Jesus wants to give you a new car!

… But only if you sign up for his chain-letter pyramid scheme. And sending him a little cash for a down payment won’t hurt, either.

Many of you have found in your mailboxes a fat envelope from an outfit called &#8220Saint Matthew’s Churches,” containing much religious boilerplate wrapped around a pitch for donations. I got one this week, and so did several people I know. This is at least the third I’ve received. Normally it joins the rest of the junk mail next to the coffee grounds and damp paper towels, but I paused to look this one over carefully. It made me angry.

The mailing included an enthusiastic form letter and checklist, sheet of vague testimonials, postage-paid return envelope and another bizarre item I’ll describe in a moment.

The letter claimed to have reached me because I am deeply in need of &#8220blessings” derived from their prayers. It was addressed to &#8220Resident,” which immediately made me wonder how they know what I need when they don’t even know my name.

It looks far more like a sales pitch than a religious item, offering the gimmick of a &#8220free spiritual gift,” which is never described, for respondents. It’s my guess your gift is to be placed on a mass-mailing list that will then be sold to other shady marketers, so anyone gullible enough to reply will get a never-ending stream of requests for donations.

But that’s nothing that hasn’t been done by a legion of televangelists. What makes me angry is that what &#8220Saint Matthew’s Churches” is peddling isn’t even Christianity.

The strangest enclosure is what’s described as a &#8220Rug of Faith” or &#8220Church Prayer Rug.” It’s a creepy-looking purple sketch of Jesus printed in the middle of an Oriental-rug frame. Printing around the rug’s fringe claims if you stare at the picture’s closed eyes, they will look like they’re opening up and staring back, a simple optical illusion.

But to acquire the promised blessings, recipients are given hocus-pocus instructions to kneel on the &#8220rug,” put it on their knees, place it inside a Bible or even slip it under their beds for a night.

Some churches have a long tradition of revering and attributing power to relics of particularly holy individuals, whether physical remains, objects they’re associated with or great artistic portrayals. But I have yet to see theological justification for saying a manufactured sheet of paper is &#8220soaked with the Power of Prayer,” as this one claims.

What you’re really supposed to do with the rug, however, is send it back. And with it is requested the real object of devotion here: money. It’s all about greed, or at least material things, not the spiritual benefits Christians are truly supposed to seek.

The pitch letter includes a checklist of things to ask prayers for. It throws in &#8220My Soul” and &#8220A Closer Walk With Jesus,” but focuses mainly on jobs, houses, cars – even specific dollar amounts for which, it seems, God’s expected to write a check.

At the end of the checklist is a blank that reveals its real purpose. It asks how much of a cash &#8220seed gift” the needy recipient is sending along with his or her prayer request.

The accompanying testimonial sheet identifies supposed beneficiaries only by initials and hometowns, making any verification impossible; but practically all enthuse about nothing but tangible benefits: money, land, houses, jobs and cars.

Where did Jesus go? What happened to the Bible? Where did any moral teachings or lessons about life’s purpose go? They’re all discarded for something that’s less about religious experience than a nothing-down real estate ad.

It does, however, slyly slip in that the people who received these wondrous material benefits had first sent money to the church’s drop box.

The Tulsa World reported in 2003 the man behind Saint Matthew’s Churches is California resident the Rev. James Eugene Ewing. He now seems to call himself &#8220Bishop,” though since all pronouncements call Saint Matthew’s an &#8220ecumenical community of faith,” it’s hard to imagine who made him one.

His operation sends out more than a million mailings a month, some of which flow back bearing cash, the paper found.

And apparently, more than a few. Tax records show Ewing took in more than $100 million over just six years in the 1990s, the World reported.

The logical assumption is that most of that take is split two ways: generating more pleas for money, and into Ewing’s pocket. From looking at the church’s Web site, it’s hard to see that much could go anywhere else.

The Web site itself is a masterpiece of evasion. While it vaguely describes Ewing and others as holding a few &#8220meetings” around the country, from all I can tell, it only claims to run one actual church: the Cathedral of Saint Matthew in Houston. The site fuzzily says that Saint Matthew’s has churches in various cities, but curiously, includes no information on how to actually contact or attend any of them.

The Houston operation does look like a big place, assuming the posted pictures are genuine. But while the church building’s Web site claims Catholic nuns pray over returned letters five times a day, it’s hard to tell how the nuns would even get them.

You see, the return address for this mass-mail money machine is a Tulsa, Okla., post office box. The church’s legal address is its lawyer’s office in the same city.

I tried to contact Saint Matthew’s Churches, but their listed phone number – which matches the listing for their lawyer’s office in Tulsa – leads to a recording. On it a woman’s voice offers lots of warm, friendly blessings and Bible readings, but little actual information. The tape apparently hasn’t been updated in a few years; it says that 1951 was &#8220almost a half-century ago.”

As Saint Matthew’s members, it claims various denominations, from Catholics to Baptists, but throwing in Jews, who aren’t generally noted for church attendance. The recording also weirdly asserts all of the church’s unnamed ministers are grandfathers or great-grandfathers.

The whole message, however, is aimed at getting more addresses for fundraising pitches, requesting them several times, and promising more mailings to your house soon. That, at least, I believe.

The recording says Saint Matthew’s Churches are directed by the Bible to spread Jesus’ message, and that’s the reason for the mass-mailing campaign. Perhaps so, but in years of Sunday School, I’ve never heard his message was written on the title to a house, which along with other material benefits, is all Saint Matthew’s seems to promise.

The church Web site does allow that a long list of people have accused Saint Matthew’s Churches of being nothing but a money-grubbing scam. But it blames those accusations on &#8220atheist(s) or someone living an unGodly life … dishonest vengeful individuals” and journalists eager to print lies.

Nevertheless, that’s one list to which I’m proud to add my name.