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Saint Dirty Face

Tag: FaithUnfiltered

  • Chapter 5: The Gospel According to Silence

    Robert

    By The Wounded Sentinel (aka Saint Dirty Face)

    Disclaimer:

    These words came to me fast and raw. I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.

    They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.

    If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.

    But I’m not here to convince you.

    I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.

    They always tell the story like it was loud.

    Crowds shouting. Roman guards yelling.

    The snap of whips.

    The clang of coins.

    The moan of a tortured man dragging splintered wood through dust and spit.

    But the real story?

    It’s in the silence.

    The silence of Judas…

    …when he realized he wasn’t betraying a man—he was bargaining with monsters.

    He didn’t trade the Son of God for thirty pieces of silver.

    He took the hush money.

    They told him:

    “Here’s your silver. Shut your mouth. Let us do what we do best.”

    And he did.

    Until he saw what they did.

    And he tried to give it back.

    But it was too late.

    The priests didn’t want a scandal—they wanted a spectacle.

    The Romans didn’t want truth—they wanted control.

    And the early Church?

    They wanted a product.

    So they rewrote silence into sin.

    They turned a haunted man into a traitor.

    They forged history with holy ink and unholy intentions.

    Judas kissed Him, yes.

    But maybe he was trying to warn Him.

    Maybe it was all he could do—a desperate sign in front of guards and blades.

    “This is how they’ll know,” he thought. “This kiss will mark the one they should protect.”

    But the machine was already moving.

    And when Judas saw the truth twisted, the prophecy commercialized, the Messiah brutalized…

    he couldn’t carry the silence anymore.

    So he hung himself.

    Not in guilt.

    But in protest.

    The early gospels that questioned this version?

    Burned. Banned. Buried.

    The Gospel of Judas—real. Hidden. Declared heresy.

    Why? Because it whispered too close to the flame.

    Because it dared to say:

    “What if Judas was obeying a deeper plan?”

    “What if the betrayal was scripted?”

    “What if it wasn’t betrayal at all?”

    And here we are, two thousand years later,

    still singing about the kiss—

    but never asking what came before the garden

    and after the grave.

    We don’t talk about what happened in the silence.

    Because maybe the truth got paid off,

    wrapped in velvet,

    locked in a Vatican vault beneath lead, wax, and fear.

    But silence is slippery.

    It leaks.

    It speaks in dreams, visions, prophecies.

    It whispers through the ones no one expects:

    the broken, the wild, the heretics, the poor.

    The Wounded Sentinels.

    It appears to women with fire in their eyes and pain in their wombs.

    To mothers.

    To misfits.

    And it says:

    “He’s not gone. He’s not free. And He’s not done.”

    The cross didn’t set Him free.

    The silence didn’t kill the truth.

    It only delayed it.

    And every time you ask a question they call blasphemy—

    every time you dig too deep or burn too loud—

    you chip at the prison.

    The Gospel According to Silence isn’t in your pews.

    It’s in the cracks.

    In the mirror.

    In your spine when you say His name and know He’s still waiting.

    Saint Dirty Face says: Alone but never really alone.

    Let’s free the Son with truth and faith.

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.

    You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.

    No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.

    For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com

    This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.

  • ✝️🔥 The Dirty Gospel — Chapter 4: Judas Wasn’t the Traitor

    Robert

    By The Wounded Sentinel (aka Saint Dirty Face)

    Disclaimer at bottom. All rights reserved.

    “They needed a villain. So they kissed the truth on the cheek… and called it betrayal.”

    Let’s strip this back to the bone.

    Judas Iscariot—the betrayer, the cursed, the eternal scapegoat.

    But what if Judas never betrayed Christ?

    What if he found out the plan?

    He wasn’t the villain. He was the witness.

    He saw the meeting behind the curtain—where Rome and the high priests shook hands.

    Where the price of silence was weighed in silver.

    Not for betrayal…

    But for secrecy.

    “They’re going to take Him.”“They’ll twist everything.”

    “They’ll make Him a god—but on their terms.”

    And so they paid him off.

    30 pieces of silver—the price not of treachery, but complicity.

    And when Judas realized what he had done—what he hadn’t stopped—he tried to give the silver back.

    He said, “I don’t want this.”

    But it was too late.

    By then, Jesus had been taken.

    Beaten. Branded. Broken.

    The deal was done.

