A Technical History of Violence – part 1

     Si vis pacem, para bellum.

    Our contemporary language is indebted to the Roman men of action who had as many great words as they had weapons to wield when they needed them. Semper Paratus. Semper Fidelis. Great words to describe the human physique. Great words to understand the anatomical structure – jawlines and bone structures – of their subjects. They knew how to describe a variety of pharmaceutical effects. They knew how to accelerate the process when necessary. Roman guards with hammers and war-clubs killed as many as five hundred prisoners a day and filed the proper reports.

    But the toughest part of the executioners’ job – taking hours, if not days, sometimes as long as nine or ten days – was figuring out what drug and what dosage, precisely to finally kill the victim. Too much of the wrong drug and too little of the right drug produced equally unsatisfactory results. Administering the drug was precision work. You have to account for fungus and pH levels in the water, for barometric pressure, and semi-erratic auguries. Traumatic exposures of this sort often left them bleeding to death from the inside.

    Pause for the audience – seated at the bar in red shadow and gold lights, a moody backroom at the club on the corner. Drinking cheap beer. “Buy us a drink, player?” Lights flash green and gold in rhythm to the music from the jukebox. They do not look at themselves in the mirror behind the bar. Cigarette smoke drifts. Breathe. Prepare yourselves. Make your orisons here.

    They caught their victims by the beard – in every battle – caught them and smote them. Slew them with sword and spike. Many well-respected generals of the law were drawn out of the paw of the lion. They abandoned their soldiers to slaughter. All men most miserable, their young years given to cruelty and to blackmailers. Betrayed. Soldiers who trusted the day. Soldiers who braved the night, but were led to the slaughter.

    Our responsibility is for war. Our responsibility is to strength. In order to raise the mighty warriors of tomorrow, the soldiers of future generations, it is imperative that we make all the natural preparations. They need to be taught verbally. They need to be tested physically. This is freedom. War provides and strength enables everything.

Driving the Back Roads at Random

    It’s been a number of years so now we can openly acknowledge the story. Even with all the burdensome little asides, we can tell the truth. Try to reconstruct the story from the scattered fragments she left behind.

    She had time to kill, driving the back-roads at random, hurt and wounded, with a sandwich and two cups of coffee. She couldn’t go home to make things right. Or wouldn’t. She’d injured him. Reassured him. Shamed him. Shamed him and caused him to suffer. Hiding her disdain with twenty years of lies. And now the money was gone.

    What is happening here? The two of them, faces close, wedding pose...Flip the photograph and read the message. Reveal what was written even if it leaves us helpless. “My Darling...”

    I have no honest idea. I don’t know who she is. Or was.

    Behind the photograph, a newspaper clipping – something about a fire fifty miles away. Yesterday. For what purpose? Money? It’s always money, right? A significant amount of money. And maybe that was part of it. But she left and she’s not talking.

    Not about the money. Not about the fire. Not about her family. Not about the past.

    Whoever has the discipline of correction – she drives toward life.
    Whoever rejects it – she’s already gone astray.

Proverbs 10:17

White House Promises

    “Looks like rain,” said the man standing next to me as he sniffed the air. But, born and raised in the Midwest, I knew better. When the sky’s red and overcast in the morning, I know it will be storming soon. I know clouds in the west are for rain and wind from the south is hot. But this is neither.

    There were news cameras from all the major outlets, with a clear title and clean report. Cleared for the press corps by presidential aides, gathered on the lawn with their anchors prepping and primping in the ringlight. And me, taking notes for my forthcoming book – Misgoverned Houses and an Inheritance of Wind. No one would read it, of course. But the words must be written. Fame is better than gold, I am told. But I have neither.

    Meanwhile, dangling high for the cameras to see, was history in the making. A sentimental moment for salesmen without an ounce of self-denial. Salesmen with asymmetrical smiles, chewing the carpet. Explaining the complexities of imported mining exports and residual dividend transfers. Drilling holes for natural gas and paying off companies to not build renewables.

    The president was there. He was, of course, primarily concerned with conducting personal business under the presidential seal. Leaving a trail of unmarked graves and unexamined bodies. You know what they say about White Horse promises – conquering and to conquer the world...

    And the press conference began. Flashbulbs and shouting. Can we ask about:

    Affordable health care?
    Reduction of the national debt?
    Lower grocery prices?
    Lower gas prices?
    Lower energy bills?
    Stimulus check? DOGE check?
    Greenland, Canada, Venezuela?
    Where are we with Iran?

    Over the intercom, a response, “No. No. Not yet.”

    “Is everything okay?”

    “No. Put that man out. Revoke his credentials. Put those questions aside - there are tourists exploding on the mall. We are as polite as overwhelming anger. All you weak reporters. Lazy. Failing.”

    “Looks like rain,” said the man standing next to me as he sniffed the air but you know what they say - White House promises are heavy clouds and wind, but no rain.

Proverbs 25:14

Long Time, No Time

    I don’t want to see it.

    Her face framed in the doorway like a mistake, through dimmed and dreaming eyes. You should see her now-bruised and bound, sick and wounded, erring. Her hair is different now. She is alive and well, honeyed and oiled, but looks abandoned. I reach out, react. Feel my throat break free. Out. Down.

    She says, “C’mon. One more kiss.”

    I don’t want to say it.

