"And so, children of the New World." The aged war-torn preacher said in conclusion from his pulpit. "That is how this colony came to be, born of fire so long ago."
The boys and girls listened closely to the history lesson they were given, as this was their story. They were white, black and every shade of brown in between. Some wore scarves over their heads and bodies, others donned Ymakas or simply their Sunday best as they listened to the words one of the heroes that had seen the glorious day nearly twenty years ago.
He stood proudly there before them, his right arm frozen at his side as result of wounds he suffered in the battle that birthed a nation. His eyes were bright and cheerful, a smile upon his face as he recounted the lessons learned within the hallowed halls of The Geraldine Washington House Of Faith.
"Your mothers and fathers cast off lifetimes of preconceptions and prejudice." Father Washington continued. "In favor of comradery; an understanding, forged as strong as steel, of what we all seek in this journey known as life. We discovered that God is so much more than words written ages ago... He is a force that lives in all of us; every shape, size, color and creed of Man. We learned that the inflammatory lines some had embraced from our respective scriptures were merely the propaganda of our forefathers; inserted as justification for the wars they sought to carry out. They were lines in the sand, drawn by people without a true understanding of what it is to be a member of the Human family. We still carry our different beliefs in many ways, but we know now that we seek the same ends in the struggle with our faith. We work to better ourselves through our quest to serve God, and we are all stronger people for the scars we earn in the quest. We may not find common ground when it comes to which words we choose speak as we thank the Almighty for our daily bread, but we see now that the fact we give Him praise is more important than the verses that we choose to do it through. We do not need to dismiss or seek to destroy others who say grace differently than we do; we simply smile at them and wait our turn -- when we are given similar respect as we say it our way at this wonderful common table we've fashioned for ourselves and each other."
Washington beamed as a round of applause rewarded his speech. The smiles from the children of New Israel filled him with glee and a sense of accomplishment that helped him sleep well at night.
After an adequate show of approval, the ovation faded away. They had reached his favorite part of the lesson; the time for him to open the floor for questions from his young students.
"Father Washington, Father Washington!" A small and eager voice called out from the front row as a little girl waved her hand wildly.
"Oh my!" He rejoiced. "Boys and girls, we have a question from our sister Hope Sparks! You all know her parents; Denisa and David... let's hear what she has to share with us! Go ahead, beautiful..."
"Will you take us into the Dome Of The Destroyer again after we're done? Pleeeeaasse?" She begged.
"Of course!" He smiled back. "I know how you all love to marvel at Darius -- and I'll be happy to show him to you again."
"Is it true that it actually moved?" Another young one asked. "It looks so heavy -- I find it hard to believe."
"Oh, it definitely moved!" Washington laughed. "It was an amazing sight to see! I remember when I jumped on its back -- it bucked like a mad bull beneath me, screaming in pain as I tore at its wiring!" He continued, getting excited in his skewed recollection. He danced about the stage as he re-enacted the events he had told them of for years. "I had that thing on the ropes, let me tell ya'! I pulled it to the ground and climbed on top, beatin' the living daylights out of it with my fists! The battle would've been won right there, but I got a terrible cramp in my leg that --"
"Okay, okay!" An older man chuckled as he stepped up to the podium and touched the preacher's shoulder to calm him down. "Don't get Mister Washington too worked up, children, he's getting on in years... his heart can't handle as much as he thinks anymore."
Washington melted a bit, having been enjoying himself as he made the young ones laugh. He looked at the man who intervened with disappointment; as though he'd taken away his lollipop.
"Uh oh, children." He lamented with sarcasm. "It looks like The Mahdi has something he wants to share. Get your pillows ready, I guess it's nap-time at Nana Geraldine's house!"
