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Articles, Entertainment, Humor, Satire

The pitch meeting for "Redeeming Love"

PRODUCER: Do you have a new movie for me? SCREENWRITER: Yes, sir. This is gonna be gold, trust me. It’s an adaptation of a steamy romance novel set on the western frontier. PR: What? You do know our company is called Pure Flix, right? Not Impure Flix. SW: No, it’s a Christian novel. PR: A “steamy” Christian novel? SW: Yeah. PR: . . . SW: What is it? PR: I’m trying to find a multiverse where “steamy” and “Christian” belong together. Those terms aren’t exactly bedfellows. SW: But our main characters are, if you know what I mean. PR: What? SW: Well, the female protagonist is a prostitute. PR: Okay, this is not your best movie pitch, I gotta tell you. SW: It’s a redemptive story, though. PR: How so? SW: Well, it’s called Redeeming Love. So... PR: Oh, I see. It’s right there in the title: “Redeeming.” SW: Yeah, and it’s sold over three million copies since its publication in 1991. It’s really popular with the Christian ladies. It could make us a ton of money! PR: In that case, I guess I can take a look at the script. SW: Yeah, it’s a love story inspired by the book of Hosea. PR: You mean, from the Bible? About the prophet named Hosea who was commanded by God to marry a sexually promiscuous woman named Gomer? SW: That’s the one—only in the movie, her name is Angel, and she is forced into prostitution at a young age. PR: Oh no! SW: Yeah, life’s basically thrown everything but a feral prairie dog at her, so the audience will feel super empathetic—what with her poor, miserable, wretched life. PR: But that’s fairly incongruous with the story of Hosea, where Gomer is kinda playing the part of the antagonist. SW: Sure, but this isn’t the literal book of Hosea. I mean, it’s a fictional story. PR: I’m confused. SW: That’s because you haven’t heard the story yet. PR: Okay, fine. Tell me the story. SW: Like I said, Angel’s been mistreated her whole life, and she ends up as a prostitute. Then this man named Hosea— PR: Hey, that’s the name of the prophet! SW: Exactly, sir. Remember, this is an allegory. PR: But you just said… SW: Anyway, this guy named Hosea—he goes into town one day, sees Angel, and immediately wants to marry her. PR: Oh, love at first sight? SW: I mean, kinda. God basically tells him he’s gonna marry Angel. PR: Oh, really? SW: Yeah. So he pays double price to spend time with Angel. PR: Whoa, whoa, whoa. We can’t have that in a Christian movie. SW: No, he just wants to talk with Angel. To, you know, get to know her as a person. PR: Oh, okay. SW: So he goes to see Angel, and she’s just standing there fully naked— PR: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Why is she stark naked? We can’t have that in a Christian movie. SW: What can I say? I mean, it’s a brothel. It’s basically like a nudist colony, right? PR: I’m pretty sure prostitutes aren’t naked all the time. SW: Well, we’ll just…frame the shot so certain parts of her body are blocked from view. How’s that? PR: Fair enough. SW: So Hosea tells Angel she’s going to be his wife because God says so. PR: Really? He just out and says it? SW: Sure. I mean, haven’t high school kids been doing that to their crushes for, like, forever? PR: Oh, good point. SW: Exactly. So Hosea spends a ton of money to spend time talking with Angel. He woos her with his prophecies about their upcoming marriage, and after he badgers her for a long time— PR: He badgers her? So she’s not interested at all? SW: Not a lick. PR: I’m sorry, this doesn’t really sound like the book of Hosea. SW: No, this is a work of fiction. PR: But you said— SW: Anyway, after a lot of convincing, Angel finally agrees to be his wife and he takes her to his farm. PR: Well, shucks. That sounds like a fairly short movie to me. SW: No, it’s not over yet. The best part’s coming. PR: Oh, really? SW: Yeah, yeah, yeah. After Hosea finally gains Angel’s confidence, the two start getting…intimate. PR: Intimate? How so? SW: PR: You mean…like they finally have an open and honest discussion by a warm fire or something? SW: No, I mean…intimate. PR: You mean…like snuggling next to a warm fire? SW: No. PR: Oh, you mean like a romantic… SW: Yes! PR: …candle-lit dinner? SW: No! There is no fire and no candle! PR: So, they…eat a romantic dinner in the dark? SW: No, I’m not talking about “dinner table” intimacy, I’m talking about “bedroom” intimacy. PR: But why would they take their dinner to bed? SW: There’s no dinner! Forget dinner. There’s no food whatsoever! PR: You’re going to have them go to bed without any dinner? How is that intimate? SW: As a husband and wife, they enjoy what husbands and wives enjoy…you know, when they’re…husband and wife. Alone. With no one else around to watch (except for the audience, in this case). PR:  . . . SW:  . . . PR: Oh! Now I understand. SW: Yes… PR: They start kissing, and then we cut to them covered and snuggling afterward. That’s sweet. And props to you for giving a positive portrayal of marriage and all. SW: No, they start kissing, but that’s only the beginning. PR: The beginning of what? SW: We’ll spend, like, a couple whole minutes watching them kiss and take each other’s clothes off and fondle and copulate and— PR: What the cuss?! SW: Uh, did you just say “what the cuss”? PR: This