    She took and split, my ex of one brief period of grief. Forsaking friend and covenant. Why does she look abandoned? The way she leans, tilts one hip. She opens the door and moves closer with a mischievous smile, her most Cheshire. The ground is shaky. I notice her shoes-oiled and scuffed.

    She says, “Long time, babe.”

    She says, “long time, no time.”

    Outside her empty window, a basement staircase plunges into soil. A heart of shadow glooms in the doorway like tokens of light in a graveyard lot. The air folds. The porch lights flicker. The steps and sidewalk furrow. The driveway falls.

    I tumble into the collapse with her silhouette of sinking concrete, with damp earth and forgotten things. Flesh and body consumed.

    I don’t want to be led this way.

(Proverbs 2, 5)

Words to My Friend

    My friend, my soul, I was younger and older still, yet I would be true. I would be pure.

    I might have been strong but…

    Even if nothing goes wrong, my friend, you’ll suffer. One day or more of suffering. It is the way – sorrow and night with a sense of inferiority in all my actions and a sense of insecurity as the result of my words.

    So, I’m talking of my soul now, my friend, with private language, of my memory and all my goals and goods. Still with the doubts I do not know.

    Be strong and show no weakness.
    Speak less and be more positive.

    Trust me; I’m not here to supplant you. As if so poor a soul could restore a faith to jubilant psalm...

    I’m sure that I live feeling secure, happier still. A consecrated life. Confident, happy, healthy right?

    No, my friend, I am not.

    But take my offered, beating heart. God will move.

Questions for Review: Bodies

    How are the dead raised up?

    With a mighty whoosh, propelled by gases and burning at thousands of degrees. A violent wind filling the entire house. And fire like a flood, separating on the head of everyone, burning everything. Heart pounding within the throat. Blood splashed across the mirror. How is this possible? Historically? It is a mystery written in fire and in flame.

    And with what body do they come?

    Literally melting skin from their bodies like a horrific fireball. The lucky incorruptible survive – not subject to decomposition. Subject to char and to ash. Subject to cinder. A body of glory in black smoke. It is searching – not weakness. It is clawing in the dirt, flailing at broken windows, refusing to die.

    What is the ‘Spiritual Body’?

    Dormant for centuries, pent up, waiting for release. Like a plague. Razor-like shards of faces and torsos squeezed through the emergency exit. Bodies pulled from the iron furnace. Bodies under a shower of iron arrows.

    What are the four stages of the resurrection of these bodies?

    1) Men come back to their physical senses. What held them back? A bullet in their brains. 2) Petite women dragging themselves through an inferno, screaming through the smoke. Women armed with blowtorches. 3) Men of strength and security - a skeleton crew in the catacombs. Same agenda. Different crew. 4) Women breathing – barely. Coughing. Staggering. Screaming for policemen in the distance. Rushing toward from the fire in a spontaneous display of rage.

    Has the leak been sealed?

    Position his arms on the patibulum­ - the horizontal – and his legs on the stipes – the vertical. The largest of soldiers swung his mallet and drove a wrought-iron spike through his wrist.

    Has the leak been sealed? Answer me.

    The leak was sealed, but the seals have been broken.

    What two purposes will the tribulation period serve?

    Slam the prisoners against the wall. Pin them there with a fire hose spray. Turn off the spray. Watch them fall to the floor. God will change these vile bodies so they can enter locked rooms, vanish from sight and appear in the clouds. There is no guarantee except exhaustion.

    Who is the beast of prophecy?

    AntiChrist. False Prophet. Slight of build and two inches shorter than me. Just another spoiled American, complaining. The local cops kick in the door, en masse for the arrest. Watch for a wicked chemical flash like napalm on white skin, bubbling black like burnt asphalt. Then comes the end – though none of it makes sense without the handcuffs.

    What is a literal interpretation of prophecy?

    More smoke than an oil refinery. More shit than a proctologist.

A MAGA Manifesto

    The following was sent to our newsroom with a demand that it be published immediately – without redaction. We’ve chosen to publish it – with minor edits. Though the letter was received unsigned, we trust the reader will understand who they are. We publish it reluctantly, fully aware of the danger of giving such voices a platform – but aware, also, of the danger in ignoring those voices.

    Christ has no saints other than us. Believe it.

    We will have no further need for evidence, for facts, citations, or documents. We have the all-vulgarity we need. And the abuse, you absolute dumbass. Your own mother would have flushed you if she had half a thought. [Further vulgarities redacted].

    We have the administrative machinery to enforce our will. We will determine the order. We will determine the times and the seasons – and, with forged timecards and behavioral inconsistency, change them. Trust the unrepentant liar, convicted fraud, serial adulterer. He will show us the way through this liberal hoax.

    The physical deformity of your eyes, like a disease. You don’t even know. How can you hear? Deaf angels will not hear your prayers. The tongue of the Lord is loosed, and the infant of days will die. Your mainline apostate churches will be burned. A host of heaven destruction. An ashtray mountain. A severed ecclesiastical head. Call it a necessary rectification. And pray that we don’t come too soon.

    We will live long upon the land – this land. Our land. We will not die. We will not lose. Not in the midterm elections. Not in this present age. The AntiChrist will Christ against the Church. This is how you will know. Our glorified bodies – real and physical – not subject to death. Without doctors. Without scientists. Not beholden to laws. A special knowledge through quantum faith entanglement. Being able to vanish and appear at will, not limited by physical matter, defying gravity for upward movement, moving from earth to heaven with speed of thought.

