find a new passage:

Revelation 16:3-6

“And the second angel poured out his vial upon the sea; and it became as the blood of a dead man: and every living soul died in the sea.  And the third angel poured out his vial upon the rivers and fountains of waters; and they became blood.  And I heard the angel of the waters say, Thou art righteous, O Lord, which art, and wast, and shall be, because thou hast judged thus.  For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets, and thou hast given them blood to drink; for they are worthy.”  King James Version

What I read yesterday, however, seemed to be what John tried to describe years ago during his exile on Patmos:

Revelation 8:8-9

“The second angel sounded his trumpet, and something like a huge mountain, all ablaze, was thrown into the sea.  A third of the sea turned into blood, a third of the living creatures in the sea died, and a third of the ships were destroyed.”  New International Version

There are two major points I want to make here.  The first being that the Deepwater Horizon may have looked like a mountain of flame as it collapsed into the Gulf of Mexico and crude oil in the sea may look like blood, especially partially congealed blood to John.  Nonetheless, the function of the substance in the water was to bring death.  The second point being that the modern church has been infiltrated and I do not believe “the rapture” as taught in our churches since 1823 is necessarily biblical.  We may be well into the end times described by the Apostle John.

I ask my brothers in Christ to keep an open mind and remain flexible.  A heart of flesh is flexible and living.  A heart of stone is rigid and not alive.  Think of your mind as your heart.  It must be flexible in order to hear these truths and shake off the chains and fetters of the mind that had been placed there by the evil one.

A Day in the Life of Kate

Wednesday, July 22nd, 2009

 

This says it all–

We must act to take back America for the sake of our children.

Bible Entry for President Obama

Sunday, July 19th, 2009

Zechariah 11:16

The Coming Race War

Friday, July 10th, 2009

 

While I have been prompted to write about this for some time, I really do not want to post it.  Nonetheless, I should have attended to this eons ago.

 

First, let me qualify.  This is not my idea.  I neither generated it nor do I espouse it.  Second, my family name, the Kent’s are being carried on by a young mulatto man.  He’s our only hope to carry on the family name—unless, I get extremely lucky especially considering my circumstances.

 

There is no more important activity on earth than rearing children.  I envy those who have families and acquire the maturity that only comes from being a good parent.  But I digress.

 

During the five years I was a psychologist for ADOC, I heard constantly about “The Coming Race War,” and the inmates lived accordingly.  They segregated themselves along strict racial and ethnic lines.  They had specific tables at which they lunched separately and they followed their own internal code of conduct.

 

The gang or “Strategic Threat Group” (STG) in ADOC jargon known as the “Peckerwoods” constantly talked about the coming race war.  However, the “Aryan Brotherhood” or AB’s appeared to have a catechistic handle on the concept of the coming race war.

 

It is a revered concept.  Spoken of and taught as if it is fact, an inevitable fact, that there will be a race war in the future in the United States no matter what.

 

At the time I heard of this, I scoffed and laughed it off as I am sure most have.  (And you are now!) Nonetheless, with the election of Obama and the constant playing of the “Race Card,” I believe the Peckerwoods and the Aryan Brotherhood may have been onto something.

 

Moreover, now that Obama has been elected and Obama wants to press forward with “Reparations” based upon race, a race war seems more realistic.  Currently, there are reports all over the land that are suppressed in the mainstream media because of the violent expressions of racial tension and hatred.

 

The way Title VII and other federal laws were written, only “whites” can perpetuate “hate crimes.”  Congressional legislation made it clear people of color are “incapable” of “hate crimes;” therefore, any obviously racially motivated “hate crime” that minority members commit against a majority member will never be considered a “hate crime.”

 

Not only do most “whites” not realize this, most blacks don’t know it either.

 

Everyone assumes it is a level playing field and that whites are protected by the laws as much as blacks.  This is not so.  There is no level playing field.  David Duke tried to warn us about this in a very rational and civil manner, but we reacted out of our emotions against David Duke in a very harsh manner.

 

There has been no level playing field since the inception of our biased statues that have resulted in nothing more or less than increased racial tensions and increased racial hatred.

 

That legislation also contributed greatly to the chasm between men and women.  It made the gender war much more difficult.  It fueled the gender battle as well.

 

This is the result of every affirmative action program in every civilized nation:

 

Well-intended affirmative actions programs never go away.  They remain in place year after year, decade after decade until they result in and foment a race war or a civil war based upon such differences.

 

No affirmative action plan and/or affirmative action legislation should last more than 10 years, but all do.  And the result is the same around the globe.  Why we don’t recognize this and act accordingly I don’t understand.  We have seen the results of this experiment repeated around the globe.  Yet, we continue to embrace the same insanity.

