Theological Gumbo (2/19)

Ben randomly shows up halfway through this and I can't justify why. He just does so it turns less into a lore-dump about prosperity preachers and feels more diegetic to the world I guess? He showed up and even I was surprised.

        The man in the crisp white shirt stood on the street corner and preached. He prayed loudly, thick rivulets of sweat tracing the swiftest course from forehead to clavicle. Spittle flew from his mouth, glittering in the lights of the dingy street.

“Repent and be saved! Trust in the Church and the Lord Our God will absolve you!”

He stood besides squalor and suffering and begged charity. Not for the meek, blessed though they may be, but for himself and for his church.

The Revivalist Flock of Our Risen Lord Jesus Christ was in the low triple digits of the S&P 500. Where other major religious movements withered or warped in the destruction wrought by the collapse of traditional nationstates, the Flock was one of the most resilient. In fact, it wasn’t just resilient, it had prospered. Give unto Caesar what is Caesars, until Caesar dies and Rome burns, then give unto yourself what is yours.

“The Lord has seen your lusty and sinful ways! Give unto Him and He shall reward you a hundredfold!”

The man continued to shout in the small alley, his voice echoing off rusted gantries and slapdash balconies overhead. Most walked by without noticing, turning up the volume on their earbuds to drown him out. This spiel was nothing new, no promises were made that hadn’t been made countless times in the two thousand years since a carpenter had been nailed to a tree. There was always the fire, of course, and the brimstone for those that failed to submit. What the Flock espoused was less on the punishments in the next life, but the glories that could be achieved in this one. Glories of such material value and bodily pleasure that you could almost be convinced to give all you had to the Flock.

The sports cars they drove and designer clothes they wore were all sent from the Lord above, rewards for devotion and piety. Clearly the massive Worship Campus nestled in the CZ was due to the magnanimous invisible hand of the Lord. Swooping lines and twisting columns gave the building the look of an ice sculpture, defiant in the blazing sun. It glistened like a jewel, sparkling against the corporate arcologies, parishioners and evangelists discussing the finer points of getting a camel through the eye of a needle.

“I say the Lord Himself has cast His eye on this land and he sees degradation and disgrace! Part yourself from that wicked coin that heavies purse and soul! Give to the Church and see Him work through your life!”

The man’s face was red and angular, a vein bulged at the rapidly limepening collar of his shirt. Ben eyed him from across the street. It’s impossible to tell who bought the jive and who was a devout believer. Ben had never believed in anything, had been raised by people too poor to hope for a better life, and his cynicism stuck. The street preacher continued to shout, gesticulating wildly in the faces of those who didn’t have the wherewithal to avoid eye contact.

Ben couldn’t make heads or tales of the exact teachings of the Flock beyond there being a God who loved you who would damn you to eternal torment if you didn’t give to His messengers. There were very few alternatives to the message. The Flock’s missionaries were set up in every neighborhood of the Rust City. They owned three major broadcasting channels, and had an annex in most of the arcologies.

“The kingdom of heaven is open to all who ascribe and subscribe to the Pastor’s teachings! Ask about our low monthly rates! The Pearly Paywall is not as insurmountable as you might think!” A camera drone whined its way around the preacher, getting him from all angles. The sermon would reach a larger audience than the street corner. Christ lived in the airwaves and in data packets, transubstantiated into ones and zeros for the faithful at home.

The Flock’s teachings were a theological gumbo. It didn’t matter what denomination, or what word of scripture was warped, as long as it could justify the repeated requests for tithes. Jesus was pressed through a sieve of scrip and stock portfolios, until what came out the other side was a lilywhite salesman promising eternal paradise for those who paid the toll to St Peter. A sinister affair where every million spent on the luxuries for Flock leadership was a deadly blow to the forces of the Adversary.

The Risen Lord Jesus Christ was merciful and spoke solely and directly to the Pastors. They who knew Jesus best were loved by him best, and who could doubt how much He loved them? The Worship Campus had houses and mansions, private residences if you can imagine such a thing, for their most devoted preachers. Proprietary translation algorithms could be run to translate the mania of those speaking in tongues, and they all happened to say a variation on the same theme: “Give and be forgiven!”

The line between tithe and indulgence blurred to a degree that Martin Luther rolled in his grave. Hypocrisy had never bothered Christendom before, and that would be unlikely to be an issue in the latter half of the new century.

Ben took a long drag on his cigarette as the preacher continued. The sweat continued to pour down the man’s brow, the vein so large in his neck that Ben worried it was going to burst.

“Give and be saved!” he barked. He thumped the bible he had on a small stool, “Open this book and your wallets, let the light of the Lord flow into you!”. Ben noticed the unmarred spine of the book, the perfection of the pages. If it had been opened even once, Ben would convert. He felt confident his religious non affiliation would continue.

The rusters pushed passed the perspiring preacher in droves, throwing him the occasional glance of irritation. The Flock had become a perennial sight anywhere human misery was the strongest. They ministered to the poor, to the homeless, to the downtrodden, and asked each for as much as they could spare. The fatted lamb had to get fatter. Preachers for the Revivalist Flock of Our Risen Lord Jesus Christ assured you that sacrifice in this life ensured benefits for another life. They were just cagey about indicating that the other life that was improved was theirs.