    Follow the straight-line blessing of the Old Testament to true-patriot Americanism. The Muslim idolater, the soft, the fornicator, all the socialist institutions of higher learning are drunk with the blood of the martyrs. [Ethnic and abelist slurs redacted] But not for very much longer. We are coming for you. Believe it.

Holy Communion Action Trailer

Visual	Audio
INT. CHURCH – DAY A shirtless, glistening priest, wearing only his cleric collar, holds a loaf of bread. His muscles bulge as he tears the loaf in half.	V.O. The body!
CLOSEUP A golden chalice filled with deep-red wine sloshes, throwing wine onto the camera lens.	V.O. The blood!
BLACKOUT	V.O. This is Holy Communion!
MONTAGE OF ACTION SHOTS 1. Exploding tanker trucks. 2. A thurible swings, releasing incense like battlefield smoke. 3. Uniformed police officer pursues a man through a dirty alleyway. 4. Stained-glass window shatters.	V.O. And so, in remembrance of these, your mighty acts, in Jesus Christ, we offer ourselves in praise and thanksgiving.
FADE TO BLACK	V.O. And now, with the confidence of children of God, let us pray.
EXT. DAY Slow-motion ravens fly across the sky. A child looks up in wonder.	CONGREGATION Our Father, who art in heaven (voices fade)
INT. CHURCH – DAY The bread and wine are displayed on the altar. The priest lifts the chalice. J.J. Abrams’ lens flares appear.	V.O. Go forth to die… no more!
TITLE CARD: “Holy Communion”	V.O. Coming this Sunday.

Let Them Stay

    The world of light and laughter breaks and the sky collapses, spilling darkness. The stars and wind dissolve. The moon burns black. The fundamental earth beneath and the firmament above are inverted.

    “Your cousin, John, is dead.”

    Jesus buckles, stumbles, pushes the messenger away. Pushes past the disciples and climbs into the boat. Alone. And the sea carries him away to a lonely place.

    But the village, not privy to the bad news delivered, follows on foot, racing along the shore to meet him on the other side. He steps ashore and they are there – calling, crying, cawing, clawing, galling. They brought to him all the intrusive demands born of desperation.

    And he sees them through his tears. He sees them with broken pity. Passion is pain and compassion is a shared grief. He heals their sick and calms their fears. Touching. Holding. Weeping. Soothing. Blessing.

    The invisible sun settles itself toward evening and the disciples say, “This is a lonely place and you want to be alone. Now it’s late and time has slipped with the sun. Why don’t you send these people away?”

    Jesus sits down among them on the whispering grass and sighs. “No,” he says. He lies down and closes his eyes. “Let them stay. Let them stay.”

    (Matthew 14:13-16)

More from the Mental Junk Drawer

    There are more drawers in the curio cabinet than I expected. And more unsorted junk. Open a draw and pull out a sample.

    His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 2:22-23). That’s what they tell me, and I try to believe it – but why haven’t my morning glories bloomed yet?

    Capitalism engenders pride – I did this. I deserve this.
    Socialism engenders humility – I couldn’t have done this alone.

    Broadly speaking of course, but I think it’s true. Still, an acquaintance of mine writes to tell me that, “Pride is the root of original sin, and it leads to greed. Socialism is a flawed philosophy since all humans bear the burden of original sin.” Perhaps he is right, but I wonder if he’d apply his analysis to capitalism as well…

    Is So-and-So a prick or a prince? Hard to say – they’re usually the same.

    It is what it is, until it isn’t. So on, and so what?

A Place without History

    In the secret place – a rare place without history – I am standing on a cliff edge filled with fire. A step and a half toward heaven. A step toward hell and ready to fall.

    A beautiful woman, simultaneously near at hand and far removed. Stimulated. Simulated in the flashing silver, pink, and purple light. Rhythmic music bumps and grinds as she writhes upon the couch, lithe and lean.

    “I can’t,” I say. “I can’t. I’m married, a one woman man.”

    “And I’m only one woman,” she whispers in my ear, her lips and breath on the back of my neck. The words sound like a threat or a promise or both.

    My hands held out, held up in surrender. Evil thoughts, and adulterous.

    Strip off them clothes. That bra. Them panties too.

    Beautiful feet, long legs, rounded navel, her waist within my arms. I’m in danger. My face between her breasts.

    Take my money.

    “Baby,” she says as she pulls me in – expecting something to happen. I am waiting for generosity, for affection. Waiting for love and respect. How do I open up my doubts about God, and Christ, and the church, express my mortgage anxiety, my family fears?

    Long dark lashes surrounding her eyes, long dark hair. “Oh, baby, what I can show you...”

    A man should love his wife.

    I didn’t love her – sin of omission.
    I did pursue her – sin of emission.­

The Birds Will Testify

     Birds aren’t real. You know this to be true.

    Frequencies spoken are the frequency healings of a quantum faith. Words spoken affect physical reality. But the mainstream media’s been hiding the real healing Meanwhile the chaos rings out of true. The owls, and all the birds, are winged spies. Drones controlled by the government. Special messengers of the FBI, feathered satellite communications. Winged algorithms and feathered frequency finders. Birds of a feather flock camera together.

    Do not curse the king, even in thought. Do not defame the rich. Do not slander the powerful, even in your secret rooms, for a bird of the air will carry the report. A winged messenger will replay your recorded conversations.