 

Now, it is coming home to roost.  And it will erupt in class or race war in our own country.  Unless, an outside military force takes advantage of our ever weakening state and decides to invade, then we might band together and unite to defend ourselves.  Our enemies and invaders know we are no longer united.  We are divided.  We will fall.

 

In case you are wondering, I hate the term “white.”  To be considered “colorless” and “unfeeling” or “insensitive” or “inhuman” insults me.  To have the system lopsided and set against me based upon what we call “race” and “gender” bothers me.  It damages me.  It damages you and the fabric of society.

 

There is only one race.  And that is the “human race.”  Why?  Because there are more differences “between” members of a so called race class than there are “between” races.

 

But to make a point at the risk of further digression, while the Aryan Brotherhood is not classified as a “religion,” the Aryan Brotherhood should be considered a religion.  While there are more than 150 separate religious recognized by ADOC and the religious rights and freedoms of those more than 150 religious groups are “protected” by ADOC policy, the AB’s are not recognized as a religion and do not enjoy any of the protections and sanctions the other groups receive.

 

Why?

 

The AB’s don’t want it.  They don’t want to be recognized (and have to register) as a religion and become a “protected class.”  The Aryan Brotherhood prefers its “privacy” and for good reason.

 

The Aryan Brotherhood employs the entire Bible literally in its teachings and practices.  The AB also requires other readings.  However, the Aryan Brotherhood interpretations or misinterpretations of the Bible are so twisted as to make it one of the most violent religions on the face of the earth.  The religions espoused by secret societies are far more evil.

 

Nonetheless, the twisted interpretations of the AB’s are so unusual most fail to notice them.  For an example, any time one hears about “mud peoples” one is close to the teachings and beliefs of the Aryan Brotherhood.

 

However, it is possible the Aryan Brotherhood has some insight into the Bible that may be valid and extremely rare.  [Stay tuned for a book review on an extremely controversial book that might shed some light on the beliefs of the gangs and the race war.]

 

As the Obama administration proceeds two things appear more likely.  One, we are going to devolve into chaos & violence.  The other, we will regress to the point that anger is taken out based upon racial identity rather than who is a liberal or a conservative, who voted republican or voted democratic, who voted for Obama or . . .

 

In short, should we descend into civil war, it is possible we may resort to racial discrimination to express our rage for the state of the economy and the frailties of our civilization.

 

It saddens me to realize this is possible and may soon become unavoidable.  But as blacks proceed to lash out in obvious hate along racial lines and the laws fail to prosecute them for “reverse discrimination” and violence based upon ideology, those regarded as “white” will be forced to do what government can not and will not do.  To protect themselves whites will have to band together to stop the onslaught & murderous attacks of blacks feeling they are entitled to rage and entitled to vent their violence without consequences.

 

The fallacies of the democratic legislation known as The Civil Rights Act of 1964 may prove the undermining of our nation’s sanity, our country’s peace and may prove to be the basis for our undoing.

 

However, there is another battle looming which may set aside the tensions between black & white:  The infiltration of a massive horde of illegal aliens and the MS13 that intends to command and control inferior Latino gangs.  MS13 is trained for guerrilla warfare inside the United State’s borders.

The Last Word on Fluoride

Saturday, June 20th, 2009

 

While I have a reputation of having something to say about everything (Ask Pastor Scott.), I think it best to let God have the last word.  So, here it is.

 

Isaiah was the prophet with the longest vision.  The Prophet Isaiah not only spoke for the LORD, of all the Old Testament prophets, Isaiah had the greatest vision.  He saw further than another other prophet and described the New Jerusalem.

 

God spoke through Isaiah and I believe Isaiah could see our present and our future. 

 

Hear the Word of the LORD:

 

And though the LORD give you the bread of adversity, and the water of affliction, yet shall not thy teachers be removed into a corner any more, but thine eyes shall see thy teachers: (underscoring added for clarity)

 

Isaiah 30:20

Seeking: Chuck Richards from Monroe, Washington

Wednesday, February 25th, 2009

I want to get in touch with my old neighbor from 1986 in Anchorage.  “Chuck” Richards said he was moving back home to Monroe after his wife Sandy passed away.  I lost track of Chuck after that.  He worked as a lineman for the power company, perhaps Chugach Electric.  He would be in his 70’s today and I would dearly love to get in contact with him.  I’m still reading that NIV Study Bible Chuck bought me and I have thoroughly marked it up! 