is poo on a stick! SW: What is? PR: This whole load of hooey you’re trying to sell me! There’s no way in Sheol we’re going to actually show two characters getting intimate onscreen. SW: But they’re married. It’s totally legit. PR: Who would even agree to do that?! It’s not like Christian actors are standing in line waiting to shoot nude or sex scenes. You won’t get Kirk Cameron or Neil McDonough— SW: Okay, so we’ll…get an intimacy coordinator. That’s all the rage these days, right? PR: That doesn’t change the fact that you’re pitching a Christian film with onscreen sex. What’s gotten into that hip, edgy brain of yours? SW: Look, consider this: all the film’s sex scenes— PR: All of them? You’re planning on multiple sex scenes?! SW: No, no, no. Only, like, two. And they’ll both involve just the main characters—who, I might point out, are married. And unless someone edited the Bible lately… PR: Sorry, I’ve not read that copy lately. SW: . . . Where is Proverbs? Aren’t the books in alphabetical order? PR: No, Proverbs is in the Wisdom Literature section. SW: Where is that? Is it reverse alphabetical order? A few minutes later...  SW: Here it is! Hiding right there in the middle. Strange. Okay, Proverbs 5:19. “As a loving hind and a graceful doe, let her breasts satisfy you at all times; be exhilarated always with her love.” I’m basically using that as a script for one of the scenes. This movie is, after all, based on the Bible. PR: Wait, you just said— SW: This isn’t illicit sex we’re talking about. It’s married sex. The best kind. The kind that any woman would want to drag her husband and children to the theater to watch together. PR: Married sex isn’t supposed to be a spectator sport! SW: Look, we’re not gonna be filming real sex. It’s just simulated. Nothing really happens. PR: Oh. So, even the kissing will be a special effect? SW: No, they’ll be kissing for real. PR: So them taking off their clothes will be a special effect? SW: No. They’ll take their clothes off. PR: So the fondling will be a special effect? SW: No, he’ll really be touching her. PR: So the thrusting will be fake? SW: Why would that need to be fake? It’ll be real thrusting. PR: So when you say, “Nothing happens,” you really mean…everything happens. SW: No, nothing does happen. I mean, they don’t actually…“do the do.” PR: But they do do everything else leading up to “the do,” which they simulate with thrusting? SW: Right. Non-sexual thrusting. PR: When is thrusting not sexual? When are fondling and thrusting not sexual? SW: When it’s acting? I mean, the actors we’ll hire probably won’t be in an actual relationship. PR: So, if two people aren’t in an actual relationship, any intimate activities they engage in are magically unsexual? SW: Not when you put it like that. But in this case, yes. None of the sex will be actually real. It’s simply actors doing everything married couples do (except the “final act,” of course) in front of a camera, with footage that will be considered by audiences to be hot and steamy. Only a prude would consider that sexual. It’s not real. PR: Is your brain even real? SW: Okay, let’s take a step back. I think we’re losing perspective. The whole point of this movie—the whole point—is to be redemptive, right? PR: I suppose. I mean, it’s in the title. SW: Right. Exactly. So, in order to redeem this movie, we need to show audiences just how hot and steamy married sex can be. PR: We need to do that? SW: Yes! If Hollywood wants to take us down the road of porn-inspired content, we’ll turn the tables with our Christian sex scenes—but with the actors’ critical body parts strategically blocked. PR: Wait. So the actors won’t be naked? SW: That’s not what I mean. The actors will be in various stages of undress, but we won’t see it. That’s all that matters, right? Who cares if the actors have to actually get naked on set and touch each other in…“Proverbs 5:19” places? We won’t see any full nudity ourselves. By placing his hands on her, the actor will be protecting the sexual well-being of the audience. PR: But not his sexual wellbeing—or hers, for that matter. SW: That’s just the thing. Instead of getting professing Christians to play the roles of Angel and Hosea, we’ll get people who won’t put up a fuss. It’ll be perfect. I’m sure we can find actors who lack a scriptural sexual ethic. That’s the ideal recipe for shooting godly sex scenes that will whack people over the head with the good news of steamy love. PR: You mean “redeeming” love? SW: Right. What did I say? PR: What about the other sex scene? SW: What about it? PR: Can they keep their clothes on for that one? SW: Ah, a compromise. I can dig it. Sure, we’ll choreograph it so the actors can remain basically fully clothed. It’ll be so pure, it’ll rock the audience’s socks off! PR: Keep those socks on – we have enough clothes coming off in this project already. SW: Will do, sir. You’re the boss. PR: And I don’t want the male protagonist’s first name to be Hosea. This story just isn’t a very accurate allegory. SW: Okay, we can call him…Mike. Or Michael. PR: Fine. SW: Yeah, Michael Hosea. PR: I guess that will work. SW: Good! Oh, and I just had another great thought. PR: What? SW: You know that fully clothed sex scene? PR: . . .Yeah? SW: We can use a screenshot of that scene for the official movie poster. PR: What?!

