The seats are empty as a voice echoes against the walls. There is nothing to stop the vibrations; there is no ear, no body, no mind. At one time there was excitement to hear the words. But now those words cannot compete with “a word from our sponsor,” “have it your way,” or “in the face of tragedy, go out and purchase a bauble and bead; the economy and the strength of your country depend on it.” And too many go without thinking, without hesitation, without knowing why, and support the view that all is well. And the voice in the sanctuary speaks to fewer new possibilities, but there are fewer and fewer ears to hear the words. And even to those present, the words are unabsorbed. Minds are busy considering “what is for lunch,” “I could be out fishing,” or I should be drinking coffee, reading the paper, or watching an old movie.” Thoughts of how to entertain themselves, where they would like to go on vacation, or what I can do next weekend abound in this holy space.
The words get lost, as the empire wants them to be lost. Lost in a mire of things and ideals taught since youth when the first school teacher said, this is how it’s done, the picture's colors are set, and the perception of authority is unquestionable. The nods and desire to please affirmed the beginning of slavery, the start of capitulation
And the voice from the robed one speaks, but there are even fewer to absorb the sound. They are sleeping, exhausted from toiling for the empire, making more and more bricks, working overtime, pushing the papers, and working the double shift to ensure Pharaoh's satisfaction and the empire's continued concealment. Concealment of its treachery and the darkness that robs the masses of the freedom it feigns to give and the rights it doles out as shackles.
And the voice with outstretched hands calls for courageous listeners, but the words rebound with little interference from the open spaces where souls once sat. The robed speak of an alternative to the empire, another way to live in the land of Pharaoh. They offer options to the shackles of the market place, share keys to open the caged soul, and pass hope to the remnant of people who once toppled the very forms that now enslave.
Yet from some of those still seated are shouted the words “blasphemy,” “traitor,” and “anarchist.” And by this, the words of the robed and yoked are shouted down or unfinanced to keep the dangerous ideas from spilling into the minds of the young or the spiritually hungry. Even some who are robed fear those words and so smooth the edges. It may mean peril to them if they continue; it may mean poverty or disgrace for those too busy, tired, or unaware of supporting the now-compromised speaker.
Yet there are those who speak the words of freedom, offer an alternative to the status quo, and offer the soul a path to travel. It is from the words spoken that bounce against the wall, against the table of sacrifice, and across the rail of penance that lands on the ear of one awake. That word stirs within them, the pulse quickens, the eyes open, and feet begin to march to a beat others can’t hear. They march to a cadence set by those before who have listened to the words and spoken them too, “I have a dream,” “I saw a new Jerusalem,” “Blessed are those who are persecuted,” “In the year that King Uzziah died,” “In the beginning…”
And from those echoing words, from the conscious souls of those who dare to hear and rise from their seats, is formed an alternative community that embraces freedom not given by the empire, who feels the explosive spirit of the Creator, and who is on their way to becoming whole.
Only those who dare to listen to the echoing words understand what it means to be filled with soul and move from that place into the presence of the creating power free, free from the shackles and mind-numbing ways of the empire.