Missionaries are inherently xenophobic.
Missionaries to Jews are inherently antisemitic.
There is no debate here - the above statements are inescapable true. Intentions do not matter. It LITERALLY DOES NOT MATTER that Christian missionaries BELIEVE they are doing something good by saving other people from hell. IT. DOES. NOT. MATTER.
Because the people you're missionizing ALSO have beliefs, that are part of their own religions and cultures and histories and ethnicities. And your assumption that only YOUR beliefs are correct and must be spread is the LITERAL definition of xenophobia.
Missionaries and bigotry are not seperable.
If you proselytize in your personal life (congratulations, you are also a model of xenophobia and bigotry), or if you support missionaries or missionary activity (ideologically or financially), you are now being instructed to unfollow me, because I don't like you as a person, and I can't respect you while you willfully disrespect others. In either case, you are also now being instructed to cut that shit the fuck out. No one wants to hear about the love of Jesus from you, and if they do, they will ask you DIRECTLY and EXPLICITLY. Literally no one else gives a fuck.
I will be accepting apologies in writing and reparations via venmo.
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i swam in the ocean the other day, and a small isopod made a feast of my tongue.
it didn't hurt as much as i feared it would.
she was gentle and kind, belaying herself in my jaws with all the lissomeness of a loose tooth.
fearing the harm i would do to excommunicate her, i allowed her to stay.
she fed only lightly when i did, so we both found comfort in nutrition.
we were not friends, but neither enemies.
passably symbiotic, commensalism at its most genuine,
adelphopoiesis most holy.
i was her legs, i was her jaws, i was her chitin and her board
and she was variety, a new voice to interpret my thoughts to.
she never preached- it was only my voice which rang out
when i parted my lips to speak.
one day, however, my limbs weighed upon me as brine collects at the bottom of the sea,
as an anchor drags a ship to a stop,
as the maw of a shark finds purchase in prey.
that day, she walked for me, not invigorating me, but keeping my head afloat.
i became able to move in the strongest of currents as she guided me along.
when someone asked how i felt, her voice overcame mine for the first time
and the gospel with which i replied was copied from the words of the apostate.
assuming she knew best, i settled for her testimony.
but she found solace in her newfound words.
she sat in the pulpit, speaking as she willed it, answering the questions
i found hardest to describe.
more and more often this false prophet gave my loved ones judas' kiss
until i found it hard to believe my own words.
to speak my own truth.
once, i was asked how i felt about someone
and she dug her talons into my teeth, pressing them shut with all the force of a closing tomb.
and our silence spoke volumes.
she grew willful, my whore of babylon,
and she still does.
i do fear the day she will close my jaws forever
and revel in my silence as we starve to death together.
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