Last week in Part One of Episode Five-Evolution vs. Creation-Intelligent Design, I explained that the founder of the Theory of Evolution, Charles Darwin, was indeed a controversial topic in that his original ‘Origin of the Species’ book, which concluded with the admission that God, the Creator, began the process of evolution. This later morphed into what we know today as evolution when the Creator was removed from his book after his death, likely by an atheist group of what were called Social Darwinists, a group including Thomas Huxley and Richard Dawkins. This was likely done to back their notion that God did not and does not exist. Yet neither Huxley nor, in the present day, Dawkins, can explain how something came out of nothing, or what particle or particles out of nothing caused the so-called ‘Big Bang.’
As I had stated in earlier posts, I never believed in the Theory of Evolution. If evolution was truth, it would be called the LAW of Evolution, not just a ‘theory.’ Theories need proof, right? So that, since no evolutionist has figured out what single particle or particles suddenly came out of nothing…I mean, what was the so-called ‘First Cause’? (Note: Saint Thomas Aquinas came up with that one, ‘First Cause,’ in medieval times; the ‘First Cause,’ of course, being God). Since the evolutionists cannot come up with their original particle, I simply cannot believe in the atheist-humanist-rationalist ‘Theory’ of Evolution. Do the math, folks—you cannot divide by ZERO or NOTHING!
So the best I can explain why Darwin or anyone would come up with this theory deals with the notion of a ‘construct.’ Darwin, a former Christian-turned-agnostic, did in fact believe in God, but what about those who came after Darwin such as Huxley and Gould and others? Since they didn’t believe in God the Creator, they had to find a way to explain how creatures and plants, etc., came to be, so they used Darwin’s ‘Origin’ book while taking God out of their narrative or equation. Thus, they came up with their own ‘construct,’ which I ‘define’ in Chapter Twelve of The Prodigal Band in a conversation between future band member Bry and a Christian biker-preacher.
Both of the following snippets from The Prodigal Band, focus on keyboard-synthist Bryan, or Bry. In the first one from Chapter Twelve, Bry, then a music conservatory pianist student, in 1981, met a Christian biker-preacher at the local trade and music festival, who explained to him the fallacy of the Theory of Evolution. In his ‘revelation’ to the rest of the prodigal band and their manager Joe, Bry tells them why he never fully bought into Darwinism and how the biker nudged him toward looking to God for answers to a question he’s had on his mind for years, which was one reason he accepted Christ as Savior ‘in the void’ as the band’s jet was aflame a day earlier at a London airport on the way to a ‘meeting’ that was not to be.
“I was at summer camp with my parents and other family members—all rationalists, all atheists. In fact, it was called ‘Summer Camp of Darwin.’ My folks literally worshiped the guy! Like, some kids have to read the Bible at Vacation Bible School or whatever. My folks made me read Darwin’s books.”
Laughs and even taunts.
“No joke! I never finished them because I’m simply not into turtles and finches and whatnot. I’m like ‘who gives a crap about how these things got to be?’ Like I really gave a damned about ‘creationism vs. evolution’! But other than that, my folks loved me, so I figured what the hell. Pretend to believe this stuff, right? So whenever I had to, I just went along with it. But I never really believed it. Like, where’s the empirical proof that man comes from ape, right? So one time, I was fourteen or something, right before they sent me to the Conservatory. I was sitting next to my dad on the piano stool and he was playing some aria or something, and I cut him off, and asked him just out of the clear blue sky, ‘Dad, you ever see an ape turn into a man?’ So he looked at me real funny and blurted out, ‘No!’ and then I said, ‘Then how do you know man comes from apes?’ And that got him really mad, and he said, ‘You know damned well Darwin proved it! Just go to your room! Now!’ So I left in a huff and he shouted behind me, ‘Who’s been spouting creationist crap to you, Bryan?’ and as I went up the stairs to my room, I answered, ‘Nobody, dad, it was just a question!’ So then I am in my room and I have a small piano in my room, and I go to the piano and do a ‘doh-ray-me’ thing, only it’s like I’m talking to God or something, like a prayer, right. And it went like this. ‘Who-on-earth-cre-a-ted-all-things?’ like I was singing.
“So a Christian Darwin camp worker convinced me evolution was bogus. For instance, while nature at that camp was in complete harmony, whatever man created, like buildings that kept evolving—stone to wood to concrete to steel, building them up then tearing them down when they wear out—was out of harmony with nature.”
But it took meeting a biker a couple of years later to convince Bry that only God could have created everything, and it didn’t take an hours-long screed by a Christian camp worker to convince him. And it was at the 1981 Walltown Trade Festival at Victoria Park, no less. While milling around the various food and drink stands on the extreme north end of the park among perhaps close to a thousand people, Bry, tired of simply associating with either rationalists like his folks or musicians like his fellow Conservatory students, decided at age fifteen he was going to try breaking out on his own, knowing a likely notable and profitable music career would come, regardless of whom he hung out with. So sheltered in his youth, he sought what could lead to excitement, or even a bit of risk. Near the bar stand where Ale abounded, he then noticed rows and rows of motorcycles, then stools and stools of bikers. He wondered if a couple of neighbor boys, who used to tease him about joining their Walltown biker group, would be around. Looked and looked for them, then—
“Watch out for my bike, eh?” a biker lashed out, nearly sending Bry to the ground as he nearly toppled the man’s bike over.
