<TITLE>19. Par 66-69</TITLE>L-66 That wouldn't work on a bunch of Canadians, would it? or a bunch of Americans. You call them a dog, or something another, why, you're a--you're a something another. "You're a bunch of Anglicans, there's nothing to you," something like that. Aw, my sakes, you'd a blowed up like a frog eating shot. And you'd--you wouldn't of... Why, my. You would've not to... (Excuse that experience--expression. I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me.) But you'd have--you'd have thought awful bad about that.
If Jesus would have said, "I'm not sent to you Anglicans. I'm not sent to you Pentecostals. Your bunch... You're Assembly of God, you Church of God, you... whatever you are. I wasn't sent to you. You're nothing but a bunch of dogs." Oh, my.
I'd have seen that disappointed look and saying, "Well, I won't have nothing to do with Him at all. Wasn't right to begin with. I'll just go back over to my own church."
But not her. She had faith. She wasn't a hotbed plant, a hybrid, like some of them today that call themselves believers--can't set still a minute to the Gospel. That's what we got today, a bunch of hotbed plants. You have to baby them all the time, keep them sprayed, the bugs off of them. That's right. Baby them like a kitten, rubbing his fur one way, he will purr; but rub it back once, and it shows what's in him. That's right. That certainly is true.
She wasn't a hot--a hybrid. Anything that's hybrid is disgraceful. A hybrid ain't got...

L-67 Why, they...  I seen--I read a piece in the "Reader's Digest" just recently, where if they keep on hybreeding corn and stuff like that, women won't even be able to have babies twenty years from today. It's just tearing the human race to pieces, causing cancer, and everything else. It's a hybrid. It's no good. They say, "Oh, take Funk's," or whatever it is, a hybrid corn. It's a pretty thing, a great big, fine grain, but there's nothing to it. Plant it back, and it won't even do nothing, can't reproduce itself, nothing hybrid.
You take a--a mule. A mule is a hybrid. What is he? His father was a jack. His mother was a mare. And that... He's the ignorantest thing there is. He will wait all of his life to get to kick you 'fore he dies. You can't tell him nothing. You can't teach him nothing: just sets with them big, long ears, "Haw, haw." Go to talking about "days of miracles is past. Haw, haw, haw." They ain't got nothing to pass. See?

L-68 But, oh, a good thoroughbred horse... Yes, sir. There's too much mule religion today, a bunch that don't even know where they come to. What... "Are you a Christian?"
"I'm Methodist; I'm Presbyterian; I'm Pentecostal. I'm this that, or the other." Hybrid. Can't breed itself back. Any denomination is a hybrid. It can't breed itself back. It's dead when it does it.
But a good thoroughbred, pedigreed horse can tell you who his papa was, who his mama was, who his grandpapa, grandmama, all the way back. And a real good pedigreed, borned again Christian of the Holy Ghost can go plumb back to the day of Pentecost. Hallelujah. You can--you can say, "Jesus Christ the same yesterday, today, and forever," that pedigree will holler, "Amen. Hallelujah."

L-69 Hybrid, hybrid religion, oh, it looks prettier, sure. Great big, fine churches, and millions of dollars into it, and everything like that. And a preacher can stand up and--and speak so--just about fifteen minutes on the very thing that you want him to talk about, the flowers, or something else, or some politics, and then go back. And you can belong to church and play cards, wear shorts, do anything you want to, live on like the world, you think that's all right. That's your hybrid. But when it comes down to life, it isn't there.
For a borned again Christian, a borned again man will never shun one Word of God. A borned again Christian will toe up to what that Word says.


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