“Once you become involved in gambling you start spitchcocking your soul,” said pastor James Nakh in one of his sermon. Pastor Nakh is my good friend. He has been always blaming me for my love for casino games. “I know, father (I like to call him father, though he is two years younger than me), you just envy,” I told him once. Priests are not allowed to go to casinos. That’s why you are angry.”
“Gambling is the worst sin as it makes a person open for all other sins,” he answered. “A gambling addict is ready to do anything in order to get money for a new game. He becomes a zombie. Casino is the cemetery of free will. And gambling is the suicide of soul.” I did not like his pathos and actually did not take his words seriously. I just proceeded going to casino every Saturday and heard phrases like “Slot machines are the coffins for Christians’ souls…”
I did not want to believe it. Even when Pastor Nakh was arrested for illegal casino operating.
“Why, father,” I asked when visiting him in the jail. “Why did you deliver all those sermons?”
“I knew that I was doing wrong, so I was just trying to prevent people from sinning.” “But you made them gambling yourself!” I argued. “How about all those suicide-of-soul stuff?” “Do you know that suicide is a sin? So with my help all those people remained innocent. It was me who killed them.”
“Rather a strange philosophy,” I thought while going along the street to a casino. “I should tell it to my friends at a poker table while committing our little weekly collective suicide.” And so I did.