This is an edited version of a post that originally appeared at Cap Stewart's blog Unpop Culture, and is reprinted here with permission. Cap is also the author of the online curriculum Personal Purity Isn’t Enough: The Long-Forgotten Secret to Making Scriptural Entertainment Choices, and has contributed to numerous print and online publications, including Zondervan Academic, The Christian Post, and The Gospel Coalition.

Satire

Ode to hurt...or why my tolerant nature can't stand your opinions

I’m hurting I am, and I want you to know, That the pain I am feeling, isn’t likely to go. I’m hurting I am, it’s your opinions you see, I just can’t accept them, I do not agree. D’you not pay attention, d’you not see the news? This post-modern world has no place for your views. They’re outdated, outmoded, outrageous no doubt, And lots, lots more words beginning with out. Reactionary, Dark Ages, Stone Age repression, And other assorted clichéd expressions. That’s what I think of your bigoted rants, Which contrast so starkly with my own tolerance. You’ve made me so angry, so hurt, even bitter, What can I do, but to go onto Twitter? Hashtag #BigotedIntolerantPhobe, Said something that hurt me, so I’m telling the globe. I’ll put it on Facebook, Instagram too, The world needs to know the pain caused by you. Pain that keeps giving and won’t find relief, For I simply can’t cope with a different belief. But being free-thinking, I’m perfectly fine, That others have thoughts that are different to mine. I must draw the line though, with views such as yours, Against which there really ought to be laws. Don’t get me wrong, I’m 100 percent, Committed to free speech and the right to dissent. But it’s Twenty-Nineteen and I can’t understand, Why opinions like yours still haven’t been banned. The law ought to treat them as Hate Crimes, it should, Then you’d have to keep them all up in your head, yes you would. And not only Hate Crimes, but Hurt Speech I say, On account of them really upsetting my day. Enough is enough, I’m really perturbed, My tolerant nature has been greatly disturbed. From now on I beg, keep your views well hid. Did I tell you they hurt me? Yes you hurt me, you did. Rob Slane is the author of A Christian and Unbeliever discuss Life, the Universe, and Everything. ...

