HIM

• Simultaneously published on simoncarterstuff.uk – my faith, spirituality and social justice blog.

FOR THERE TO BE A DAY. One precious day, where by some wondrous miracle of God, some singular phenomenon of science, some delicious enchantment of magic, all humanity were to wake, having forgotten who he was. Forgotten all he’d ever said. All he’d ever done.

All hurt he’d ever caused, reversed. Each deceitful, hateful, spiteful word, unuttered. Each defiled, corrupted, shattered thing, made new and whole. As if he had never been.

And no image of him, film of him, sound of him, anywhere to be found for this whole, sacred day. We would not ever have seen his face, nor ever have heard his voice.

And somewhere, somewhen, he would rise, and he would snarl, and he would holler, and he would demand us, our fear, our fealty, our worship, our capitulation. He would demand the earth and all the souls upon it, for he would consider them his.

But none would come, none would pay him heed. For none would see him there, hear him there. For, on that most excellent of days, he would be invisible as air, silent as deepest space.

As for the diabolica and sychophantica – that full arsenal of monsters. His appeasers and enablers, conspirators and courtiers. Might they feel a change in themselves, for the good, on that day?

Would him not existing, and them having no memory of him, give them cause to ponder from where such sudden lightness in them came? Blighted hearts made good. All darkness in them, gone. Sickly, blackened souls released from the poisoning.

One day. Just one day.

Without him.