    Deep state drones. Avian robotics in the service of a paranoid tyrant with an Adderall addiction. Smartphone peacocks. National mascot eagle surveillance. A silver dove – a spontaneous utterance, a word in the now, softly spoken. A small white owl – symbol of holiness and sober prophets. A golden eagle – with long range forecasts and predictions. Robins predict the spring and Jays screech away the day. Meanwhile, Stormy Petrels are not found in central Iowa in July, especially Julys as warm as this one. And a cockatiel will repeat what it hears.

    The quantum energy of faith draws and attracts reality to us. Our faith affects the world around – even to the subatomic level. Atoms shiver and electrons shift and reconsider their orbits.

    Bad communications corrupt good behaviors. And vice versa. Remember: the owls are not what they seem. And do not forget: your secrets will be revealed. Your sedition will be exposed.

    I’ve seen buzzwords and buzzards standing, wings outstretched to face the morning sun. You’ve seen them – charging their batteries on power lines. How soon before they come for you?

    Ecclesiastes 10:20

Allah Azeem – Another Troll Conversation

    It was my day off, but I woke up early anyway. I wanted to sleep late but my body said, ‘no.’ I had a number of errands to run and chores to do around the house anyway, so an early start wasn’t really a problem. I just wanted that one day to sleep… But God has made the night as a cover, and made sleep for resting, and the day for rising.¹ So I was up and working when I saw him again – my semi-regular troll, Gunner.

    I heard him first, actually. I was in the kitchen making coffee when I heard the screech and skid of a vehicle outside, followed immediately by the slamming of a door, and aggressive horn honking. Then, him shouting, “Carter! Carter! What is this? Carter!”

    I closed the water reservoir on the coffee pot and pushed the button to start the brew and then went out the front door to see him.

    “Good morning, Gunner. It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

    Gunner pointed at the window of my house. “What is this?” he demanded.

    “Not even a ‘hello’ today, Gunner? No greeting? No salutation? Just demands?”

    “I saw it as I was driving by your place last night and it pissed me off. I had to come back today to talk to you about it. I want to know why you’ve got that Mohammedan filth in your window and what I have to do to get you to take it down.”

    He was referring to the sign I made and put up in my window yesterday. It says:

الله عظيم

    “Tell me, Gunner, what do you think it says.”

    “I don’t read heathen,” he snorted.

    “I don’t really know Arabic, either,” I told him. “But I asked my friend, Rizwan, to help with it. It says Allah azeem.”

    “So, you’re a Muslim, now?”

    “Well, now, Gunner, you’ve made two faulty assumptions, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet. Why don’t you come inside?”

    It was cool inside, out of the sun. Another thing I appreciate about my days off. And I could smell the coffee. The pot was gurgling and just about finished. Gunner followed me into the kitchen, and we sat down at the table together.

    “You’ve made two faulty assumptions, Gunner. The first being that anything written in Arabic is Muslim. Arabic is a language, not a religion. And Arabic Christians have been affirming Allah azeem – ‘God is magnificent,’ since the day of Pentecost.”

    “What are you talking about, Carter?”

    “Parthians, Medes, Elamites, et cetera et cetera, Jews and proselytes – Cretans and Arabs… they were there when Peter gave the gospel in the upper room.”

    “But…” He started to object but I stood up from the table and opened the cupboard. Pulled out a pair of coffee mugs. “You take sugar with yours, right?”

    Coffee poured and sugar stirred, I continued. “Your second mistake, your second assumption is that everything Muslim should be hated or feared.”

    “Carter, you know as well as I do that Muslims hate Christians. It’s in their Quran that they have to hate and kill Christians.”

    “Is it?”

    He set down his coffee and glared at me.

    “I’m going to share something, Gunner, but first, when the Quran is recited, listen to it attentively and be silent, so you may be shown mercy.²”

    “But…”

    “Silent,” I reminded him. “The Quran says that the Believers – Jews, Christians… whoever truly believes in God and the Last Day and does good will have their reward with their Lord. And there will be no fear for them, nor will they grieve.³"

    I paused, waiting for his reaction. “Silent, right?” he sneered. I nodded for him to speak. “So, like I said, you’ve gone Muslim.”

    “No. Not at all” I said. “I’m still a Christian. Still a Methodist and not a monster. But I have read the Quran a couple of times, and I try to appreciate it.”

    “But the terrorists…”

    “Yes. The violent will use whatever text proves useful to their violence. The hateful make every book a weapon. It’s the same with the Jew, the Muslim, the Christian, the Buddhist, the Sikh.”

    “But the jihadists…”

    “The Quran says that whoever takes a life – it will be as if they killed all of humanity. And whoever saves a life, it will be as if they saved all of humanity.⁴ - which is very similar to something from the Jewish tradition - Whoever saves a single life is considered to have saved an entire world.⁵”

    He started to say something, but I said, “Your coffee’s getting cold.” We sipped from our mugs in silence for a few minutes.

    “All you liberals want is Sharia law and the death of America. Sharia and Islamism are incompatible with America.”

    “By the wind scattering dust, and the clouds loaded with rain, and the ships gliding with ease, and the angels administering by God’s commands⁶ – what is Sharia law, Gunner? Give me some examples.”

    “The hand-cutting hudud punishments. Punishments for adultery. Punishments for blasphemy. Punishments for apostasy. Your pal, Rizwan, will tell you all about it.”

    “Rizwan’s a Christian. Episcopalian.”

