Mammon’s Hand
Mark the black and obscure heaven! It is almost entirely shuttered out by the greed of men for monied status and the magnetism of the dollar! Where is the hint of Jesus’ resplendent face through the pall of this wan and enervating kingdom? Oh such a hegemony it asserts! Oh, such a doom to the angels and the luminous hosts above who would sing with us and sport with us through the ages. It is Mammon’s pernicious hand which moves in swarthy blackness through the souls of those it keeps in bondage. It is Mammon’s hand I fear!
The rebellion against the cross is almost absolute, constructed in immovable momentum, in a trance like continuity, with the vitriol toward the holy spirit a default predilection. The rejection of Mammon’s dark puissance is almost unrecognisable, where it should be zealous. Where is the determination to deconstruct and disempower the structures that give the wealthy leave to indulge child molestation, child sacrifice, human trafficking and further kaleidoscopes of fetid debauchery?
Hark the lamentation of God to witness His largesse and good will deflated to almost naught by a system that recognises money as the mark of personal value, rather than the honest representation of Christ. It is a hollow and paltry incentive that drives the cogs of Mammon, to be sure. It is truly a grey and uninspiring tune that animates the inmates of Mammon, who strive nonetheless to achieve betterment. The values are topsy turvy, celebrating a droll commitment to work and toil that offers naught to expand the universe into a stronger unity.
Mammon should in sooth spark the same animosity that flares between a sinner and the cross. Where is the hatred of Mammon’s insidious echelons and capacity for spiritual devolution? How do we garner the same hatred of blank futures that are so predictably assured in Mammon’s wry keeping? Get away, I say! Flee! Make haste to love the cross in greater degree! Why do the notches between rich and poor become more and more unconscionable with time? Mammon lurks in the shadows of reality like a scheming puppeteer, flaring condemnatory responses with force and guiding all to a sad and drab conformity…
