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