Picking himself up, Bry stuttered, “S-s-sorry a-about-that! I didn’t see you or the bike.”
“Well I didn’t mean to push you to the ground, either. And the bike is fine.”
“Is it a Motorduke?”
“Come around over here.” The biker pointed to the other side where he was. “You’ll see that it is indeed a Motorduke.”
So when Bry joined him on the left side of the bike, the word ‘Motorduke’ screamed out at him. “Now that’s what I want. A Motorduke, new, used, whatever.”
The man looked him over. “You know you look like a biker! What are you, eighteen, nineteen?”
“Fifteen, and my birthday is coming up. But—”
“Your folks don’t want you biking, right?”
“No, they don’t. I’m a Conservatory student and they are first chairs in the Walltown Symphony Orchestra and they are playing at the south end of the park tonight. Dad does piano and mom does oboe.”
“Don’t really do classical. Country—American, Scottish, Welsh, whatever, you know, like folk music, blue grass.” The man rearranged his bike so it wouldn’t likely topple over if some other kid walked into it by mistake. “But if you’re good at music, likely you’ll make good money doing it. Me?” he laughed. “I’m a preacher. A biker preacher, and believe it or not, there are former biker gang members in my group.”
Bry listened with astonishment at what he said next. “We have a group Stateside and about half of them are former members of biker gangs. And here’s the funny thing. None of these biker gangs are anything close to being devil worshipers, but they do get into lots and lots of bar and pub fights, and do some crimes every now and then.”
Bry sat up against the railing where the bikes were hitched, very, very interested in what this man had to say. “So your group are Bible preachers to bikers?”
“Yeah. We do Bible studies and sermons and stuff like that, all on the road. In the States, every year there’s a huge biker meeting at The Hills in the Dakotas. Thousands, and I mean thousands—I’ve been to a few—meet there every year in August. And our group, ‘Biker Brothers for Christ’—BBC, right?” Laugh. “Oh, and molls are invited too by the way, and they even have a group, ‘Biker Sisters for Christ.’ We have a tent there every year and we get huge numbers of attendees, including just about any biker gang one can name.”
Bry remembered back to the Christian camp worker and what he said about creation. “Do you preach creationism?”
The man waved his hand up and down, side to side, as if to say, ‘not really.’ “Well, if someone asks us to, but likely not. We are more into the words of Christ. Gospel stuff. New Testament stuff.” Laugh. “I’d love to preach on prophecy but I’m not a huge Bible scholar on that.” Looked at Bry, smiling. “I really do not think creationism is science, but neither is evolution if that’s what you mean. Because, well, I’ll put it to you this way. If a motorcycle was one of God’s creatures created on day five or six when He created birds and mammals and other animals and humans, then it would have been called ‘cheetah,’ which can run about 80 kilometers per hour, and, one second later, can rotate its body around, and head off reaching 80 kilometers per hour in about five seconds. And, son, no freaking motorcycle could ever do that without destroying the engine or crashing the bike! Evolution is a construct.”
“What’s a construct?”
“A construct is a way we express something we have no clue about to justify why we do or believe something so that it makes sense to us. Since no man was around when God created cheetahs, and since man cannot explain how God created cheetahs in truth since they don’t know how God works and most don’t even think He even exists, they have to make up a construct, call it ‘evolution,’ and convince everyone that Darwin knows all there is to know about creation. And of course they can’t prove evolution is fact, so they diss everyone who says creation is a fact! That’s how these so-called ‘rationalists’ work.”
“Wow,” Bry shouted so even the ale drinkers could hear it. “That’s what this Christian camp worker once said, pretty much the same thing, only with buildings, not cheetahs! And your argument makes even more sense!” Crestfallen. “I just wish I could convince my folks of that. They are rationalists, you know? They literally worship Darwin.”
“Well that’s too bad. And you might not want to bother with them. Of all the people on Earth, rationalists are the hardest people to get to. Atheists. All of them. And proud of it, too.” Shook his head. “Look, I have to go, but before I go let me tell you one more thing. When I say God created all things, it was actually Christ that had the hand in it. There’s one of the Gospels, the Gospel of John the Apostle, who was Jesus’s favorite apostle by the way. And the first verse of this Gospel says, ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.’ And Who was the Word? Jesus Christ. Christ IS the Word! Christ IS God, but God that became flesh, and, when He was flesh, He prayed to His Father God. God, in fact, is a triune entity, three-parts-in-one. The third part is the Holy Ghost, or Holy Spirit. When a person accepts Christ as Savior, they receive the Holy Ghost as spirit, and the Holy Spirit keeps them on the proper course so they don’t take part in evil. And I will say this—if you don’t want evil influencing your life, now’s the time to accept Christ, and accept the Holy Ghost.”