Pro-life - Abortion, Satire

Why men are superior to women – a pro-life analogy

What follows is the text of a brochure that was delivered to more than 20,000 houses in Edmonton, Alberta during an election campaign about 15 years ago. It got a lot of people talking... and quite a number of them screaming. We'd assumed no one could possibly take the title seriously, but we were wrong, and many people did. But, strangely, when we explained that, rather than being an attack on women, this was actually a defense of the unborn, the screaming only got louder. **** This brochure is not about why all men are superior to all women – such a broad generalization is unscientific (as there are always the rare exceptions) and could even be viewed as sexist. No, in this brochure we are going to deal specifically with why Bob is superior to Susan. And in the process we will touch on why most men are superior to most women. Now, there are four differences that make Bob superior to Susan. First, Bob lives in Edmonton and Susan lives in Calgary. This makes Susan inferior for reasons that are so obvious they really don’t need explanation. Second, Bob, as a mature adult, is more developed than the prepubescent Susan. Since she is less developed she is clearly less human. Third, Bob is a healthy individual but Susan relies on a variety of medical devices to stay alive. She would die without her regular treatments and therefore does not rate as fully human. Finally, Bob is much bigger than the diminutive Susan. Since there is less of Susan obviously she is less human – subhuman even. And, of course, size is why most men are superior to most women since men are (aside from the rare exceptions) bigger than women. Four differences in all, and in each instance they make a compelling scientific case for Bob’s superiority… and also for male superiority in general. Right? You don’t agree? Good, because neither do we. And yet people point to these same four differences to argue that the unborn are somehow inferior and less human than those of us are already born. Location – the unborn do live in a different location than us. But so do Calgarians. Does the fact they live in a different location make them inferior, less human, and less worthy of protection? Of course not. Level of Development – the unborn are less developed than us but that again is no reason to think they are any less human. If it is, then the less developed Susan is also less of a person than the mature Bob. Viability – the argument is often made that the unborn aren’t human because they are dependent on their mothers – they aren’t viable on their own. But newborns are pretty dependent on their mothers as well. And Susan is also not viable on her own. Are we now allowed to kill anyone dependent on pacemakers, dialysis machines, insulin shots or the like? Obviously, viability doesn’t make someone more or less human. Size – the unborn are much smaller than us. Does that make them less human? If it does then the smaller Susan must also be less human than the bigger Bob. In Canada we’ve justified the killing of over 100,000 unborn children each year by pretending that their location, level of development, dependency, and size somehow make them less than human. But we know better than that. You know better than that. We’re standing up for the unborn. Won’t you? ----- A brilliant filmmaker used this article and brochure as the leap-off point for a short video. Check out Breanne Jansen's creation below.  ...

