Tuesday, August 25, 2020

They'd Kill Him Again Before the Day Was Done

Thus we arrive at the final Christmas of the 2010s.

Two millennia ago a man lived, and he died.
He gave the world a system of morals of awesome beauty and sublimity.
He lived poor. He didn't fight for status.
He didn't pine after things.
He hung out with the outcasts.
He rebelled against the authorities.
For that, he was executed.

The miracles?
Couldn't care less about them.
Additions to a life that didn't need them by
small men who refused to understand him.

The resurrection?
Sure. But not in body.

Son of God?
Sure. But then, so are you, and so am I.

Twenty centuries have followed;
twenty centuries plus nineteen years.
And many, maybe most, of his believers are as violent and vile
as human beings can be.
If he showed up tomorrow, Christmas Day,
he'd be murdered by those same followers
by sundown.

Because he spoke of loving one's neighbors.
He spoke of acceptance and fairness,
of mercy and compassion,
of inclusion and forgiveness.
He lived those words with each breath he took.
He walked his talk.

And so the monsters who claim to love him most,
but who support children being ripped from their mothers' arms,
who support a wholly immoral, brutal, and corrupt "president,"
who yearn for another Civil War,
who arm themselves, who invade schools to massacre students,
who wield tiki-torches and brandish swastikas,
who are bigoted and anything but inclusive,
who hate women and treat them like garbage,
who want to establish a dictatorship much like Rome's was,
who defend concentration camps,
who support and defend misinformation and propaganda ...
They would hate him.
Hate him.

Twenty centuries plus nineteen years.
Our planet is burning by our greed.
His words have been heard but entirely unheeded.
His actions have been ignored.
His character and example too.

One thing is increasingly certain.
The human species will be lucky to make it to
the next century.

Or, more likely, terribly unlucky for those few who do.

Merry Christmas.