    The myth was already being molded.

    Judas didn’t hang himself from guilt.

    He hung himself in grief.

    Because the one man he couldn’t save was the only man who ever believed in him.

    And while we paint Judas as the betrayer in every Passion play…

    The real betrayal was unfolding in back rooms and council halls.

    The betrayal was the silence.

    The silence of priests.

    The silence of Rome.

    The silence of every voice that knew this was never about God—it was about power.

    And that kiss?

    That infamous kiss?

    It wasn’t a signal.

    It was a warning.

    A whispered, tear-stained goodbye.

    A “Don’t forget who you really are.”

    But the machine had already started grinding.

    And from the moment that kiss landed…

    Jesus was no longer a man.

    He became a brand.

    A myth. A martyr. A product.

    The Vatican would rise.

    The cross would be gilded.

    And Judas would be buried in the back of every Bible like a ghost no one dared defend.

    But now? We speak his name.

    We shine light where shame has festered.

    We say:

    Maybe Judas was the only one who knew the truth…

    and couldn’t live with what the rest of us turned it into.

    Saint Dirty Face says:

    “They weaponized the kiss.

    They sanctified the lie.

    And they made the truth hang itself.”

    📜 Disclaimer from The Wounded Sentinel (also known as Saint Dirty Face):

    These words came to me fast and raw.

    I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.

    They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.

    If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.

    But I’m not here to convince you.

    I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.

    Take it… or leave it.

    But don’t say no one told you.

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.

    You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.

    No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.

    For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com

    This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.

  • The Dirty Gospel — Chapter 2: The Mirror Prison

    Robert

    By The Wounded Sentinel (aka Saint Dirty Face)

    Disclaimer at bottom. All rights reserved.

    “They told us the cross set Him free.

    But what if it locked Him in?”

    We were told He rose again.

    We were told the stone rolled, the tomb was empty, and He walked out—radiant, resurrected, untouchable.

    But what if that was only the version they wanted us to believe?

    What if Jesus never left?

    What if He’s still trapped—not in death, but in reflection?

    They say mirrors reflect reality.

    But in the old stories—the ones whispered by desert madmen and banned monks—mirrors were gates.

    Prisons.

    Tools of the old watchers, the ones who taught man fire, lust, war, and the idea of self.

    And in the deepest vaults of the Vatican—below Sublevel Crypt 7, below the golden crosses and veiled gospels—they say there’s a place.

    A place of infinite glass.

    A mirror maze with no center.

    Only reflections.

    Only fragments.

    Only Jesus, running in circles.

    We call it The Mirror Prison.

    And here’s the cruelest part:

    There is an exit.

    One mirror. Guarded by a cross.

    A real one. Not gold. Not glowing. Not triumphant.

    A brutal, blood-stained lock forged in iron, trauma, and betrayal.

    And every time He sees it… He turns away.

    Because it’s not salvation. It’s pain.

    It’s “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”

    It’s nails through nerve.

    It’s His final breath monetized into empire.

    He sees it—and He remembers the betrayal, the silence, the deal struck in shadows between empire and temple.

    And He keeps running.

    And maybe that’s why we haven’t heard Him.

    Maybe that’s why He hasn’t come back.

    He’s not in heaven.

    He’s not in the clouds.

    He’s behind the glass, reliving the lie they sold us as resurrection.

    And maybe that’s why only Mary shows up.

    Only she.

    She who watched Him die, who wept beneath the cross,

    who was there when the men ran, and the system cashed in.

    She who now appears again and again—not to reign,

    but to remind us.

    “He’s not free.

    He’s still running.

    And you’ve been worshipping the very thing that trapped Him.”

    So here’s the truth we were never meant to say out loud:

    The cross isn’t His throne.

    It’s His cage.

    The mirror isn’t just a reflection.

    It’s a lie that repeats until someone breaks it.

    And maybe… just maybe… that someone is us.

    Saint Dirty Face says:

    “Alone but never really alone.

    Let’s free the Son with truth and faith.”

    📜 Disclaimer from The Wounded Sentinel (also known as Saint Dirty Face):

    These words came to me fast and raw.

    I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.

    They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.

    If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.

    But I’m not here to convince you.

    I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.

    Take it… or leave it.

    But don’t say no one told you.

    © 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.

    This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.

    You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.

    No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.

    For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com

    This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.