In the second and final snippet, Bry, upon visiting his atheist parents who ‘worship’ Darwin, tells them he accepted Christ as Savior, and his parents react in a very ‘irrational’ way, claiming that the ‘miracle’ ‘one minute note’ held by singer Erik at the 2000 version of that same Walltown festival was a hoax, among other screeds his parents blurted. The conversation turns, well…as ‘rational’ as the square root of two! From Chapter Fourteen…and one of my favorite scenes in the entire trilogy!
Later that day at Bry’s parents house
“So you came all this way from a meeting that got canceled after your band’s jet caught fire just to tell your mother and me that you reject the truth of evolution—which I suspect you never really believed anyway, Bryan—and accept some bogus Christian nonsense that couldn’t be proven if a million scientists in a million years tried to prove it? Some Jew that never even existed—Jesus Christ—is now your personal Savior?”
Well, I had to tell my parents, right? Isn’t that the right thing to do even when you know they will reject it? But still—I feel like a complete idiot thinking they might react differently. Bry had all he could do to stand there listening to his father’s rationalistic gibberish without wiping the dust off his allegorical sandals at the door and never returning.
“So whose idea was that?” His mother asked, still incredulous that after all the years of Darwin Camp and the Music School and the Conservatory—hardly Christian-oriented institutions—her thirty-five-year-old son would ever leave the rationalist fold. “Another band member? That ‘miracle-worker’ singer of yours?”
Help me, God, please! “No! It’s my idea! No one had to convince me to do it. I wanted to do it! After all I’ve seen and done and the places I’ve been. You ever go to far west Texas and live there in the mountains and desert with hundreds of animals—mountain lions, deer, antelopes, bears, burros, foxes, wolves, raccoons, aoudads, javelinas, eagles, buzzards, thousands of kinds of birds and insects and reptiles and fish and you name it! Like that Darwin Camp, only even more harmonious. And man didn’t do squat to make it that way. The only reason you believe in evolution is because that’s the only way you can explain it without bringing God into it. Since you don’t believe in God, why bother to believe He created it all? So you buy into this evolution bullshit.”
“Bullshit, eh?” Mr. McClellan was now furious. He bounded out of his chair and nearly struck his son on the face before he held back, but not verbally. “The only ‘bullshit’ is that nonsense Tooters statue and I guess that statue gave you a message of nonsense that God and that so-called Christ actually exist and so you must believe in them. All the while that singer of yours held his breath for over a minute! Right! You cannot hold a song note for a minute!”
That anyone would challenge that Erik held a note for over a minute nearly asphyxiating himself by saying it never happened and couldn’t happen so enraged the synthist that he nearly stomped out of the house, never to return. But upon his exit, he gave a parting shot. “That singer, eh? Well, that singer—my band brother, eh?—has more truth in his pinky than either of you will ever hope to know! So you think my band brother would just create that note as a lip-synch hoax? You think our sound engineer, rock music’s top sound engineer from two elite colleges, would just fake that—at a free concert? You think I would cover up a hoax—at a free concert and a Festival that I, and my band mates, paid the whole fucking thing over? So we spent about twenty fucking million to provide a hoax? So we pay millions that we worked bloody hard for the last eleven years—to provide a hoax? If we wanted to provide a hoax don’t you think we woulda wanted to be paid to do it? Just why the hell would the world’s greatest rock singer—screw that, the world’s greatest singer, ever!—pay to nearly asphyxiate himself? You saw his heavy breathing and he nearly collapsed over it! You cannot fake that! And I suppose you think our 747 jet we paid many millions to buy caught fire because we wanted to stage another hoax? Right? Because after all only humans can cause things to happen, and that if it was burning we shoulda burned with it, because after all there is no way God coulda saved us from burning in it because God is just a figment of the imaginations of six idiots who staged a hoax that we woulda been burned in! And you call yourselves ‘rational’? Well, I’m out of here!”
But he did not wipe the dust off his shoes. He prayed for them instead.
The notion of “wiping the dust off sandals and never returning” is from Matthew 10:14 and Mark 6:11, except they state ‘feet’ instead of ‘shoes’ or ‘sandals.’
The next episode will also stir controversy and is perhaps one of the biggest reasons youth, then and now, turn to wanting to achieve success in the music and entertainment industry—their desire to escape poverty, including indentured servitude, which, according to an English woman I met years ago, may still exist in Britain, and maybe in the US and world-wide. This possibility inspired me to have my drummer character, Tom, to be the son of one indentured within a local northeast England slum called the Hovels.
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The Prodigal Band Trilogy © 2019 by Deborah Lagarde, Battle of the Band © 1996 by Deborah Lagarde, The Prophesied Band © 1998 by Deborah Lagarde and The Prodigal Band © 2018 by Deborah Lagarde. Permission needed to copy any materials off this page.
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