Reaping the Whirlwind

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When they sow the wind

They shall reap the whirlwind

The stalk of grain that forms no ear

Can yield no flour

Even if it could

Strangers would swallow it.

 

--Hosea 8:7  

 

Genesis

 

February, 2031

In the beginning were the words.

They were beautiful, these words; beautiful, but fickle. Find the right combination and he could float up to heaven, words surrounding him like an angel's wings-be it wrong and they'd chase him to hell. But he had spent a long time perfecting these words,  hours of cross-outs and deleted documents, and he was sure they were they were right.

They had to be.

His name, too, had been chosen with care. His remaining friends still called him William, William Linton, but to the rest of the world he had adopted a more memorable name. One that could be whispered with reverence all over the country. One that would linger until the end of time.

Percival Palabra stood at his pulpit, watching the faces of the members of his congregation. It was the largest church that in the city, and still, there were so many people that the fire department had worried that God's next message might be through a burning pew. The Word had traveled. He took note of who was skeptical, who had been dragged here by friends, and who already believed. Eventually they would all fall into the last category. They always did. Every atheist, politician or civilian. Two years to get this far, and now he was sure he had won. Balancing on the edge of triumph.

"Welcome," he said, the microphones amplifying his voice. "Welcome to my humble church." Many people laughed, though softly, as if they weren't sure if it was allowed. His church was anything but humble. Tall, arched ceilings covered the nave, and stained glass windows lined the walls, the east ones glowing in the soft morning light. The church had a certain beauty about it- it wasn't just the ornate architecture, the intricate windows. It was something more, something that he couldn't put a finger on.  Then again, the place where you reach your dreams is always beautiful.

Nevertheless, the shiny pews and marble statues didn't hurt. They quieted the doubts of the visitors, and told them that they need look no further for the answers to their problems.  

 "I deliberated as to whether I should be here today. I do not want to take up this mantle-I accept my bloodline with wonder. Of course, I had heard that there would be a Second Coming. When I was young, and things looked bad, when I doubted the rest of humanity... I could clutch at this lifeline." He had a soothing voice, one that made everyone trust him. "But then last night, as I was deliberating whether I should be here this morn, God himself came in my sleep. He said unto me; 'My dearest son, why do you hesitate to take up your job again? In your last life, you died at a cross. But if the people of America do not follow you, they might be subject to an even worse fate.'" Percival looked around. "Our Father said we had disappointed Him. But he still loves Americans over all, and he showed me a way out of our predicament. If we have faith, we can do it. If we have faith, we can survive this. The Pan Asian Democratic Union will crumble, if only we have faith!" Here his voice was rising passionately.  

All below, people were nodding. Because it made sense, such perfect sense. Why hadn't they thought of it before? It was what they had always dreamed of-an easy way out. The answer, faith in God, for He had proven Himself over and over, had he not?