Showing posts with label Creative writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Creative writing. Show all posts

Thursday, May 31, 2012

A (Post)Modern Day Parable

The word of the LORD came to me as I was resting in my house saying, "Son of dust, consider where you are and what you remember of days long ago.  What comes to mind?"  I answered and said, "Do you mean the days of my losing childhood tetherball games to my older brother in the back back yard?"  "Surely not," said the LORD, "but you are in the right place.  Consider a different event."  "Do you mean the cutting down of the fruit tree with the hardened fruit, so hard that not even the dogs would eat of it?" I asked.  "No," replied the LORD, "although that is a worthwhile story to tell for another day.  Reflect some more." 

"Ah, Sovereign Lord!" I exclaimed.  "You have in mind the story of the chicken and the workbench?"  "Very good, yes son of dust, I do.  You must tell this story to every tribe, tongue and nation, from the rooftops above and the valley - even the Valley of Jehosaphat, for surely the rejoinder fits - below.  But tell it to this people who are from the Land of the Pilgrim's Pride, for they need to hear it first,since they have fallen away so astoundingly that my people cannot even recognize it as the place I once walked among them anymore," says the LORD. 

I was thenceforth taken away to a place back in time in my memory by the Spirit of the LORD.  My father had a chicken by the neck.  In his mighty right arm he held an axe, sharper than any two edged sword, as iron surely sharpens iron.  "Do what you must do, and do it quickly," he urged.  The son swung the axe straight through the chickens neck, in one clean swoop.  The father let the chicken fall to the ground, whereupon it immediately fluttered about the whole yard, beating its wings vigorously and with tremendous effort, but to no avail.  In time it laid down and ceased moving its wings so strongly,and gave up its last twitch as it laid motionless upon the ground. 

I wept for the chicken, for it was familiar to me and I drew sustenance from its eggs.  "Why, O Lord, did you have me remember this event?  I am repulsed at the mere thought of it!" 

"Say to them as I live," declared the LORD God, "I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live; turn back, turn back from your evil ways, for why will you die, O Land of the Pilgrim's Pride?" 

An angel strengthened my feeble legs and weak knees, and helped me get up from the place where I witnessed such things.  "What are the meaning of these things?" I asked of the Lord.  "Surely you abhor violence and death, and love goodness and lovingkindness from the rising of the sun to the setting of the same!"

The LORD of hosts answered and said, "Because you have asked me, and have been my faithful servant in this thing in all of my house, I will reveal these things to you.  The father is the Father, the great I AM, God Almighty.  The son is the Son, the Risen Savior, He who will judge the quick and the dead.  The axe is the Holy Spirit, sharper than any two edged sword, who guides His own into all truth - not error - and convicts one of sin, righteousness, and judgment.  The yard is the Earth, and all that is in it. 

The chicken is these people whom I love, who desire a ruler yet detest the King of Kings.  Their pride and arrogance knows no bounds.  They have knowledge, but not wisdom and understanding and true insight from Me.  They are ever seeing, but are blind; hearing, but are deaf."

"Ah, Sovereign Lord!" I exuded.  "This explains why they act as they do.  They are quick to accuse, slow to listen and quick to anger and will not come reason with the LORD.  They do not learn; instead they travel about faster and faster, gathering information  in ever expanding amounts but amounting to a stench in your presence.  So they are. . ."

"As a chicken with its head cut off," replied the LORD.  "I showed them for what they really are in my sight," declared the LORD of Sabaoth.