Amidst
all the madness and confusion in the past 3 ½ years it’s difficult to recall
and focus on any one thing that stands out – that singular historical event our
grandchildren will be asked about by their own progeny to which they can answer
“Yes. I was alive then; but, honey, I don’t know. Nobody knows.”
The Book of Trump, Chapter One
For many
years, there had been in our country a considerable number of people, who
called themselves “Patriots,” whose stated mission was to defend and preserve
the principles of liberty and justice, at all costs, even their very
lives. In their quest to do so, they
determined it necessary to arm themselves to the extent that made other
Americans uncomfortable – afraid of potential misuse of their weapons.
“Why do
you need so many guns?” the Patriots were asked, “Our country has police to
protect us from criminals, and military forces to protect us from invaders.”
“Yes!”
cried the Patriots, “But what if tyranny is coming from your own government?
Who will defend you then? It is we, your militia! Thank God we are here for
you, and fear not!”
And, God
was surely with them. They carried His Book, and they spoke His Words, and they
gathered in His House, and they proclaimed to do all things in His Name, and in
the name of the country they swore to defend to their dying breaths. And they
proudly displayed their weapons, and their flags; and donned the wardrobes of
the fearless and mighty, even in places where such displays didn’t appear to be
necessary.
And they
waited for tyranny to dare to raise its ugly head.
Then, in
the early days of June, in the Year of Our Lord 2020, a handful of peaceful Americans
sat on the front porch of their dwelling, watching a black-clad parade of
heavily armed forces march down their street, whose perceived purpose was to
protect the citizenry from danger. Disharmony had occurred throughout the
country over abuse committed by police, which had brought about calamity and
unrest; and these forces had been sent out to keep the peace.
“Get
inside your house!” commanded voices from the marchers.
Bewildered,
the handful of Americans, thinking surely the government would not order them
what to do on their own property, continued to watch, from what they considered
the safety of their own porch.
“Get
inside!” the marchers repeated.
Before
the watchers had the time to realize it was, indeed, them who were being
ordered, the forces opened fire upon them with non-lethal, albeit punishing
weaponry. And they had no choice but to comply with the unlawful demands.
Meanwhile,
many miles away in the Nation’s capital, hundreds of citizens had gathered in
peaceful protest over the abuse committed by the police – a right, granted by
God, and recognized in the founding documents of their country.
And,
suddenly, the skies opened, and terror rained down upon them in the form of
noxious gasses and pain-inflicting projectiles which sent them scattering and
fleeing from the grounds of the House of God where they had been granted refuge
and given comfort. And the comforters and granters of refuge were among them,
driven from the House of God.
Then, through
the smoke and screams of the terrified marched a man, flanked by his entourage
of supporters and enablers, onto the steps of the House of God. And he stood
before the cameras and he proclaimed the House to be his; and he held up the Book
and he proclaimed It to be his. And the world watched.
“Now! Now
is the time for the Patriots!” screamed the people, “For this, surely, is their
prophesy come to pass!”
But as
the people dried from their eyes the tears of the gasses and disillusionment, they
began to see the self-proclaimed Patriots – standing beside the man.
“He is
there! He is there!” they screamed at the Patriots.
“Not this
man,” answered the Patriots, “For he is one of us.”
© Rick Baber, 2020
