Tuesday, May 13, 2014


First, read this:  This is the Sunday school pageant I’d love to see: Psalm 82
Now what follows below, which was hastily dashed off by me in the comments section of the post(and has had some cursory editing done before being reposted here), will make slightly more sense.

“Give justice to the weak and the orphan;
maintain the right of the lowly and the destitute.
Rescue the weak and the needy;
deliver them from the hand of the wicked.”

Jehovah paused to allow those assembled to contemplate his words before moving forward on the path to the big finish; he was nothing if not a master showman, and he knew that if he was going to get the Council on board he would have to provide them with a show unlike any other they'd encountered.
Looking about the room, he was greeted by a series of impassive - yet solemn - faces...or the things that passed for faces with some of the less anthropomorphic among them, at any rate, and once he was certain that he had wrung out the last drop of drama that he could from the dramatic pause he cleared his throat and prepared to move on to his next point.
As he began to speak, he heard the sound of laughter, or at least he assumed it to be laughter. It was an empty, cold, and dark sound.
It reminded Jehovah of the silence that filled his ears in an earlier time, in the time before he first uttered the words, "Let there be light."
"It seems," Jehovah said, "that one among you has something to say." He searched the crowd looking for the source of the sound, and the assembled gods each in turn did the same, until, at last, a solitary figure stood.
The face was familiar to Jehovah - certainly it was a face that no one, particularly one possessed of omniscience, would be likely to forget - but he couldn't quite place it. The pitfall of knowing everything, after all, is that it's a lot of information to have to sift through, making rapid retrieval a challenge even for the omnipotent.
"I ask your forbearance," the god who stood said, in a voice that seemed to bring a chill to the air. "However, I was not aware that all of us were called here to witness a comedic performance."
Jehovah scowled. The impertinent god in the crowd smiled, though it was a smile that was out of place on the stony countenance, which, Jehovah could tell, normally bore a scowl that would put the one he himself was trying to muster to shame.
"I'm not sure what it is that you find so amusing..." he spared a glance at Jesus, who silently mouthed a name, "...Darkseid, is it?"
"Indeed it is. What I find amusing is your self-righteous appeal to 'justice' and 'deliverance,’ when it is clear that no one in this room, including yourself, can provide these things."
Unbidden, Darkseid stepped forward and up to the stage. He turned to view all of those present, extending his muscular arms in a sweeping arc. "None here is capable of rescuing the weak and delivering them from the hand of the wicked." He smiled. "None, that is, save...Darkseid!"
It was Jehovah's turn to laugh. "You? Delivering them from the hand of the wicked? You ARE the hand of the wicked."
"Not so! For where you have placed a curse upon the living, I seek the means to break the curse, to end injustice, to end all suffering. You have cursed the living to freedom! You have cursed them to life! But I, Darkseid, seek the end of freedom! I seek the power of Anti-Life! And when at last I hold the power in my hand, there will be no more wickedness, no want, no suffering, no freedom, no will. All will be Darkseid!"
The crowd began to murmur in an infinite number of voices; the cacophony carried the sounds of anger, amusement, confusion, fear, and, much to Jehovah's annoyance, some amount of agreement.
"You see? This sea of voices, the susurration of discord! This is what I shall remove from the universe! There will be only one voice! MY voice!"
The room fell silent at the sound of Jehovah's shout. He snapped his fingers and pointed to a pale white figure wearing a green cloak. "Corrigan! Get him out of here!"
The impassive figure moved toward Darkseid, who raised his gloved hand. "I'll find my own way out."
With that, a tremendous BOOM! shattered the silence and a great glowing hole, crackling with energy, appeared in the air behind Darkseid.
The great, stony figure turned towards the opening, but before stepping into it he turned back to face the assembled gods.
"Before I leave, I say, ‘You are gods, children of the Most High, all of you; nevertheless, you shall die like mortals, and fall like any prince.’" He smiled. "And when you do, there will remain only...Darkseid!"
He stepped into the strange tube, which closed with another bone-rattling BOOM!
Jehovah stood in silence amongst the gods, who had once again resumed their murmuring. As he stood impassive in the din, he felt as cold and alone as he had in the time before creation.
"The worst part," he said, to no one in particular, "is that he stole my line about the gods dying like mortals."
Nearby, Orion, the Dog of War, approached Jesus.
"I apologize for my father. If it's any consolation, it's prophesied that one day he may die by my hand." He frowned. "Or I may die by his. The prophecy isn't as clear as I'd like. In any case, I'm sure to deliver a serious beatdown."
"Well," Jesus said, "that's nice, I suppose, but...I'm the Prince of Peace, so thoughts of violence don't really bring me comfort."
Orion seemed taken aback. "Oh. Well...huh."
"One day," Jesus continued, "I will be born as a mortal man on the Earth, and I will be sacrificed to my father to pay for the sins of the world."
There was the sound of metal scraping on metal as Orion scratched his helmeted head. "Yikes. As bad as my father is, he just sent me to be raised on New Genesis. Where will you be staying while you're there?"
"In the land of Israel."
"That shithole? You should come to Supertown instead. The place is amazing." He paused. "Wait...aren't you, like, also your dad? Some sort of trinity thing?"
Jesus nodded. "It's...complicated."
Elsewhere, Rama Kushna approached the green-cloaked figure who had been dispatched by Jehovah to remove Darkseid. "Excuse me, Corrigan, is it?"
The pale figure nodded. "At times. I've also been known as Jordan, and Allen. It's...complicated. I'm not even certain where - or when - I am. To be Corrigan, I'd have to be from...when are we?"
Rama Kushna shrugged. An interesting sight, considering how many arms she had. "This is a timeless place. But back to you...you're an angel, aren't you?"
"In this form, I am an angel merged with the soul of a departed mortal."
"You mean you're...a ghost?"
"Yes. It is how the Almighty bound me to the Earth to serve as the instrument of his vengeance."
Rama Kushna seemed to consider this, stroking her chin with several of her hands. "A ghost. Why didn't I think of that?"

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