day of judgment

Typically, a religious man enters the stage last. His presence will be mediated first by either a legitimising commentary by another religious man, or a voice-over, playback of some form of multimedia, manifesting some faraway and past deed and glorification of the deed, and he finally walks up the stage, all suit-up and ready to proclaim some hidden mystery.

But it's no mystery. We learn later on, that a voice always speaks to him. When he brushes his teeth, when he drives around in his posh limo, when he eats in restaurants' suites with his fellow religious men. There is a simple match going on - God's word and the apparent life that he lives.

Typically, the religious man would speak in a voice, some booming voice, acting like a spokesperson, to proclaim some mystery revealed through him, the annointed him. We return to a familiar matching - that with the divine word, cut and paste out of convenience and the context briefly mentioned and placed aside, and the contemporary autobiographical story. The past is substituted by a convenient present concern and we find, how often, this booming voice, mediated by speakers, to be a comforting voice, telling us, how heaven is filled up and hell will be empty.

Tell that to the warmongers.

How often, as if the simple preaching of the written text without the framing of some worldly design is always insufficient, we try ever so hard to invent and include the things of the world, to dramatise the word. As it is, "Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear." Hebrews 11:3 And I too, am responsible for taking this text out of its context.

Enough shouting. Enough screaming of Allueia or some latin song that tells us so little.
Tell me that I would betray Him. Tell me that I am always tempted. Tell me that I will forsake Him. Tell me that I once murder my own men. Then as it should, my repentence will be a thorn and a weight in me, so heavy, that I await perpetually my final rest.

But enough of the personal pronoun I. As if it always about me.

Instead, the differentiation of identities should have already taught us how we shift from one to another, unable to perform. Always inadequate. Enough performances. Enough preaching.
We don't need another word.

We only need His word, that which do not appear.