    “So, another liberal, like you.”

    “Doesn’t the Bible demand death by stoning for adultery, for idolatry, for blasphemy?”

    Gunner set his coffee cup down and said, “Just like you, Carter, to twist the scripture to defend the Muslim.”

    I didn’t say anything. I’d already said enough.

    “You’re still just one of those so-called Christians who cause trouble and pervert the gospel of Christ. But anyone who preaches another gospel, a different gospel is accursed. I’m just here as a reminder of the danger you’re working upon yourself, Carter. You’ve departed from the faith and given heed to seducing spirits and doctrines of devils. False teacher. Damnable heresy. Spoiled by vain philosophies and the traditions of men.”

    He stopped and looked me in the eye. “What do you have to say to that, Carter? You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you? Are you going to quote from the Quran again?”

    I sighed, breathing through the annoyance and the exclamation. I rubbed my forehead. “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be, Gunner.”

    He stood up from the table and stared down at me. “Why should it be easy, Carter?” Then he walked off, banged the front door open and went outside. I heard his truck peel out from the driveway seconds after.

    I stood up from the table, went to the front door and closed it. Then I went back to the kitchen to wash his coffee cup and refill my own. “Be gracious,” I said to myself. “Enjoin what is right and turn away from those who act ignorantly.⁷”

An Imaginary Conversation with a Real Troll (the first of the series) 
I Will Not Fight the Argument (the second)
Supermarket Wrestling (third conversation)
Do You Even Pray (the troll returns)
All Means All (A fifth conversation)
The Doctrine that Cannot Be Challenged (sixth conversation)
Toward Sodom - (a halfhearted seventh conversation)
Millions of Years of Death (the eighth conversation)
Truth with Untruth (the ninth conversation)
Bulls, Dogs, and Villains (the tenth conversation)
The Righteous Forsaken (the eleventh conversation)
A Sabbath Garden (conversation number twelve)
Doesn't Doctrine Mean Anything to You? (conversation thirteen)
Real Christian Men, Real Christian Marriage (conversation fourteen)
 

1Surah Al-Furqân 25:47

2Surah Al-A’râf 7:204

3Surah Al-Baqarah 2:62

4Surah Al-Mâ’idah 5:32

5J. Sanhedrin 4:9:1

6Surah Az-Zâriyât 51:1

7Surah Al-A’râf 7:199 

First Level Documents

    Initiate search protocol:
    Translate and log variable data – sort by date (approximate) and/or subject.
        Variable mood. Variable weather.

    Please enter your personal ten-digit security code now.
    Computer beeps confirmation.

    System verifies coded pathway. Engage.
    View: local news: pentagon threats.
    View: secret information – first level documents

    Interpol documents (digital transfer from Denmark, from UK) indicate a history of domestic violence. Trying to leave chaotic and dangerous situations -Noted: Lack of intervention. Noted: Lack of response. Thirteen minutes of inactivity*unexplained.

    Sort: War
    Sort: Death
    Sort: Sorrow/Tears *exception-tears of joy.

    Exterior night and interior darkness. A web of branches over uneven ground. The world falls silent. Darker as it moves deeper out of sight. A tingle of electricity in the beating EKG monitor.

    Vaulted walls open. Chambers open. The wall, the rumbling floor are spinning.
    Cleared access – second degree secrets. American assassinations (cash exchanged)

    View: Local News. Police reports
    Null.
    View: Local News. Police investigation.
    Null and void.

    Clear path. Closed loop process.
    What a man knows in secret cannot be used.

The Parables of Jesus – Old Treasures and New (Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52)

    We’ve probably all heard the definition of a parable – that it’s “an earthly story with a heavenly meaning.” And it’s true enough. It’s a definition that works – mostly. Sorta’. But it’s thin. It’s an incomplete description of the form of teaching that Jesus used. The stories that he told, the parables of Jesus have endured. They’ve been told and retold. Adapted and readapted. Interpreted and reinterpreted for two thousand, some odd years now. These parables have power and resist the simple simplification.

    Jesus was deliberate in this. When the disciples asked him why he taught them with parables, he told them, “Because to you is granted to understand the mysteries of the kingdom of Heaven, but to them it is not granted. Anyone who has will be given more and will have more than enough; but anyone who has not will deprived even what he has. The reason I talk to them in parables is that they look without seeing, and listen without hearing or understanding. So in their case what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah is being fulfilled:

    Listen and listen, but never understand!
    Look and look, but never perceive!
    This people’s heart has grown coarse,
    their ears dulled, they have shut their eyes tight
    to avoid using their eyes to see, their ears to hear,
    their heart to understand,
    changing their ways and being healed by me.” 
    (Matthew 13:11-17 – New Jerusalem Bible)

    Last week our guest told us about the parable of the darnel, or the weeds. And she did a great job. Several of you told me how much you appreciated it. But she had it easy. She had one parable to talk about – and Jesus explained it for her. In our passage for today we’ve got what, six? Six parables to treat, and Jesus doesn’t really explain them – and the one he does explain, only gets more difficult with the explanation. So we’re going to have to be brisk as we move through these parables today.

    Mustard Seed (Matthew 13:31-32)

    Here Jesus exaggerates in two directions. 1) The mustard seed is not the smallest seed. It is small, yes, but there are technically smaller seeds and 2) the mustard plant, while it does grow tall – as much as ten feet tall, it’s not really the largest and birds don’t really nest in it. The story is an exaggeration to make us laugh. It’s an impossible fiction to teach us about the truly possible kingdom.

