October 5, 2001 by lonbud

Same As It Ever Was

To the vast multitudes who have joined the war on terrorism:

You who are steadfast in your certainty that death must immediately befall those who would threaten the lives of innocents anywhere (especially should those innocents be fortunate citizens of the greatest, most powerful, noble, and benevolent nation to ever grace the pages of human history), here, my plea.

I speak not as a pacifist, nor as an apologist for the acts of terrorist fanatics, upon whom death must assuredly be visited if Civilization is to be spared the scourge of their insanity. I speak not as a congregant of any religion, nor as a citizen of any nation; not as a member of any community, nor even as the head of my own family.

I speak only for myself, as one voice among the billions that might be raised in supplication to the Power that Bes; hear my plea:

Surely everyone would pursue the joy of raising their children, get on with the business of building communities, trading goods, creating art, healing their sick, and celebrating their festivals and holidays–in peace and tranquility.

Who would not prefer to live free of feeling under attack, free of the fear their very existence on this earth could be snuffed by the violent insanity of evil creatures bent on creating a Hell of this temporal plane?

Everyone must thirst for the sweet nectar of God’s creation unlaced with the bitter taste of mankind’s worst intentions. That would be refreshing, indeed.

It seems, however, all faiths and philosophies agree: the road to our salvation, the path to Paradise–be it here on earth or in some heavenly great beyond–is an arduous one.

To all, I am grateful for your willingness to share with me the burdens you carry on your journey, just as you allow me to share mine with you. Hang in there. The hard work we do now in finding our way out of the wilderness we’ve sown around our hopes and dreams of heavenly glory will surely help us to revel one day in the true and infinite comfort of God’s Love–the promise of our final reward.

From time immemorial–beginning with the first siblings set on this earth by our creator (as described in the Pentateuch by the story of Cain and Abel)–we humans have been at one another’s throats, desperately grasping for heavenly validation of our existence.

“Father, choose ME upon whom to bestow your many blessings, for I, and not my brother, am the most good, the most reverent, the most loving. So fervently do I believe this, in fact, I will kill my brother as proof for you.”

Over the many millennia, continually, consistently, without cease, great armies have been raised. Vast fields of human aspiration have been flooded and laid waste in the service of mankind’s insatiable need to be validated–and to be forgiven the taste for our own blood.

From the very beginning it has always been thus; why should the plotline of our existence on this earth change now?

Surely we are destined to know the peace for which all good men strive, once the last bad man is hunted down, flushed out, and killed in sacrifice on the altar of our Love for God.

But I confess: I do not have the strength, nor the courage, to wield the sword of such human kindness. Should I be cut down myself one day, as surely as Abel was slain by his own brother, I must accept that fate.

Because I am weak and afraid to look upon any man to smite him in the name of God, I must entrust my fate to those, like you, who, with the clear vison of what is good and who is evil, have the courage and the will to do the awful, thankless, heartrending–but necessary–work of ridding God’s creation of all that is not good, of cleansing it of all who are unholy in the eyes of the Father.

Have mercy.

Now, you may well villify me as holier-than-thou, asking, “what is YOUR solution to the problems vexing our world in this terrible time?”

And again I would confess: I have no answer.

You are certain of your answer, however. I will thus bear witness, in humble awe of your steadfast belief in the rightness of your actions, to all that shall be wrought in the wake of your fury, to all that is left standing among the debris of your terrible justice.

May God look upon your works and be pleased.