A Dream about the Presbyterian Church in Jackson, Wyoming

Presbyterian Church in Jackson Hole

Dreams from the LORD 2011-2016
2 July 2016

Last night I had a dream.  It was a very short dream.  I saw the pastor of the Presbyterian Church in Jackson, Wyoming; his name is Ben Pascal.  Not only did he look feminine, but he looked like a girl---he acted like a girl.

I met Ben Pascal a few times back in 2003.  I went to a couple of Bible studies at the Presbyterian Church at that time.  Ben Pascal came across as being very shallow and very worldly---that's when he was the Youth Pastor.  Now he is the head pastor of the Presbyterian Church.  My guess is that he was hired by the former pastor Paul Hayden and Paul Hayden was not a Christian.  God help the Presbyterian Church and God help Jackson, Wyoming.


Presbyterian Church in Jackson, Wyoming
Jacksonites, Yours is a Bloody City
Defining Sin
False Teachers Teach that Sin Need Not be Taken Seriously
The Hand of God

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Shiloh
By Tim Shey

Brutal deathdance;
My eyes weep blood.
Pharisees smile like vipers,
They laugh and mock their venom:
Blind snakes leading
The deaf and dumb multitude.

Where are my friends?
The landscape is dry and desolate.
They have stretched my shredded body
On this humiliating tree.

The hands that healed
And the feet that brought good news
They have pierced
With their fierce hatred.

The man-made whip
That opened up my back
Preaches from a proper pulpit.
They sit in comfort:
That vacant-eyed congregation.
The respected, demon-possessed reverend
Forks his tongue
Scratching itchy ears
While Cain bludgeons
Abel into silence.

My flesh in tattered pieces
Clots red and cold and sticks
To the rough-hewn timber
That props up my limp, vertical carcase
Between heaven and earth.
My life drips and puddles
Below my feet,
As I gaze down dizzily
On merciless eyes and dagger teeth.

The chapter-and-versed wolves
Jeer and taunt me.
Their sheepwool clothing
Is stained black with the furious violence
Of their heart of stone.
They worship me in lip service,
But I confess,
I never knew them
(Though they are my creation).

My tongue tastes like ashes:
It sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I am so thirsty.
This famine is too much for me.
The bulls of Bashan have bled me white.
Papa, into your hands
I commend my Spirit.

Ethos
February/March 1997
Iowa State University

Genesis 49: 10: “The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet until Shiloh come; and unto him shall the gathering of the people be.”