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13606216 No.13606216 [Reply] [Original]

Is 'rose from the dead 'a metaphor or does the dead literally come alive again when the kingdom of heaven arrives? Are their any books I can read that basically decode the bible for me?

>> No.13606494

how is some jewish drivel so hard for you to understand?

>> No.13606498

Yes people will litteraly rise from the dead, rebuilt atom by atom If necessary

>> No.13606539

It's taken to be literal, hence the Western practice of not spreading the ashes or bones of the dead.

>> No.13606655

It's a metaphor. Those whose spirits have dwindled and been absorbed by the dead state of nihilism, shall like roses bloom again on the coming of the summer when kingdom of God (Fourth Reich) incarnates itself again, with Adolf Hitler being the second incarnation of himself, fulfilling the prophecy of the Messiah

>> No.13606755

Jesus rose from the dead literally and was walking around Palestine feeling better than ever. If that’s not enough for you to conclude that the resurrection is literal you’re not paying attention.

>> No.13606776

Luke (who was a Gentile) wrote 1/3rd of the New Testament.

>> No.13606778

I think it refers to flowers growing on a grave; it's quite poetic.

>> No.13607506


>> No.13607520

that's a really clean tongue

>> No.13607726

I laugh every time I see this photo. She's trying so hard to be sexy but she just looks silly.

>> No.13607738
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I have a strong urge to kick her in the nose really hard with the heel of my foot

>Yes I'm an incel, how did you know?

>> No.13608473

WHY?! WHY MUST YOU TORMENT ME SO WITH THESE JEZEBELS? My one single wish is to be left to my own asexual devices, free from the thorned grip of perverse tempation, unclouded or swayed in my noble search for intellectual playthings of the mind, yet by your hand I am endlessly titillated by these vixens with their prodigious hips and provocative figures. Can I never satiate this thirst, will I ever know the touch of a woman and enter between her loins? Will these hands ever feel a woman's swaying weight in their open palms? Will I ever know a plump, ruby pair of lips perched betwixt my shoulder and my ear, whispering "I want you, I want you now" in that chocolatey croon I know so well from dreamtime? Will my seed ever drip from her moistened hole, indicating the completed unity of our unhinged sexual impulses?

Life is a constant hell. Day in and out the tired red eyes glaze in some attempt to shield me from these images. I am floating in the blistering heat of my id's vacuum, castrated and blinded by my wretched libido. No wonder I resent women so.

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