Satire

Based on a true story

"Um, excuse me?" I am kneeling next to a newly planted row of tomato starts and pulling weeds when I hear a woman's voice from over my bent shoulders. Several small businesses share the busy alley next to our back yard garden, and I assume the voice is speaking to someone else. I do not look up. With the back of my gardening glove I brush some loose hairs away from my eyes, and I continue weeding, tossing a few more invasive cheeseweed seedlings onto my growing pile. But then I hear the voice again, louder this time, "Hello? Miss? Excuse me." Because of the steady stream of foot, bicycle, and car traffic that passes by the garden each day it's not uncommon for passers-by to stop and say a kind word or two about the new raised beds or about how nicely our plants are coming along. "Oh, hi," I say, rising stiffly from my knees and turning to face the voice, "Sorry. I thought you were talking to someone else just now." I smile and wait for her to speak. She has stopped her vintage bicycle next to our bent chicken wire fence and rests her hands on her narrow hips. Her eyes are a blue so pale that I seem to be looking not at the eyes themselves but at two vacant holes in her head through which I can see the cloudless sky behind her. I reach over and grip the splintery handle of my shovel and lean my weight into it so that I can stretch my legs. I look at her expectantly. She does not smile back. After running her eyes over the whole garden plot, she finally says, “Well,” with a voice as crisp and sour and cool as the stalks of rhubarb growing behind me, "I just was riding by here and couldn't help noticing what you're doing, and I have to say that I am genuinely shocked. What, is with this heap of dead plants?" "Oh those?" I chuckle a little. "I'm not keeping those, actually. I'm just going to toss them in the compost when I'm done." "I figured you weren't planning on keeping those. And I’m appalled. That's why I stopped – it looks like you're killing them." "Yesss? Um, I guess I am," I respond with a nervous laugh-cough. "Take that!" I say, leaning sideways and yanking a young dandelion out of the carrot bed. I intend it to be a lighthearted joke, but it flops somewhere in the dust near the bicycle tires and dissolves into the gravel. The cyclist widens the pale blue holes in her head and tightens her lips. Clearly I am not making a new friend. After a long and uncomfortable pause, the words, "What in the world?" shoot toward me, and I resist the urge to duck. "How can you even call yourself a gardener? How can you treat plants this way?" I blink. I blink again, speechless, and tighten my grip on the shovel. "Well? Do you call yourself a gardener?" she demands. This is a relief, a question I can answer. "Oh, well, yes. An amateur, but yeah, I guess I'm a gardener." "Ha!" she says. I can taste something bitter on the back of my tongue as she opens her mouth to continue. "Correct me if I'm wrong here, gardener, but last time I checked, gardeners are people who love plants. Gardeners are people who nurture plants. So explain this!" She flings her hand toward my little pile of wilting dandelions and pigweed seedlings and then turns with raised eyebrows to scan the alleyway – as if she is trying to find somebody willing to join her in her triumphant outrage. "Well, this is actually an important part of caring for the vegetables I planted here." My voice has a bit of a nervous shake in it. I can't believe I'm having to defend my weed pile. "This is what nurturing a garden looks like." "Oh right. Then why are you brutalizing perfectly innocent seedlings? Seriously. Why do you hate plants so much?" "They're weeds, not good plants." I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Says you. The difference between a so-called 'weed,'” she says, making scare quotes in the air with her fingers, “and a 'good' plant is just your opinion. You have no right to determine which plants should live and which should die. What do you have against them, anyway? What right can you possibly have to inflict your opinion on every other plant?" I stare at her for a moment, trying to weigh whether this is some kind of satire, some kind of practical joke. But her cold eyes are glaring so widely that I can see the whites completely encircling the blue. ”Well," I begin, "I have gardener's handbook that I can check whenever I'm not quite sure which kind of plant I'm looking at. But after a few years of seeing these things grow up, you get pretty good at identifying..." "What! You have this book, so now you're some kind of expert? Seriously? These things look just like all the other plants around here. They're really not that different. See that one? It’s not even touching the ones next to it. Not hurting a thing! And anyway, they're tiny. Look at them! Totally. Harmless. And if you just gave them a chance, you might actually learn to see the unique beauty in them!” "Actually, I..." "I am dead serious," she continues, "I cannot understand how any gardener could do...this." She broadly sweeps her arm toward the weed pile again. "If you really loved plants – if you were a real gardener – you would treat them with care and help them grow and appreciate them for what they are." She crosses her arms, satisfied in the irrefutability of her argument. Suppressing the chuckle that is trying to escape, I cough into my shoulder and glance around the alleyway, looking for a hidden camera. Maybe this is