    I’ve know people who insist that the parables of Jesus are true. Absolutely true, not just figuratively true, that there was a specific, literal landowner whose enemy sowed his field with poisonous weeds, that there was a literal, historical prodigal son who wasted his portion of his father’s estate. They insist that the parables are not just stories. It’s all true because, if it’s not true historically how can it be true prophetically? They insist that there is no untruth in the Bible, that you can’t express truth with untruth. But these folks have radically misunderstood the genre of parable.

    These stories, yes. But not just stories. They are fictions, but they are not mere fictions; they are true. And the mustard seed isn’t the smallest and birds don’t nest in its branches – but the Kingdom of Heaven is like this – the smallest of seeds grows up and out, quickly sprouts, and transforms the world, bringing beauty, and color, and safety, and shelter. This is the Kingdom of Heaven.

    Yeast (Matthew 13:33)

    The Kingdom of Heaven is like the yeast that a woman mixes with two measures of flour till it is all risen. Some of you are bakers. You understand this picture. It doesn’t take much yeast to do the work.

    Now Jesus used yeast as an illustration a number of times – usually in a negative manner. “Beware the yeast of the Pharisees,” he told his disciples (Matt. 16 / Luke 12) But the yeast here is a blessing. It is the hidden, the small, spreading influence. It doesn’t take much.

    Treasure Field (Matthew 13:44)

    How did the treasure come to be in the field? Who did it belong to? We don’t have that information, but in another telling of this story, the hero would be a something of a villain, a cheat, a fraud, thief. His questionable actions to acquire the field with hidden treasure is more than a little shady.

    But the Kingdom of Heaven is here, nevertheless, hidden in a story about a treasure field. Someone finds it and is thrilled. Overjoyed at the discovery. Here is something that will radically change his life. Nothing will be the same after the discovery. He hides it again, goes back home, and with great joy, sells everything he owns so that he can possess this treasure field. The discovery changes everything.

    The Fine Pearl (Matthew 13:45)

    Here’s a similar story. We have a pearl merchant looking for fine pearls. In the previous story the discovery was accidental – the hero stumbled upon the hidden treasure. Here the search is deliberate. Purposeful. The merchant is crossing the globe, looking for fine pearls. He goes to the Persian Gulf. He goes to India, looking for the finest pearls. And when, at long last, he finds that one exquisite pearl, the pearl of great price, he sells all. He liquidates his holdings in order to purchase it. He sells everything to posses this one rare and beautiful thing.

    The Dragnet (Matthew 13:47-50)

    Again, the Kingdom of Heaven is like a dragnet thrown into the sea and hauled ashore – an image that his disciples would have appreciated. And when the net is brought out of the water, it is filled with all kinds of fish: Tilapia, Sardines, Saint Peter’s Fish, Eels, Catfish… And the fisherfolk begin sorting them, putting the good ones into baskets and throwing away the ones that are of no use.

    The fisherfolk sort them by the dietary laws laid out for them in Leviticus. Fish with scales and fins are acceptable to eat. Fish without scales and fins are not.

    Now one possible, simple explanation of the parable – one that might have occurred to his original audience is that this division is made along ethnic lines, separating Jews from Gentiles. Dividing them clean and unclean. The Jews at the clean thing – the Tilapia, the Sardine, the Saint Peter’s Fish - while the Gentiles ate the unclean – the Eel and the Catfish. But the fisherfolk in Jesus’ story are not sorting them clean and unclean but rather useful and not useful. Maybe that’s a distinction without a difference, but I think it works.

    And Jesus offers a bit of explanation – though the explanation introduces more questions. He says – this is how it will be at the end of the age. The angels will appear and separate the wicked from the righteous. And the wicked will be thrown into a blazing furnace where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

    “Are you getting all this?” Jesus asked them. “Do you understand? Have you understood all of these?”

    And they said, “Yes.” But I wonder…

    Storeroom Treasures (Matthew 13:51-52)

    One more. Jesus tells them of a scribe who becomes a disciple of the Kingdom of Heaven. We are accustomed to thinking of the scribes and Pharisees as the bad guys, as antagonists of the gospel. But there we have a scribe who is an admirable disciple of the Kingdom of Heaven. A student. A scholar devoted to the teachings of heaven. And this scribal disciple is like a householder who goes into the storeroom or the pantry and brings out new and old treasures to enjoy. The old isn’t thrown out for the new. The two are brought out and shared and enjoyed.

    Are you getting all this? Do you understand? Have you understood all these?

    And this is where you say, “Yes…”

    So blessed are your eyes, because they see. Blessed are your ears because they hear. Many prophets and upright people longed to see and never saw, waited to hear, but never heard. (Matthew 13:16-17). Blessed are you for seeing and hearing and understanding.

    Or maybe you don’t understand. It’s okay. I get it – because I don’t get it. These stories are strange and beautiful and weird. They are not simple. But it’s okay. These parables have endured for two thousand, some odd years now. They’ll go on with or without us. Maybe you need to go home and struggle with one of them for a while. It’s okay. The story is there for you to puzzle over.

    Take the stories with you. Let the little seed sprout. Let the yeast rise. Look for treasure. Change everything. Be filled with joy. Spread color, and beauty, and shelter. Bring out the old treasures along with the new. This is the Kingdom of Heaven.

