Today, I finally realized that the song I learned at church camp as “Pharaoh, Pharaoh” (whoa, baby, let my people go, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) was not, as I had been led to believe, an original composition, but a bastardized version of “Louie, Louie” by The Kingsmen.

Since my last shred of innocence has been destroyed, I’ve decided it’s time to sell out and write Christian versions of popular stuff. Here goes.

Holy Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stoning

Holy Potter was not living a happy, fulfilled life. He had never known his parents, for they died when he was very young. They had been spreading the good news of Jesus Christ as missionaries in a foreign country that persecuted Christians. Holy’s relatives wouldn’t tell him what country it was, but they told him that it was somewhere north of South Korea, and then they winked a lot.

and when they were discovered handing out Bibles to poor people, the local authorities tied them to stakes and burned them alive. And when the authorities were finished with the poor people, they started in on the Potters. The Potters were flayed alive and forced to eat their own skin, and every day, the authorities set them on fire. But through all of this, the Potters felt no pain, and even thanked the authorities when they put the fires out by pissing on them. But eventually, they died anyway, because God works in mysterious ways.

Holy Potter was brought up by his aunt and uncle, Herod and Delilah Dawkins. The Dawkins were staunch atheists, and one night, when they found him praying at the dinner table, they sent him to bed with no supper, just a tiny little crust of bread.

But what his aunt and uncle didn’t know–what Holy himself didn’t even know–was that Holy Potter was a prophet. When he blessed his little crust of bread that night, it began to multiply, and he had enough bread to feed his entire church.

This continued for several weeks. Holy would pray at the dinner table, the Dawkins would send him to bed, and he would bless the pitiful crust he had been given. Most of the time, the bread would multiply into loaf upon loaf of warm, golden bread, which was great. And sometimes, the bread transubstantiated into the literal body of Christ, which was less great, and actually kind of creepy.

Then, one day, Holy received a letter telling him that he had been specially chosen by God to be a prophet. The letter told him to go to the London King of King’s Cross railway station. When he arrived there, he found several other children his age, waiting in a group between platforms 3 and 4. “Are you going to become a prophet?” asked a girl. Holy Potter nodded shyly. “You’re at the right place. I’m Sanctimione. I’m going to be a prophet too.”

Holy Potter was astonished. At his church, women weren’t allowed to speak, much less prophesy. Clearly he had a lot to learn if he was going to fit in. Just as he got his mind around this new idea, Sanctimione said, “Well, I’ll see you on the other side. Remember to keep your arms out!” and ran headlong toward a column and crossbeam. Just before hitting the column, she raised her arms level with the crossbeam and jumped, disappearing from sight.

Holy watched as the other children did the same, disappearing one by one. He was very puzzled, but if there was one thing his time in the church had taught him, it was how to take leaps of faith without asking any questions, so after the last child jumped through the column and crossbeam, Holy Potter followed suit.

On the other side, Holy blinked his eyes in astonishment. There was a whole other train station here. A sign overhead told him that he was at Platform 3.16, but that wasn’t what astonished him. The sight that filled him with amazement was the train–sitting not on train tracks, but on an ocean. The train floated on the surface of the water, moving gently with the waves. “Be Not Afraid,” advised large red letters on the side of the train.

The prophets to be boarded the train, and soon they were off. The boy Holy shared a car with had bright orange hair. “Would you like some Bible Beans?” He held out a bag of variously-colored jellybeans. Holy Potter took one, and nibbled it cautiously. “What’d you get?” asked the orange-haired boy.

“It’s sweet. Sort of creamy, too,” said Holy.

“Ah, you must have gotten milk and honey. I never seem to get the good ones.” The boy tossed a jellybean into his mouth and grimaced.

“What kind did you get?” asked Holy.

The boy opened his mouth and a swarm of insects came out. He spit out the last one. “Locusts,” he said.

“What’s your name?” asked Holy.

“Ron. Ron Wesley. And yes, I’m one of those Wesleys, but…and don’t tell anyone…” He looked around before whispering, “I’m actually a Calvinist.”

Holy just shook his head in wonder. The surprises kept on coming. First a girl who wanted to prophesy, and now a ginger with a soul? Who knew what would happen next? Besides God, of course.

The train came to a stop, and the children piled out. The sight that met them took their breath away. Looming over them was the facade of an enormous gothic cathedral. A banner hung from the roof that read, “Welcome to Godwards.”

Their revelry was cut short by a sudden scream. An older girl ran up to the students. “Oh my…gosh, Ron, you’ll never believe what happened. Your sister, Mary Maggie…someone found out she was hiding…a Ouija board!”

Several students sucked in their breath in shock. “Dark magic,” someone muttered.

One of the older kids put a hand on Holy Potter’s shoulder. “We’d better hurry,” the older boy told him. “We don’t want to miss the stoning.”