Prophets and priests alike,
all practice deceit.
They dress the wound of my people
as though it were not serious.
‘Peace, peace,’ they say,
when there is no peace.
—Jeremiah
retract: to use a surgical instrument to hold open the edges of a wound or an organ
The job of the two-bit prophet is retraction. He’s the guy who clamps on and refuses to let the boo-boo heal over. He keeps the wound gaping and ugly. The two-bit prophet keeps the curtains pulled back from what nobody wants to look at. He’s the guy who makes it worse that it already is.
Any prophet worth his salt on the wound understands that his is the least appreciated gig in the heavenly city. Oh, everybody loves the healers and the singers and the sweet comfort bringers. The welcome wagons park at the feet of the tapioca boys. But when our prophetic pariah clears his throat, you’d swear somebody just passed gas. Nobody would have him around—on purpose.
But I’ve been over this ground before, and as a gesture of goodwill I’m not even going to link to previous tirades, whinings, self-justifications, or the spot-on oracles that expose your religious lesions. I feel generous today and offer for your comfort and pleasure the following heartfelt blessing:
Blessed be your appetites
Blessed be your accumulations and 401K
Blessed be your savings account and credit cards
And library card too (if you read books)
Blessed be your car and your furniture
Your movie tickets and supermarket
Blessed be your kids’ X-Box or Playstation
May your lawn be green and free of crane flies
May your sex life throb guiltless and often
May your pastor say all the right things
And your boss recognize your value
Blessed be the fruit of your cravings
May your quiver be full of entitlements
May the nagging pestilence of conscience
Be far from you
May your government find those terrorists
And blow the bastards up
May your contentment remain intact
And your lifestyle active
And your privacy unscathed
May you have your peace
Of the pie
Your peace of the action
And, of course, your peace of mind
Blessed be your sleep
And blessed be the pillow-top mattress
Upon which you sleep it
Be fret free, my friend
For the Lord loves his children
And provides for them
And keeps them safe
And knows when to keep
His nose out of your damned business