Folding Chairs and Fiery Thrones

    It was late January, on a gray and dying afternoon some years ago, when I found myself in front of the Ebenezer Baptist church building. I was tired and cold, looking for a place to warm up and rest my legs. I’m not sure what compelled me to try the door. I was surprised to find it unlocked.

    I went inside and called out, “Hello? Anyone here?”

    From somewhere in the back of the building, I heard a voice answer. “Back here. In the fellowship hall.” So, I followed the voice.

    In the fellowship hall I saw someone I assumed to be the janitor setting up rows of bright orange folding chairs. “I just came in to get warm,” I said. He nodded and placed another chair. From the kitchen, just off the fellowship hall, I could hear the gurgle of a coffee pot brewing.

    “What are you setting up for?”

    “It’s not for me to say, really. But you’re welcome to watch,” he said and then left the room.

    I found a spot along the back wall where I could stand, next to a bookshelf filled with hymnals and children’s books. I waited but nothing happened for several minutes. So I let myself into the kitchen, found a ceramic mug and poured myself a cup of coffee. Then I took my spot by the bookshelf to continue waiting.

    After a few more minutes the fluorescent lights overhead flickered and the coffee maker in the kitchen hissed. The door of the fellowship hall opened and the Senior Pastor entered. I knew it was the Senior Pastor because his framed photo was hanging on the wall next to the bookshelf. He had a dignified look – silver hair, manicured beard. He was dressed in a white seersucker suit. He sat down in one of the orange folding chairs at the front of the room. Then the doors opened again, and the church elders came in with folders, and papers, and clipboards, and notebooks. They assumed their seats and the church board meeting was called to order.

    I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped. “Watch this,” said the janitor behind me. “You’ll like this.”

    From somewhere beyond the hall, I began to hear shouting. Curses. Vulgarities in a vaguely New York accent.

    “Old business,” one of the elders announced. “New business,” another said.

    “The same business,” the janitor whispered behind me.

    “I don’t know who you radical-left thugs are. Vermin. But you’re going to regret this. Nasty women. Losers. Scum. You’re animals. Animals. Animals!”

    The voice was dragged through the doors. and I saw his orange skin and flyaway hair. “Who is this?” I asked the janitor.

    “Oh, him? He’s nobody, really. Just one of a long line of monsters horning their way into history. They’re always turning up.”

    “What’s going to happen to him?” I asked.

    “Watch.”

    I turned back to the board meeting. The Senior Pastor said, “The mouth has spoken. Have his words been recorded?”

    “They have,” announced the body of elders.

    “So be it,” declared the Senior Pastor.

    “Amen,” intoned the body of elders.

    And just like that the orange-skinned vulgarian went up in flames.

    “What the hell is this?” I nearly shouted, turning back to the janitor.

    He led me over to a tripod stand with a series of Bible maps. “Look here,” he said and pulled down a map of Egypt. Then another of Babylon. And Persia. And Greece. And Rome. And. And. And. One map after another after another. “This is the way of beasts and empires. They receive a lease of life for a season and a time, but then…” And he tore away the successive maps and threw them to the floor.

    “Do you understand this?” he asked me.

    “I don’t think I do,” I said. “Not yet.”

    “Have you finished your coffee?” he asked. I nodded and he took the mug from my hands.

    I don’t remember leaving the fellowship hall, but I found myself once again standing in the sidewalk snow and slush in the fading January sun.

History Passes into Lies

    Then I beheld all the fruitless work of man. Armed conflict between thirty nations. Millions threatened. Mounting pressure from international leaders. And Pope John XXI dies when the ceiling of his study collapses. He’d been Pope for eight months. Affliction comes to make us sad or make us wise.

    Freedom is a heavy load, a choice through scorching days and restless cold nights. South American strip mines and deserts are rocked by earthquakes, meanwhile Pope Adrian IV chokes to death on a fly in his wine. This is the curse that feeds on life.

    History is recorded by impatient observers. Pomp and circumstance in the land of hope and glory. Fading ancient fame. Pope Celestine V, overwhelmed by the pressure and demands of the papacy, renounces the throne and returns to the hermitage. He is later imprisoned by his successor and all men shall fear.

    How wretched I am,
    too long living among a people for war.

    Lies pass into history. Critical food shortages on three continents in a season of bitterness. Supply lines strained by militants. Pope Sylvester II makes a compact with the devil for redoubtable scientific and mathematical knowledge. History passes into lies.

    Therefore, behold, Pope Boniface VIII is belligerent. He kicks political envoys in the head. He throws ashes in the eyes of kneeling bishops. He is captured during the violence of the Outrage of Anagni and imprisoned for three days. He is beaten. He is starved. He dies, chewing off his own hand. A marvelous work among the people, and a wonder to the world.

    Work while it is day; the night comes when no one will work. Regional salt wars are fought by child-soldiers and immigrants. Pope Joan’s horse is startled during a procession and she goes into spontaneous labor. The child is born. Her secret is revealed but she dies. And there is none that can deliver me.

    Lord, save me from lying lips
    war-arrows over red-hot coals.

    Yea, before the day, Pope Formosus is exhumed by his successor nine months after his death and put on trial for perjury, for having taken the papacy illegally. His corpse is dragged to the courtroom and found guilty before being reinterred. His papacy is annulled. May the truth protect me always.

A Medical Emergency Special Report

     This is a Channel $4 live action special news break. We go live to Chip Rofloxacin.

