Tag: End times

A Fortunate State of Existence

Rita Sommers-Flanagan4 Comments

In Montana, we have 5.6 million square feet per person, slightly more than the 4.8 million square feet per person for the whole United States. In India, there’s just over 100 square feet per person. That’s smaller than most bedrooms in our middle-class lives. Selah.

This bit of trivia was provided by something called Artificial Intelligence, or AI for short. AI is a voracious information gathering machine, still in its infancy, but rapidly gaining ground. Since I made these inquiries, I’ll be deluged with ads for birth control or real estate.

And if you’re wondering what Selah means, AI will explain it to you, and your ads will have a distinctive Hebrew flavor for a while.

How does it feel to be that well-known? I don’t like it. Sure, it’s helpful to be alerted to a smarter route for our romantic date to Fishtail. (Seriously? Construction delays getting to Fishtail?) AI is market-driven and ostensibly helpful, but there’s a lot more to it than that.

I cross my arms, and do a little Selah-ing myself. Scriptures are always being rewritten under the auspices of the great and powerful Oz. I wonder how the AI algorithms might edit the beatitudes for our times. I think I’ll give it a try.

The Creator crowds into my brain. I push them aside and write my draft:

  • Blessed are the wealthy, for they can purchase great swaths of the kingdom and eat what they want while others starve.
  • Blessed are those who avoid mourning. There is little reason to focus on loss.
  • Blessed are the aggressive. They will obtain power.
  • Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for the bodies of the young. If they are rich, they shall have them.
  • Blessed are those without mercy. They can thus dehumanize the poor and displaced.
  • Blessed are those who lie to themselves. Their hearts will be darkened, their shame erased.
  • Blessed are the makers of war. It is the essence of human history.
  • Blessed are those who deny hard truths. There are alternative facts in abundance.
  • Blessed are the sadistic. They shall be satisfied.
  • Blessed are you who deport your neighbors. Who avoid looking in the mirror. Who refuse to forgive. Rejoice in your momentary existence. Assuming the earth survives your terrible ravishing, you will die leaving it tragically damaged.

The Crowd clears their throats.

“Step away from the keyboard,” they command. A bouquet of holy hands reaches for me.

“No!” I yell. I unplug the charger and dash for the door.

“We have a runner,” they declare gleefully.

I fall down. This is painfully funny. We all laugh.

“Thanks,” they say as they help me up. “We needed that.”

Revelations

Rita Sommers-Flanagan3 Comments

“Morning, sleepy.” God rubs my head, smiling. “Time to wake up!”

“Stop,” I mumble, covering my head with my paisley blue sheet. “I didn’t sleep well. Thoughts of the Antichrist kept rolling around in my head.”

“Yeah. Rough week. Satanically healed head wounds. Fake hysteria. Spellbound followers of malevolent beings. Beasts in sheep’s clothing,” God signs. “I’ve seen it all before. It’s a bit passe.”

“Maybe for you,” I say. “But not for me. Not for us. This could be the end times.”

“Nah,” God laughs. “Satanic healing is an oxymoron, and it’s always the end times. But the Book of Revelation would’ve made a great screenplay for your current crop of dark-hearted fanatics. The author could have made millions scaring people. Too bad he was so far ahead of his time.”

“Time is definitely the issue,” I say. “We’re running out of it.”

“You might be. I’m not,” God counters with a selfish grin. “Even if your world runs out of time, I won’t. I play with time like you play with frisbees.”

“Well, Mr. Laissez Faire, a lot of people are begging Various Versions of You to do something about, um, everything. Soon.”

God groans. “You would not believe all the contradictory prayers clogging up the prayer-o-sphere.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” I say sarcastically. “This shiny blue marble with all its evolutionary splendor may be just a twinkle in your creative eye, but it’s everything to us. Everything.”

“Then act like it,” God says. “You’ve done a terrible job of fulfilling your potential so far. There’s a draft of your Official Eviction Notice on my attorney’s desk as we speak. And don’t ask for a recommendation if you move elsewhere. I love you all. I really do. You’re intriguing. But if you continue to be so easily duped, I’m afraid you’re not worth the risk.”

I bow my head as if to pray, but it’s just an excuse to break eye-contact with the Truth. Why ARE we so easily duped? Vicious selfishness and blind hatred have been rebranded as faith. Lying buffoons and feckless billionaires are praised and adored.

The sound of galloping hooves in the distance chills my soul. I gasp.

“Relax,” God says. “It’s not the four horsemen. It’s the Budweiser team. We’re having a big kegger on the beach tonight. I’ve ordered seven pizzas and seven golden bowls of chips. You should come.”

“What beach?” I ask. I don’t like Bud, but a little social time might be nice.

“Gaza,” God says.

“GAZA!” I shout. “You’re a fool, God. They’re not even letting necessities in. They’ll kill the horses.”

God shrugs. “They always kill the horses,” he says. “I’m used to it.”