Book I: Chapter 19
June 20 (and a time long past)
Having just witnessed unwelcome memories from nearly 2,000 years ago I was ready for a break.
“Ha! ‘Surely Mary won’t wait around forever?’ Eh, Peter?” I quipped to myself as I remembered what my friend said and took another sip of my iced tea (yes it was a Long Island).
“Well, it seems we were wrong about that, for hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, right?”
Still on my porch, I snickered to myself with chagrin – for as I pondered the situation in hindsight it seemed that nobody got what they wanted:
- Lazarus never did get Mary.
- Jesus never accepted Mary’s advances.
- I’m still here rotting in this worn out husk of a body.
- All of our dreams have been dashed.
“Why have you cursed us like this, Lord?” And I threw my glass down on the porch – watching it smash into countless pieces, even as the remaining liquid quickly seeped through the floorboards. Overwhelmed with shame, I cried, “I am worn out calling for help, God. Will my life never end? Even if I end up in the land of gloom and shadow – even still I will go if it means I can only escape this so-called life!”
As if on cue, I noticed the radio was playing yet another one of my favorite songs – the Jim Reeves classic, “Am I that Easy to Forget?”
Guess I could find somebody, too. But I don’t want no one but you. How could you leave without regret? Am I that easy to forget?
I was about to let myself be drawn deeper into the song, when… “We interrupt this broadcast,” came the urgent words of the announcer, “with a special report about the assassination of UN Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon…”
“NO, not again – what about my Phillies game?”
I stewed as the Special Report was delivered — no less than thirty minutes of rigmarole about how, as yet, no one knew who had assassinated Ki-Moon (although I had a pretty good idea); that an emergency meeting of the UN had already taken place; and that William Henry Gates III (Bingo!) had already been elected as interim Secretary General.
After this, there was a short audio clip from Gates’ acceptance speech in which the beloved philanthropist explained that while his first inclination was to advise he was not worthy of such an honor, in fact he agreed to accept the nomination – at least on a short term basis – because he realized that the world needed him, and therefore he promised to do his best to lead the planet to prosperity.
Gates took the opportunity to remind people that he’d continue to work hard to help himself and others like him overcome their White Privilege disease, and as proof of his commitment to promoting BLM and Critical Race Theory goals he announced he was changing his name to the Muslim-inspired moniker Dr. Ghaz ‘al Ridwan Ma’bus. (Just like Teri had warned Alan about – although Teri missed the part about Gates taking on the “Dr.” title – apparently stealing a page from the puppet president Joe Biden’s wife’s playbook on how to give yourself fake credentials). Next this new Dr. Ma’bus explained how he would use his UN platform to protect the world from Climate Change disasters in the hopes that building a more sustainable world would eventually put an end to the never-ending cycle of pandemics that had plagued our planet since 2019.
Gates nee Ma’bus’ message was one of hope and freedom for all people in the world and he the more he talked the more he promoted himself as the People’s Savior.
Now as odd as this might sound, during the initial newscast I was quite dour – especially when Dr. Ma’bus was talking about the UN Agenda 2030 propaganda pawns like BLM, CRT, and Covid, and about his silly new name. Yet the more the Gates/Ma’bus audio clip was playing, the more I found myself getting inspired (just a bit) by Bill’s passion when he proclaimed himself to be our savior as Ghaz al’ Ridwan Ma’bus. It was a contagious sensation that I could not shake and soon enough a smile began to form beneath the scraggly curls of my beard the more I listened to Ma’bus smooth voice.
His voice beckoned me.
And then, as if the shackles of two thousand years of lethargy were suddenly released, I jumped up and looked to the Heavens. “Could this really be The Time?” I was actually hopeful. And in spite of myself, I began to praise, “When my soul is downcast within me, I will remember you. O Lord, have you returned to us in the person of the Muslim Savior Ghaz ‘al Ridwan Ma’bus?”
Meanwhile, Dr. Ma’bus continued to talk – encouraging the world to unite in brotherly love across every race and religion — and my Hope sprang even higher!
“Lord, are you him?” I desperately clutched my radio, hanging on the savior’s next words.
But then it happened, for as the applause from the crowd became so overwhelming, Ma’bus himself could no longer be heard.
“Noooooooo!” I collapsed in despair. “Don’t desert me again!”
Yet, my protests were to no avail. And when the regular newsman’s voice came back over the speaker, my newfound inspiration evaporated; once more I felt as if I was nothing more than a worthless sinner who had yet again been forgotten and abandoned.
I don’t want your pity.
If there were any last vestiges of hope, I quickly beat them down.
But then a small, still voice inside me seemed to say…
“John, John, why do you forsake me?”
Yet I refused to listen. Instead simply reached towards my radio, and clicked the dial.
A lone tear trickled down my cheek, as I resolved to go inside and get into bed – to put an end to another miserable day.
And trudging along the porch, “Let the world take care of itself. Or let Gates’ Ma’bus persona do it. He doesn’t need me. You don’t need me, Lord. Nobody needs ME anymore.”
And with that, I went inside and closed the door – leaving even my Phillies to fend for themselves.