some kind of skit for reality television. But no, I see nothing. “That’s the thing,” I say. “You're missing the point. I love the plants that are supposed to be in the garden. I love these snap peas. I love the carrots. And if I love these plants, then I have to root out the invaders.” I point to a dandelion. "Look. This is total discrimination. Either you love plants or you don't. You are obviously a plant hater. You're hurting plants. There's the proof!" "But if I don't get rid of the bindweed, then it will get rid of my snap peas. I am not raising a garden in order to eat bindweed for dinner. You’re welcome to try some, however, if it would soothe your conscience.” Sarcasm is getting the better of me, and I can feel my suppressed smirk has surfaced. I can’t straighten it out quickly enough, so I look down at my dusty shoes and pretend to scratch an itch on the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry in the least, “but I don't know why people like you take these things so simplistically. Not everything is so black and white. The concept of a 'weed' is just a social construct, and nobody needs to take sides here. There should be harmony among all plants—no! exceptions!” She pounds her handlebar to punctuate those last two words and then sighs. “Bindweed and snap peas can peacefully coexist." I look up at her pained expression and exhale slowly so as not to outright guffaw in her face. “Uhh, not really. Not without doing serious damage to the snap peas. Not without choking out the plants that are the whole point of this garden." "You have got to be kidding. You are a total weedaphobe! I knew it! You're afraid of bindweed! This is so unbelievable. You're acting out of irrational fear. I mean, look at these things. Look at how tiny and harmless those little bindweeds are." She leans her bicycle toward my tomato bed and points them out to me for my edification. “They have these beautiful white flowers. Beautiful! What are you afraid of?" "I'm not afraid of them. I just know what they will do if I let them grow unchecked. If I call myself a gardener at all, I will call a weed a weed and then I'll cast it into the outer darkness, so to speak.” "Ahhh, so then what about the ones over there?" She points to the opposite side of the alley where a small forest of thistles and dandelions have sprung up next to the neighbors’ dumpster. "You think you're going to get rid of all the so-called 'weeds' in the world? Think again. They are stronger and more resilient than you think." The laugh finally escapes, despite my best efforts. "Believe me. I am fully aware of how resilient they are. That's why I'm out here doing this again for the umpteenth time this summer. But I am certainly not trying to single-handedly take down every weed in the world. I'm not even trying to get rid of the ones next door. It's my garden I'm concerned about. I am focusing on the weeds right here because they are the ones I’m responsible for. I am focusing on the ones that are trying to take over my good plants." "Are you kidding me? 'Good plants'? These plants that you're killing had just as much right to be here as those peas do. In fact, I bet a lot of them were here first. But obviously you're too closed-minded to appreciate what they have to offer. Do you realize how useful and beautiful some of these plants can be? Look at this dandelion you've ruined. If you had just let it grow, it could produce lovely yellow flowers and friendly little fairy puffs! But ooooh. It's scaaary, isn't it? Can't let it grow freely, can you?" She snorts. "I guess you're afraid of flowers, too. Flowerphobe." I roll my eyes toward the sky. A redtail hawk is riding an updraft directly overhead, scoping out his lunch options. Then I turn my gaze back to the lady’s face and look hard through her sky-colored eyes. "This has nothing to do with fear. It has everything to do with wanting to take care of my peas. It has everything to do with loving my garden." "So pulling plants up by the roots. You call that love?" "Yes. I do." My nose is starting to itch for real now, so I rub at it with the back of my wrist. "Well. If that's what you call love, then I would not even want to imagine how you'd treat the things you hate. Look at how damaged those poor little plants are." I look. And I smile a broad, genuine smile. "Yes. Totally damaged. Isn't it great? And once they're all dead and rotted and decomposed in my compost heap? Then they will be given the opportunity to return to my garden. At that point they will be welcome. But not before." "Garden hater." She climbs back onto her bike. "Plantphobe." "Come back in a month or two, and I'll let you have a bite." She snorts again. "Oh really. Of what?" "Bindweed, if you like." She narrows her pale eyes and opens her mouth as if to respond, then closes it again and pushes off without a word. I listen to the crunch of gravel under her tires as I lean my shovel back against a T-post and return to my knees to take care of my tomato starts. The soil is warm between my fingers. Come July, there will be fruit. Hannah K. Grieser is the author "The Clouds Ye So Much Dread: Hard Times and the Kindness of God." She lives in Idaho where she designs graphics, photographs landscapes, dabbles in the garden, and (with her husband, Jayson) is raising five pig-farming, music-loving, baseball-playing sons—including one cancer survivor. She has also written for Relief Journal, Books & Culture, and Desiring God....

