Born Among Ruins

There had been signs. They started becoming more noticeable in 2016 AD - whispers of false prophets, the persecution of the innocent, and a world that had forgotten mercy. Tolerance waned, cruelty was applauded, and the false god — money — was worshipped above all.

Now the planets align. We are in the Age of Aquarius. Truths are unravelling.

They have returned, as They always do. Never the same, never predictable, but always destined to walk this earth once more, wherever they were needed. Martyred in every generation, yet somehow, after each sacrifice, the world rights itself - if only for a time. Their deaths have never been met with enough fanfare, unlike the very first one. They are always born on the brink of war, in a world already fractured. And when They are gone, the war ends - sometimes quietly, as if waiting for Their sacrifice to bring it to rest.

They never live past 33. Never once.

The last time, They died in a civil war, cut down after an impassioned speech to those fighting for freedom. Betrayed - there is always one, always a Judas.

But now, They are almost 40. Six years beyond Their appointed end. The waiting has become a slow agony, stretching into a seventh year. And yet, the signs - They see them clearly.

The ignorant kneel before a brass calf, chanting as if he could grant salvation. Wars rage in lands where They once belonged — now ruled by tyrants whose ancestors once demanded Their crucifixion. Bombs fall on homes, children die nameless in the rubble, and those who cry for peace are silenced as traitors.

The poorest suffer. In border camps, They saw a mother holding her starving child, whispering prayers to a god who never answers. The blameless are condemned. A protester in yarmulke, beaten to the ground. A woman in hijab, ridiculed in the marketplace. Hatred festers. A preacher screams of fire and damnation, but his hands drip with stolen gold.

Yet, even in darkness, there is light.

They saw a girl, no older than 15, shielding an elderly protester from police batons.

They saw a woman at the airport, tearing down a sign that called human beings "illegals".

They saw a man in keffiyeh punch a neo-fascist in the face for raising his arm in the old Roman salute.

They saw a boy, shivering in the cold, give his only coat to a stranger.

And so They come back, whenever the world is in chaos. Whenever and wherever They are most needed.

Though the end is near, They will always return — for humanity, for hope, for justice. Without fanfare. Without spectacle. The signs will be there, for those who choose to see.

For as long as there are those who stand against injustice, They remain.

They will come.

They will deliver.

And They pray, always, that the world's greatest sin will never be indifference.