    “We are receiving reports this evening that County General Hospital is being overwhelmed by a medical crisis. Double-vision doctors and night-shift nurses, already short-staffed due to Medicare cutbacks are struggling to manage a surge of hundreds of inconvenient emergencies.”

    “One doctor, who declined to be identified, told us of multiple cases of explosive diarrhea caused by disingenuous political adverts. It’s a clear case of Misinformational Infection. The worst I’ve seen in twenty years of practice.”

    Other reported outbreaks include:

    Vertigo Campaign Imbalance

    Pundit-Induced Renal Failure – symptoms include: fatigue, shortness of breath, and an inability to think for oneself.

    Judicial Spinal Constriction – appointed for life.

    Family Values Thorax Collapse – accompanied by extreme flatulence.

    Chronic Scatmouth - a persistent inability to stop talking shit. Highly contagious.

    and Acute Principle Paralysis – which requires a complete quarantine of anyone over the age of twelve. Individuals in office over the age of sixty-five seem especially susceptible, with secondary symptoms including: Senatorial Fever and Congressional Malaise.

    “The part-time director of the CDC insists there is no need to panic and certainly no cause for government intervention. The infection is easily contained with the dispensation of dubious drugs. If you believe you or someone you know may be at risk, seek advice from a trusted wellness celebrity.”

A Word from Our Sponsors

     “10:30 in the morning on 1030 AM and we’re live.” The man on the radio was shouting already. “The culture is changing!” he exclaimed. “And we’re not going to sit on our hands and let it happen.”

    Commercial break. Buy gold. Buy guns.

    “And we’re back,” more breathless than before. “’Blessed are the peacemakers’ you’ve heard them, the elitist, the Marxist, pretending she cares about the word. But there is no one who can make peace but Christ. There is no peace except in Christ. More after this…”

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    “I don’t need candles. I don’t need incense. I don’t need a chalice filled with blood. And now a word from our sponsor.”

    Who’s back with the number one late night program? All natural. No filter. America’s favorite.

    “We never lost power. The police get stronger all the time. Take trouble. Take time. Actual power no ethical intentions.”

    Buy gold. Fast cars. The greatest in American crypto.

    “You can’t be too philosophical about it – we’re living at the edge of the next great extinction event. Say goodbye to the hummingbirds; we’re all going to die. And that’s our show. Tune in tomorrow.”

Prophecy Cub Minutes 07.16.26

 

Prophecy Club
06.16.26
7:34 pm
First Bethel Baptist Church Basement

ATTENDANCE
Present Members: Brothers Haggai, Joel, Daniel, Jonah, Ezekiel, Micah and Agabus
Guests Present: There were no guests.
There was a quorum present.

ORDERS OF BUSINESS

The meeting opened with our standard invocation: “Open our eyes that we may see wonderful things in your law.” Open our eyes now, Lord. Amen.

The minutes of the previous meeting were read and entered into the record.

Unfinished Business

No unfinished business was conducted in order to allow extra time for Brother Joel’s special presentation.

New Business

Brother Joel was invited to give a special presentation for the 250^th anniversary of the United States of America concerning the USA’s role in biblical prophecy and the last days.

He began by informing us that the Curse of the Admiralty Law (pronounced in 1871) is being undone by President Trump, and that we are returning to the Common Law of the Land. The people of the nation have given their consent with shouting and festival and music, and that the required rituals have been observed by royalty as required. King Charles III and Queen Camilla observed the transfer of power during their visit earlier this year.

Brother Joel also reported that while the United States is not explicitly named by any of the biblical prophets, the USA does have a specific and important role to play in future events. He told us that the “Great Eagle” seen in John’s vision (Revelation 12) is none other than the US. It is obvious, he said. The eagle is the national emblem of the country. And that the United States will swoop in to rescue the woman (who is Israel) from the pursuing dragon (the devil).

Brother Joel further described a relatively obscure passage from the prophet Isaiah. “Go, swift messengers to a nation tall and smooth, a people feared far and near, a mighty and aggressive nation whose country is divided by rivers.” Brother Joel stated that this description is becoming increasingly accurate every week under President Trump. Every executive order brings us closer to the end. And that the increasing accuracy of the description is indicative of the nearness of the end times. “We will soon fulfill the prophet’s words, and ‘an offering will be brought to the temple on behalf of the people tall and smooth, feared far and near, the mighty and aggressive people.” (Isaiah 18:2 and 7)

Brother Agabus asked how this could be possible since there is no Temple – and thus no sacrificial system – in Jerusalem. Vigorous and extended discussion followed until Brother Ezekiel suggested that further discussion be moved to a special committee.

Brother Ezekiel reported that he’s been informed of a rival prophecy club meeting at the Assemblies of God church on Water Street. He has no further details, but he’s sure that they are “covered in filthy vomit.” Brother Jonah promised to investigate.

CLOSING

Brother Joel led us in the closing prayer: Lord, You are our refuge and fortress. Guard our hearts and minds. Protect us from demonic attack, physical harm, and emotional wounds. Keep us safe in the shadow of Your wings. Amen.

We will hold the next board meeting on 08.16.26 at 6:16 pm. The meeting will be a top-secret Strategy Briefing. The password will be: Watchman! Watchman! What time of night? And the countersign will be: Morning is coming, and night again. Do not share with nonmembers.

The meeting ended at 1:17 am

[Signatures of minute taker and board president]