"And Jesus Wept"

There is a heaven of sorts, for dutiful Conformists

who'd paid their taxes and believed in good faith,

all that their churches and pastors, their governing elite and

media and lobbies, told them about being multi-cultural and tolerant,

keeping thier poltically correct noses clean,

and staying out of trouble.

A heaven of sorts, for those who'd joined in good faith

the "good fight" against the "radical-right and Islamophobics",

waving smiling Welcomes at Merkel's waves of smirking,

able-bodied young male "refugees" bringing with them the fruits

of "The-Religion-Of-Peace" to be spread and bred on this soil

unsoiled by any consideration for the victims they leave in their wake.

Into this heaven of sorts come those Gutmenschen who'd conformed

unquestioning, with Gauck and with Merkel, with pervasive propaganda

which painted in rainbows the forced acceptance of unchecked floods

of nearly exclusively Muslim "enrichers", on pain of being called "xenophobic"

by television or by neighbors.

Into this heaven of sorts, furnished with nice things and sailing and

elevator muzak and people being nice and partying a lot, and getting a feel

for their extended after-life, walks a guy who greets them with

no more than a nod and makes them rather uncomfortable in their conformity.

Gradually they see that it's Jesus standing before them, and he regards each

with a calm, neutral countenance.

He asks but one thing of these good "liberal" Germans and good Europeans,

who had renounced their ugly Germanness and their boring European culture and values,

to willingly embrace the conformity demanded by a pervasive culture calling itself

The Future as it appeased and appeased and appeased a returning culture of death

which would see to their transformation to docile servitude, dhimmitude, and

unquestioning obedience once and for all.

He asks, "What have you done for the victims of Islam, what have you done

for the least of these, for mine, what have you done to intervene and to rescue?"

Nothing, of course – and none will respond, as there will be nothing to answer

in the continued absence of all comprehension of responsibility. Again.

There is stillness in this friendly heaven of sorts, a light breeze only accentuates it.

There is no thunderclap, no boiling oil for the unrepentant, no casting out or in, and no yelling.

There is only weeping, open, copious tears – and they're from Jesus, only from his eyes.

It is he, who shows himself to be mortified by this crass conformity and cluelessness.

Hell would be preferable than to bear seeing that; even a losing battle here and now is better.

For this would be a heaven of sorts I could really do without.