I’d like to get Chuck on the phone and let him know how our Lord has restored me after He’d rather thoroughly thrashed me.  Heck, I needed it.  As painful as it was and as long as the road has been, He corrected me with His justice.

Chuck, if you’re out there and reading this, send me your number please.

http://drkentshow.com/contact.php

Chuck, there was a time when I was denied my ability to read, especially the Bible.  The ink just seemed to melt on the page!  It was very disturbing but long ago.  I hope my message and appeal find you in good health!

To all my friends out there, get in touch with me!

http://drkentshow.com/contact.php

Thanks,

John

Changing of the Guard—Christmas Eve

Wednesday, December 24th, 2008

 

“Changing of the Guard”

 

Christmas Eve

 

This morning I rushed myself out the door hair still wet not wanting to be late for church service.   I didn’t even take the time to check the schedule for Christmas services.  Surely service might be held a little earlier than usual?  Perhaps at 9:00 a.m. sharp instead of 9:15?  I waded my way through traffic and arrived just before 9:00.  As I turned into the parking lot, it felt great to be on time, but the parking lot was empty.  I was far too early; no one was there.

 

Two young girls rolled down the window of their car as they pulled in asking, “Sir, do know when the church service is?” 

 

“It’s obviously later; I don’t know when.  I’m going to walk up to the building and find out.”

 

A well-dressed man, dressed all in black, a little older than myself with more gray and white in his hair than I, pulled up into a handicapped spot.  He smiled as he parked and got out of his car.

 

Service was not until 11:15.  We laughed as I joked that if I went back home I’d probably be late for that service.  I was going to stay and read my Bible; he said there should be coffee.  And as I turned from the locked Information Center, he told me he was an usher and he would be making some hot coffee.  He invited me inside and introduced himself.

 

Ron or someone opened the door for us and Ron disappeared.  In front of me I saw a man sitting down wearing what appeared to be a brand-new black satin jacket with a large Marine Corps patch on the back.  The red and gold and white of the patch looked brand-new; it must have been 10 to 12 inches in diameter.

 

“My, that looks like a new patch,” I complimented the wearer, not considering my words very carefully I’ll admit.

 

“No, its 10 years old.”

 

Perhaps I had insulted the wearer somehow.  As I walked around him, I saw tattoos on the left side of his neck and the back of his left hand.  He was clean-shaven, even his head, but more significantly, he was leaning forward, slightly bent over.  In retrospect, he may have been praying.  His forward posture allowed me to clearly see the patch on the back of his jacket without the plush maroon seat back blocking my view.

 

More importantly, I thought I saw a tear in his eye; tears hanging from his eye lashes.  His eyes were bloodshot.  Rather than sit at the small table right in front of him and with him, as I feared that might be intrusive, I sat in the taller chairs and tables nearby.  Close enough so we might continue to speak.  Thus, I hoped not to impose myself upon him because I felt as if I might have interrupted him.

 

“How’s this Christmas going?” I asked as I opened my study Bible on the tall table.

 

He shrugged his shoulders fighting back another tear; this warrior was losing that battle.  I closed Psalms, walked directly over and took the seat opposite him across the small low circular table.

 

“These holidays are blue days.” I answered my question aloud for him rather than making him talk as I moved over towards him. 

 

He was in very good shape but he was not a young man.  Although much younger than myself, this was no fresh recruit.  He was a seasoned warrior and his heart was breaking.

 

He excused himself politely to go to the restroom but immediately doubled back placing his hat on the small dark wooden table.  Seeing the crumpled up ball cap, I knew he was coming back and he wanted to talk with me.  I accepted that invitation.

 

“Where you from?”

 

“Oregon, but it’s too cold there.  They’re deploying me to Afghanistan; I don’t want to go back,” his voice trailed off.

 

“How many times you been there?”

 

“This will be my fourth time . . . I’m a Marine scout.”  He cried, “You don’t know what it’s like.”

 

“No, I have no idea of what it’s like,” I agreed.

 

“I’ve been shot three times, stabbed twice.  I’m afraid I’m going to die over there.  But I don’t have a choice, I’ve been ordered to redeploy.”

 

“When do you go?”

 

“The 29th.”

 

“That’s, that’s . . . soon . . . less . . . less thanna week.  . . .  How many years you got in?”

 

“21, almost 22.”

 

            “That’s more than enough to retire.  Why don’t you retire?”

 

            “I have no choice; I’ve got to go back.  Besides, they want me to reenlist.”  He shrugged as he folded his ball cap, “It’s a good pension.”

