Once upon a time there was a man called John. He was not especially devout but had been brought up as Christian. He believed in a judgemental but merciful God and he had a conscience which he usually managed to follow.
A little while ago he had felt that he was being told to go to a nearby city and tell it to mend its ways, or else it would incur divine punishment. It was a place notorious for its commercialistic materialism; where wealth was worshipped, and the poverty despised; where there was little concern for the environment or indeed the rest of the world; instant pleasure was the order of the day and novelty and sensation prized above all.
John was not an influencer; he had no social media accounts at all and he was not rich nor notably handsome and not at all a celebrity and yet he felt strongly that he was being commanded to go to this city and give them the unpalatable news that unless they improved their behaviour, they would be struck with disaster.
Alarmed by the impossibility of carrying out this command, John abandoned his modest life and fled to join a commune in a far-off land. On the way he fell in with a rough crowd leading a dissolute life of drugs and petty crime. John’s upbringing and conscience had not left him and by small acts of kindness he was, unwittingly, beginning to bring out the good in even the roughest of his companions, until they began to suspect that his behaviour was threatening their way of life. When John was apprehended for some crime they made him the scapegoat for all their criminal activity. The rest of the gang were pleased to see the end of him as he was swallowed up in the penal systems. Guilty though he knew he was he never abandoned hope, even in the grimmest cell in the bowels of the antiquated prison. His sentence was, however, short and he had the good fortune to talk to a sympathetic prison chaplain who restored his faith in himself and the mercy and might of God.
So, when he was thrown out of the prison gate like jetsam, equipped only with a sleeping bag and little money, he determined to set off for the great city which he had originally felt commanded to convert. Arriving in the noisy and busy city, found to his surprise that he became an immediate sensation; he was a celebrity, interviewed on television and even encouraged to form a new political party. WhatsApp, Facebook, Instagram and Twitter could hardly keep pace with the growing and now universal calls for abstinence and kindness in all quarters and before long the government gave in to demands for less growth, for higher taxes to discourage ostentatious consumption and huge investment in making human life sustainable while restoring what was left of the natural world. The promised disaster had been averted and the great city was even becoming a model to others.
John, however, after the first tsunami of influence had subsided, found himself again washed up on a lonely shore. He had come to the city to threaten rather than encourage; the dire consequences of the city dwellers behaviour seemed so inevitable he could not comprehend the possibility of his warnings actually being heeded. That so many million people might really change their ways was simply incredible. He found himself the unbelieving agent of a power beyond his understanding. And having heard and heeded his message those city dwellers were now uninterested in the messenger.
In a massive sulk he took himself off to a car park on the outskirts of the city – abandoned, as needing to “Park and Ride” was now unthinkable; owning a private car had become an embarrassment and travelling to the city everybody used the train and hired a bicycle on arrival. In this bleak desert he sat down on the tarmac breathing suicidal resentment at that voice which had told him to announce the destruction of the city; a destruction which never- at least never yet- came.
He dozed off exhausted by his anger and resentment but was woken by a thud behind him. He turned round to see a small tent. It was getting dark, and colder and so this seemed an extraordinary piece of luck, especially as John still had the sleeping bag so presciently provided by the prison. Fortunately, too the tarmac was already decaying, and tent pegs easily penetrated it, so he was soon cosily asleep and not even dreaming of the injustice done to him.
During the night, however, a great wind got up and blew away the tent; the tarmac was really not at all solid. Dawn found John shivering with tiredness and cold, nursing further resentment at the injustice of his situation.
As when in the depth of prison, he had nevertheless reflected on the providence of God and appealed with a thankful heart on the mercies he had been shown, so now the realisation came to him that even in the most miserable of states he should still be grateful to God who had stirred his conscience. Why should not God, he reflected, avert the destruction of a great city that had repented and was now as close as any city was ever likely to be to doing His heavenly Will on Earth. Who was he, John, to complain when an unsought and underserved tent was blown away?
Humbled and contrite, he wandered back into the city where some kind soul- there were many kind souls there now- recognised and took pity on the 24 hour celebrity who had sparked the revolution which resulted in the city’s happiness and peace. He was given enough for his fare home, where he was welcomed by his surprised family who thought him and his tiresome conscience long lost. And I am pleased to say he lived with them, happily ever after. Amen.