"It's fun to see the Destroyer." He advised. "But we mustn't focus too much of our story on the part he played in it. Our legacy cannot be defined by the acts it carried out, but must instead be centered on what it brought out in us. The tale of our redemption isn't about the battles and the death that occurred; it's about something much more intangible than those things. As has happened so many times in the history of Man, we came together in the face of great adversity; and conquered it. The difference, this time, was that we worked so hard after that moment to maintain the ties that bound us. When the danger has passed it's all too easy to break apart just as quickly as we rose united; it's the effort to seal the cracks between us that determines our success or failure. We forged a pact that day, as the collective children of God... one that we swore we would never let be torn asunder. We found our respective places in the puzzle that is a functional society; and we coated the completed picture with the glue of respect to keep it together forever. That is what we must remember, above all other things."
After an extended moment of silence the jovial Washington breathed his energy back into the room with a grin as wide as the open sky outside.
"And we all lived happily ever after -- now get up off of my stage Captain Snooze!"
The masses laughed again, further fueling the former Commander's performance.
"What happened to the priest?" A little boy asked. "How did he get around with just one foot?"
"Well," Washington responded. "Sometimes the weight of the past is just too much for a man to bare -- even one with all the parts that God gave him to begin with. Cameron Jennings tried his best to shrug off what he had done... we were all supportive and welcomed him into our new community, but it just wasn't enough to save him. He wandered off, one day -- and no one ever saw him again. Nobody know what happened to him or where he was going, but he told Terry Jackson that he had to set things right by God; that he had not adequately answered for his crimes against humanity. He had a good heart, boys and girls; things just got away from him, and once the ball was rolling he couldn't figure out how to stop it."
"Father Washington," A teenager piped up. "What about Jesus? Did anyone ever see him again? Was it really Him that appeared to everyone -- or was it just a demon, like Jennings had suggested?"
Washington looked to Ali Sabra, the two of them reflecting on that long night in the desert. They had talked at length about what happened in those hours, but there was still much that neither understood about the events that unfolded.
"That's a good question, Mohammed." He replied. "And I think I know the answer, but there's no way for me to prove it. I believe everyone who saw The Lord the day the world fell apart will agree with me when I say that it was, indeed, Jesus Christ who came to us through the smoke. I don't know if the things that happened were His doings or simply the consequences of our own actions, but I believe He did, in fact, guide us along our way... some say this was the second coming of the Messiah, others don't recognize Him as the son of God at all -- but none will dispute that whatever he is or was, he changed the face of the world forever in both instances in which he walked upon the Earth. A good friend of mine once told me that the power of positive words isn't based in the divinity -or lack thereof- of the lips through which they're spoken; but is, instead, defined by the message behind those words and the recognition of truth within them by all who behold the speech. That's why I loved Michelle Jackson, God rest her soul; she could see the light in the darkest corners of this world. Everyone absorbed the lesson taught to us by the man in the flowing white robes the second time around; it doesn't matter who He was or where He came from... He set us against each
other so that we might find ourselves in the conflict... and that's exactly what happened. If ever we lose our hold on the reigns and find the world in a state of conflict as intense as it was before Darius came to life once again -- perhaps we'll be faced with his second coming... only time will tell."
"Okay, boys and girls." Denisa called from the back of the hall. "It's time we all get back into the fields; these crops aren't gonna harvest themselves!"
A chorus of moans rose up in objection, the children clearly disappointed.
"But mom!" Hope dissented with passion. "Father Washington and Mullah Ali Sabra were gonna take us to see the machine again!"
"There will be plenty of time for that." Her mother responded. "I don't think he'll be going anywhere for a very long time."
The leader of New Israel smiled and winked at Father Washington, who in turn did the same to Ibrahim Ali Sabra. The three left the gathering place together, walking side by side into the fresh morning air.
A Note From The Storyteller:
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading Unholy Advent as much as I enjoyed writing it. It may not be the most polished piece of literature to grace the Earth, but it wasn’t composed with a Pulitzer Prize in mind… I consider myself a storyteller, not an author… I seek to entertain, not to wow you iron-clad prose or seldom used words that send you running for a dictionary.
If I’ve been successful in doing so, please recommend my work to your friends and family. I do not make my living through writing, but any reward for the countless hours spent in front of a glowing computer screen will help float the fledgling boat. Besides, my efforts will have been in vain if no one ever knows that my work exists.
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Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ Page 39