Sunday religion news roundup: a fundie's nightmare

Only in Florida, land of crazed astronauts, dead reality show icons, and Pontoons Harris.

The good side of today's news includes a profile of an unusual family that -- here's a shocker -- exists because of love and respect.

The kids come first, and always will.

In this family, like so many others, life is a jumble of school activities, kids' birthday parties and family getaways. Moments of sweet embrace alternate with defiance and discipline.

Ember Carianna, Tom Davis, Mark Rutherford and Mimi Waddell wouldn't trade it for anything. The four parents so wanted their blended family to work they tore down the stone wall between their neighboring homes and created a pathway into each other's lives.

Now, by virtue of being a family, they quietly are tearing down another wall, the cultural divide between gay and straight parents that says one is acceptable, the other not. Ember and Mimi. Tom and Mark. They are committed and raising two kids. Two couples. Together.

"It's an act of faith to have a family," Ember said, "and so far, it has worked out beautifully. ... But we don't take it for granted. We pinch ourselves, 'Is this real?'"

It's a heartwarming story of how two couples have coped with living in Florida, which sadly is the only state with a complete ban on adoption by gay couples. Heartwarming, yes, but don't expect to see it on the Hallmark Channel anytime soon ...

Meanwhile, just when you thought The State Known As America's Wang™ might be developing some sanity, you find out that Miami is home to the Antichrist. And I don't mean Tim Hardaway.

Surrounded by a mob of news cameras, a group of smiling, well-dressed church members crowded into a South Beach storefront parlor on a recent muggy evening and got matching tattoos of their prophet's symbol: 666.

Members of Growing in Grace, a controversial religious sect headquartered in Doral, said they were following the example of their leader, José Luis De Jesús Miranda, who has claimed to be Jesus and recently declared himself the Antichrist.

Critics have called De Jesús a cult leader who manipulates followers. Church members say he has brought them happiness and spiritual fulfillment.

"This is backing up what I truly believe," said Alvaro Albarracin, 38, who heads a film production company and joined the church more than a decade ago. He showed a bandage that covered the freshly tattooed "666" on his forearm. "It's like a brand. It's like a sign."

It's a sign most Christians would shun, because for centuries the numbers have been associated with Satan. But for the 30 or so church members who branded themselves with 666 and SSS -- the initials of De Jesús' motto, "salvo siempre salvo," or "saved always saved" -- it's a mark of their absolute faith in De Jesús.

Church members say the symbol doesn't connect them to Satan but rather to De Jesús' claim that he has replaced Christ's teachings with a new gospel.

They're giving the Westboro Baptist Church and Fred Phelps a run for their money in the psychotic freak department, no doubt about it.

De Jesús' followers have lashed out against organized Christianity because they believe their prophet holds the true gospel, they say. His adherents have disrupted Catholic processions on Good Friday and protested outside an evangelical church gathering in Miami's Tropical Park. Last July, they tore up literature published by the Jehovah's Witnesses and other Christian movements during a march in downtown Miami.

Like I said ... only in Florida.