The Down-Side Up
(Originally posted on Medium, in January 2018)
If I have any consolation as this Kingdom of Man is shaken and rent, a spewing stream of chaos, it is from the blowing wind that turns everything on its head: Those who stand up straight, fall on their crowns. Those hung upside down are put with their feet on the heads of the strong and the powerful.
I am among the last few to come to grips with it. This Kingdom was never the city of God. Even though I would deny it, I long still believed that it was. For many brothers and sisters it has so often, and so long, been a city of desolation. Babylon. For many of us, it’s taking a reality-tv-becoming-reality-reality to shake us out of our bourgeoisie, West Wing, optimism.
And while this devastates and breaks my heart, I am more thankful than ever for the city of God. It truly feels like a stream of cold water again. It was dead on my lips. It was noise in the background. For it is clearer than ever that the city of God, the world of the Down-Side Up, is something entirely different than the Kingdom of Man.
In this city, this Down-Side Up, the shitholes are first. They are the heirs to the throne, they are the blessed ones. There are no walls or boundaries. Boundaries are made a mockery. Those underneath the table are the hosts. They will stand in judgment upon the rest of us, with their shithole King of the Jews, the King of Nazareth.
In the Down-Side Up, the Child of God has the final word. No bumbling narcissist, no slick politician, no council or court. A brown carpenter, a victim of Imperial police brutality, a smelly mystic from the shithole of all shitholes.
Unlike The Man, who is ever treacherous, this little Child is fierce and generous.
And so, strangely enough, touching the darkness of my cynicism, my rage, my claustrophobia, there is a light. A new joy. A thankfulness. What good news(!) that this kingdom of lies is *not* the kingdom of truth. Surprise of all surprises, delight of all delights.
Oh this world, this city, is often soiled by those who claim to be its officiants and representatives. They pay their dues to the Principality of Man, the City of the Devil. The Down-Side Up is a Grace they try to wield, but which quickly exposes them. Grace goes where it wills. It shows up on its own accord. We must simply bow our heads before it.
No, the wind blows in spite of them, in spite of us. It blows where it wills. In and out of our boundaries and doors and buildings and borders. It is thickest in the corners we ignore. It is heavy upon the lands raped by our ancestors, the fields decimated by shaking rocks and terrorizing rains and men with guns.
Indeed, the soil most heavily trampled upon by the feet of powerful men, becomes the rock that unveils the jewels that makes the crown of the viceroys of the Coming Jerusalem. The bottom becomes the top.
These people know more of life than you, their hands have carried more than you, their backs have broken more times than yours, their hearts have contained more than yours.
So keep playing with your words and your childish fantasies, your boorish neuroses. Keep playing. Play all you want. Live by your libido and your greed and your fear and your paranoid nightmares. You make a fool out of yourself. On that Day, you will be the brunt of a billions-year-old joke.