 

            “I know . . . If you don’t go it’s a felony. . . These systems, the way they’re designed, we’re all stuck in them and we’re slaves to ‘em.  We have no choice . . . I did the right thing in the wrong place and they tried to destroy me . . . I’m waiting a couple months to see what my fate is as well,” as I fought back my own tears.

 

            “I’m afraid God’s going to hold me accountable for murder.”  He stammered, “. . . I was only doing what I was told   . . .”  He again fought off the compulsion to cry, “Oh, the guilt!”

 

            “It’s not murder.  There’s a war.  It’s not murder; it’s under the color of authority.  You’re obeying orders.”  And I emphasized slowly, “Besides, you have no choice.”

 

            “I’ve lost one kidney and part of my stomach . . .” He choked, “The guilt . . .”

 

            Just then, the door opened and in walked three men.  The lead man was finely dressed in a tweed suit jacket with a bolo tie, western style and I caught only a glimpse . . . under his chin a silver eagle with a shield clasping arrows, a US military symbol.

 

            “Semper Fi!” this elderly gentleman heartily greeted the younger warrior as he walked up behind the Marine scout.

 

            The younger warrior turned and rose to greet his senior.  They shook hands eagerly.  The tears went away . . .

 

            What happened during this meeting I lost track of and I cannot give a very accurate accounting, but I was witnessing one of those rare sights and rare moments:  

 

The Changing of the Guard. 

 

            The younger Marine scout recognized his senior as a fellow warrior.  There was mutual appreciation for each other’s sacrifices.  The senior decorated World War II veteran mentioned being aboard a ship.

 

            “Were you a squid?  Were you a squid?” his younger compatriot demanded enthusiastically while they kept shaking hands.

 

“No, I was in the Navy, a sailor, on board a ship.”

 

“Well, you fellows did a good job.  Never forget that!”

 

            “Forget that?  I’ll never forget; I’m still carrying around Japanese shrapnel in my body!”

 

“I know that.”

 

“And I came back without,” he removed his left hand from his walker and lifted his left arm slightly demonstrating his artificial limb hidden within his suit jacket, “my left arm.”

 

            Then the two embraced. 

 

            The elder went within the sanctuary.  The Marine scout sat back down in front of me.

 

            I was destined to sit with that seasoned warrior whose heart was breaking, filled with remorse and guilt.  I wasn’t early for church; I was right on time.

 

            It was one of those admittedly rare moments during which I kept my words to a minimum; just sitting, sharing in his grief and fighting back tears of my own was all that was necessary.  Just being present with him.

 

I do not know his name and I didn’t ask.  I cannot query someone who cannot talk about their work about anything that might compromise them or place them in harm’s way.  My biggest concern was that this younger man warrior might lose his edge, dropping his guard at the worst time, perhaps even resulting in injury or death.

 

He asked me if the office was open yet because he was going to see his sister-in-law.  She worked for the church.  He excused himself to step outside and smoke, but this time he took his hat with him.  I knew he was not going to return.

 

            “You’re a good man.  Thanks for talking with me,” he said as he arose and shook my hand.

 

“It was my honor.”

 

            My prayers are with this man, younger than I, a seasoned warrior returning to Afghanistan for a fourth time in less than five years.  He doesn’t know it, but I know what he does.  A Marine scout is a sniper.  He is required to maintain cover and to take lives whenever his mission might be compromised, even the very young who might alert others about the presence of his small two-man team.

 

This type of warrior is one of the noblest, deployed for long periods of time with minimal support.  They operate under the most horrific conditions and take no joy in killing.

 

It is a job.  It’s only their job.  It’s not who they are; it’s what they must do.  Snipers are derided even among regular soldiers and are never given their due, the respect they earn.  It’s a tough job and it takes special men—of extremely good character—to succeed.

 

            Carlos Hathcock, Marine gunnery Sergeant called White Feather by the Viet Cong put it this way.  Allow me to paraphrase the greatest shooter of the Vietnam conflict:

 

“I take no joy in taking life, in killing.  All I think about is for each of the enemy I kill about 5,000 of our boys will be going home.  It’s that thought that keeps me going.  For each of them I kill, more of our boys will be going home alive.”

 

            It’s a shame we must put such good God-fearing men into these positions.  Each day we lose 1,000 to 2,000 of our World War II veterans as they approach their 80s and 90s, and in the most twisted of ironies, we lose good men almost daily in Iraq to false charges.

 

            To the unknown Marine scout and seasoned warrior: 

 

Do not drop your guard. 

 

Protect yourself. 

 

Come home alive . . . and . . . free.

 

Respectfully,

 

John Taylor Kent, Ph.D.

All Rights Reserved

Revised December 24, 2008