☦ WE EAT GOD ☦

Somewhere between Amarr relic farms and Gallente data runs,
there's a man who kneels.
Not to capsuleer lords. Not to the doctrine-of-the-week influencers.
But to the Crucified One—truly present, truly consumed.

He's a Lutheran. Confessional.
He believes the bread is the Body, the wine is the Blood.
Not a symbol. Not a simulation.
Christ Himself—delivered to sinners in time and space.

While New Eden burns with heresies dressed as light,
he clings to ancient words—
to the Creed, the Cross, and the Cup.

He fears no clone death,
but trembles before the altar.
Because there—beneath all starlit systems—
God descends. And is eaten.

This is the faith once delivered to the saints.

Join us. Or don’t.
But if you ever wondered where the Church went after the apostles?
We're still here. Still chanting. Still feasting on Christ.

This is not your grandma’s Protestantism.
Unless she was based.