There was a time when Daniel Toroitich Arap Moi, Donald John Trump, William Franklin Graham, Thomas Isidore Noël Sankara, Kwesi Abotsia Dickson, Angela Merkel, Vladimir Putin, Pope Francis, Emmanuel Macron, Kim Jong-Un, Theresa May, Nelson Mandela, and most of us were long gone. The world had changed. The goalposts had shifted. The climate patterns and cosmos had been altered. Billions of people sat before God’s throne on an expansive courtyard. Many of them reclined back due to the dazzling light that shone on them. As this was happening, groups of people at the front conglomerated and started chatting. They were not cringing with shame but talked with sheer hostility.
“Will God judge us? Does He know about pain and suffering?” cracked a chirpy young blonde. She tore open her sleeve to show a tattoo she got while in Auschwitz concentration camp. “We put up with horror, beatings, whippings, weeping, torture and death!”
There was another group at the front. An African American stood up timidly and shouted “What is this? I was lynched for being black.” A Syrian Arab stood up very fast and added, “My entire family was gassed and my relatives bombed in Aleppo. Then you tell me what…!”
There were numerous groups across the courtyard. Each group complained. They seemed bitter that God had allowed evil to run riot. They were irritated that the Almighty had slept on the job as pain and suffering hit through the ceilings.
God was all lucky to reside in Heaven. It was all sweetness and light for Him as the earth burned and the smoke of corpses rose into the blue skies. At His residence, there was no hunger, no thirst, no weeping, no whipping, no hatred, and no anguish of the spirit and the body. How can he understand what humanity had to endure? After all, He just led a beautiful sheltered life. The groups continued to charge.
As time went by, these groups decided to send their leaders to God. They chose the one who had suffered the most.
A Jew, an African American, a chap from Hiroshima, a deformed arthritic, a thalidomide child, An Arab from Syria. In the centre of the vast plain, they consulted with each other. At last, they were ready to present their case. It was rather clever.
Before God could be qualified to be their judge, He must endure what they had endured. They decided that God should be sentenced to live on earth as a man.
Let him be born a Jew. Let the legitimacy of his birth be doubted. Give him a work so hard that even his family will think him out of his mind.
Let him be betrayed by his closest friends. Let him face trumped-up charges, be tried by a prejudiced jury and convicted by a cowardly judge. Let him be tortured.
At the last, let him see what it means to be abandoned. Then let him die so there can be no doubt he died. Let there be a great host of eyewitnesses to confirm it.
As each leader announced his serving of the sentence, loud murmurs of approval went up from the throng of people assembled. When the last had finished pronouncing sentence, there was a long, deafening silence. No one uttered a word. No one moved.
For sure, all knew that God had already served His sentence.