Satire

First transage winner of under-10s race

A 27-year-old man from Great Britain, who identifies as an 8-year-old boy, has become the first Transage winner of a gold medal at the World Cross Country Championship. Brian Potts, a fitness instructor from Hull, won the under-10s 6-kilometer race in a time of 17 minutes and 21 seconds, over four minutes ahead of his nearest rival. Potts, representing Great Britain for the first time, celebrated his victory on Twitter, writing: “First Transage world champion … ever.” Allowing adults who self-identify as children to compete in junior sports events has been a controversial subject, as critics have argued that it puts their opponents at an inherent disadvantage. However, Potts was quoted in the Hull Gazette earlier this year, arguing that banning Transagers from competing with children would be discriminatory: “As a society, we cannot have adults identifying as transage and it not be recognized in sports. Focusing on performance advantage is largely irrelevant because this is actually a rights issue. We shouldn’t be worried about transagers taking over the Olympics. What we should be concentrating on is things like fairness and human rights instead.” To those who have questioned his win, and whether it was fair to allow a 27-year-old to compete with boys nearly 20 years younger than him, Potts went onto Twitter to vent his frustration with what he sees as an attitude born of prejudice, and which belongs firmly in the past: “I can’t believe we’re still having this discussion in the 21st century. This is much bigger than sports. It’s about human rights. And catering to the Transage-o-phobes only furthers the oppression of those who only seek to be the age they feel. People, I won. Get over it.” Not everyone sees it that way, though. After the race, the silver medal winner, 9-year-old Daniel Song from Canada, and bronze medal winner, 8-year-old Manuel López from Spain, lodged a complaint with the International Association of Athletics Federations (IAAF), alleging that Potts had an unfair advantage and should not have been allowed to compete in the under-10s. However, this approach may well have backfired, with latest reports suggesting that they could find themselves stripped of their medals, and sent to a Transageist re-education camp before being allowed to compete again. Rob Slane is the author of "A Christian and an Unbeliever Discuss...Life, the Universe and Everything." His article is responding to the recent gold-medal winning performance by Rachel McKinnon, a man who says he is a woman, who, on Oct 14, won the women's 35-44 age bracket at the 2018 Masters Track Cycling World Championship. The transgender winner argued that because he’s lost to the women he was competing against more times than he’s beat them, and because many women have a higher FTP (Functional Threshold Power, or the maximum average power a rider can produce over the course of an hour) than him, that makes it fair. While that might make it competitive it would do so in much the same way that if a 40-something-year-old on foot raced his 8-year-old daughter on her bike, it might be close. God made us male and female, and that brings with any number of differences. Those differences might mean that an average man might be competitive with women in some events, but that doesn't make it any less a matter of apples competing against oranges. So what's the root issue here? The world says we can be whatever we think we are. But Christians know that only God's thinking can dictate reality. And actually, as the video below shows, on some level even the world recognizes that thinking something doesn't make it so. ...