Apparently, angels in the Bible are a lot less Precious Moments and a lot more nightmare fuel. We're talking wings, eyeballs, fire, and creatures that sound like Ezekiel might have needed a little nap. But somewhere along the way, we traded terrifying heavenly beings for soft, pretty angels who know their place. And wouldn't you know it, the patriarchy managed to get its grubby little hands on that, too. This week, we're talking angels, Victoria's Secret, and why some men apparently need to feel superior to literally everything God created.

The Bible is full of miracles, wisdom, redemption…and a frankly alarming amount of poop. This week, we’re digging into the stories Sunday school conveniently skipped: a sword swallowed by a man’s belly, a plague of possibly divine hemorrhoids, golden replicas of those hemorrhoids, and a prophet negotiating with God over exactly whose poop he has to cook with. If your version of Christianity requires the Bible to be polished, dignified, and suitable for a Hobby Lobby sign, we have some deeply unfortunate news for you. God put the weird crap in there—we’re just unhinged enough to talk about it.

“Not my church!” Okay, babes. Let’s talk about your church. This week, we’re looking at the seemingly respectable theology of male leadership and female submission—and what happens when someone follows that hierarchy all the way to its ugliest conclusions. We’re talking control, abuse, “biblical manhood,” good Christian men™, and the very convenient definition of equality where one person somehow gets all the authority. Not every church takes these beliefs to the extreme. But maybe the better question is: why are we comfortable with the beliefs that make the extreme possible?

They taught us Jesus is love, people will know us by our fruit, and we should hide God’s word in our hearts. So we did. And now apparently we’re being difficult because we keep noticing when the fruit is rotten. This week, we’re talking VeggieTales, Awana jewels, performative prayer, deconstruction, and all the childhood faith lessons that held up suspiciously well once we started asking questions. You can’t be mad at us—we learned it from a flannelgraph.

The synapses are synapping, the theology is theologizing, and somehow Jesus has ended up at a sloppy disco with 180 gallons of wine. In part two of our discussion of Rev. Lizzie McManus-Dale’s God Didn’t Make Us to Hate Us, we’re talking Jubilee, joy, breastfeeding the body of Christ, and why apparently you’re allowed to kick God in the shins. We also ask what happens when you stop treating the Bible like an instruction manual and start actually trying to know the character of God. There is chaos. There is wine. There is an alarming amount of Leviticus. Somehow, we swear, it all connects.

Apparently, God doesn’t hate you. Wild, we know. This week we’re talking about God Didn’t Make Us to Hate Us, why Joseph may have been a fabulous little turd, and whether God can take a joke. We also have some questions about why Christians got so comfortable making everyone feel terrible about themselves. Spoiler: we don’t think that was the point. Unclench, you little cuss.

She had big hair, bigger boobs, and absolutely no intention of making herself smaller for anybody.

Dolly Parton spent a lifetime being underestimated — and used it to build an empire, give away millions of books, create jobs, fund education, love people the church sometimes forgot to love, and leave the world considerably better than she found it.

This week, we’re talking about the woman, the rhinestones, the audacity, and the kind of faith that doesn’t ask whether someone deserves kindness before offering it.

Plot twist: the fiery torture dungeon we all learned about in Sunday school is… not exactly in the Bible. This week, we’re unpacking what Scripture actually says about hell, how Dante and Augustine got mixed up in the group project, and why Christians are so wildly confident about something none of us has personally visited (Except Hell, Michigan. And White Castle.). Come for the eternal-damnation theology, stay for an unreasonable amount of Disney references.