The Plastic Preacher

By Zachary Hartung

Warm Regards

On the night of the sabbath day the preacher dined with his fellow ministers, breaking bountiful bread while sipping holy wine, rejoicing in their company on a warm summers night. One went on boasting about his wealth while the other seemed to have his heart locked on a women he’d only met the other day. Upon the subject of the local church, the preacher began to do what he did best;

Let it be known, gentlemen, that a person of this province has been given the honorable opportunity to serve under our Lord within our very own glorious fortress. May they, along with us, fly under the pure, sanctified wing of God by living the life of a true, righteous Christian. But beware if they can bare not the Lord’s name, for by doing so they are choosing to fly against the Gospels, thus making themselves witches amongst the pack of the Devil. May their necks break for undermining our beloved covenant with the Holy Ghost.

The three men cheered and celebrated all through the night.

When the sun rose the preacher made his way home, feeling a little hungover. Just the thought of taking a nice relaxing nap in his brand new bed made him all the more eager to get there. When he finally returned he was greeted with a folded envelope nailed to his front door. He plucked it off and went inside. After fixing a glass of sparkling cider, he made his way upstairs and sat down comfortably on his new bed. He opened the letter and proceeded to read;

Dearest Preacher,

I write to you upon the subject of yesterday’s sermon.

I mean not to question your credentials, but surely you can recall the book of Romans; for it is written there be none righteous, not one.

Yet here you stand before your audience and parade our church as the “highest law of the land.”

What grants your imagination the idea that you, a flawed human being, possess the holy power to single-handedly wipe the Devil’s evil out of our province?

Perhaps you should give deeper consideration to what it is you wish to spread to your followers, and learn to truly guard yourself in the spirit in which you so desperately claim to reside in.

Warm Regards.

The preacher had no idea what to make of this, especially since the messenger chose to remain unknown.

A Promise Rebuilt

When night fell the preacher closed his book, gave his usual evening prayers, and blew out the candle. His eyes stared vigorously at the darkness until his consciousness drifted into the backrooms of his inner mind. He soon found himself in a garden, enchanted with colorful flowers and illuminated by the songs of birds. As he looked around he quickly noticed a wooden sign with gold lettering carved into it:

The Garden of New Eden

Where the will of man shall not be infringed,

And the holiness of intelligence shall rise

Above the ashes of spiritual demise.

He then spotted a large group of people in the near distance, naked amongst the wavy green grass, singing and dancing as they took fruit from every tree. Appalled at such obscenities, the preacher made his way over to the crowd.

“Fools!” he cried, “have you lost your wits?! Where be your sense of morality?! Your souls be blind and your minds be damned!!”

There was a brief pause.

The silence was soon broken by the sound of roaring laughter, with all fingers pointing at him. The preacher looked down and discovered that he too was naked, with nothing to cover himself.

The silence slowly began to fall once more as the crowd turned their heads to hear the sound of incoming footsteps. One by one they all fell to their knees and bowed their heads at the dark, shadowy panther that marched towards them. The preacher stood frozen, unable to move a single fiber of his body. The panther walked up to the preacher and began to speak softly into his ear.

The Whispers of Lucifer

Hear me, child.

I have seen brilliant minds destroyed,

Whole intellects scorched out of sanity into oblivion

With their empires shattered to irreversible ruins.

I have witnessed your kind be mocked,

Humiliated far beyond the point of redemption.

Tell me, child,

If divinity under the sun

Be nothing but a wisp of vanity,

Why not breathe it

And cherish its sweetness?

If your world shall loosen itself,

Why must you tighten up?

If your flesh be famished,

Why starve your beloved temple?

If wisdom

Only bring forth grief and sorrow,

Why must you torture your soul?

And answer me this

O great believer,

How do you suppose to dance

In the light of Heaven

While your loved ones watch

From the pits of Hell?

Can’t you see, child?

We are mystics

Of all things mystical,

Renegades

Of all ways radical.

Who is to say

That the moonlight’s night

And the sunshine’s day,

Should balance the right

With the wrong’s dismay?

What so if a man think

To acquire such entitlement,

To sip the fruitful drink

Of ever fresh enlightenment?

Who says

We can’t have it

Both ways?