This message is meant for you, preacher.
Modern minister, shaking your fist in evangelical rage.
Who are you, to tell me about morality?
Who are you, to judge what I value, and who I would fight for?
Who are you, to impose your tainted standards of decency on us?
I see those 30 pieces of silver in your pockets.
You are the teacher of the law, Luke spoke of, who desires that head seat.
You are the one who devours the widow’s home.
You are the sisters of Sodom.
You are the elect, who have been deceived.
When your sense of nationalism and tribalism finds you cheering the destruction of families, and the deportation of children.
When your system of fabricated values bring you to the point, where the sight of your fellow worker being led away in chains, to be sent back to a place that they fled to escape oppression and death, causes you thoughts of joy.
When you hold competitive acquisition of wealth in higher esteem than community, solidarity and empathy.
When you justify to yourself, conditions of poverty so desperate, in the name of your “free market”.
When “the least of these”, are deemed “freeloaders and leaches” by you, and your idols.
When you ask them for more and more, and tell the tired and tattered to work on through the pain, while glorifying gilded greed.
When you rationalize away the plight of your sick, disabled, and elderly, and claim divine those who drive them deeper into debt and despair.
When you’ve rendered from a message of hope and love, a message of hate and loathing of your fellow human being.
You always make others reap what you’ve sewn.
Your homeless veteran is fruit from the same branch as your refugee, and it was your obedience and compliance that planted those demon seeds from which this tree of pain has grown, and in practice, you’ve cast both aside to rot in the same pile as those you forced into motherhood.
The pain, suffering, death and ruin your conformity has brought to this earth, has poisoned the soil from which your children sprout, and as you continue to water them with your toxicity, they will grow to choke you.
You have no high ground. You have no footing here.
So, in spite of you, this prayer, I offer…
Oh, Malicious Shepherds, who profit from misguiding the miserable.
You’ve led your flocks astray, and you live high of their confusion and woe.
You’ve perpetrated poverty, and offered as shelter, empty ruins disguised as freedom.
Let the weight of those pieces of silver you accepted when you sold your soul, drag you down in your final baptism, as the new tide begins to rise.
Let the rabbit hole you’ve descended into, become saturated with flowing, breathtaking, lung filling truth, and let it become malleable and collapse, forever stifling and burying your fraudulent doctrine of hate, judgment, fear, and subservience to the golden calf that you have forged.
Let your flock be liberated from your false prophecy, so that they may see the truth unfiltered.
Let the wood from your crosses be used, by those you have deceived, to construct the guillotine crafted to end the greedy rule of those you serve.
Glory to the workers, as they awaken. Let they never again become complacent.
Glory to the poor, as they rise. Let they never again have to struggle.
Glory to justice, and the death of avarice and division. Let they never see resurrection.
Glory to freedom for both prisoner and slave. Let they never again be held in bondage and servitude.
Glorious unity… hallelujah.
No kingdom, come.