We prayed for your return, Elijah. We imagined you among us, a superior man. We unfurled our carpets, adorned our buildings, swept clean the streets expecting your arrival.

And who came in your stead? A rough man of the wilderness. He led us into the desert, crying, “Repent!” A lunatic. His clothes made us laugh. He was so uncouth. What else could we do but scorn him?

And you, Lord, we soberly awaited, imagining that you led a mighty army into battle. We saw you wielding your swift sword, smocked in the blood of your enemies.

But who came in your stead? A heretic carousing with the rabble. An impostor. What could we do but mock him and deliver him to justice?

And the last generation? How will it repent what it cannot even regret? But this time there will be no mocking. For from the east as far as the west it will be obvious.


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