Behold, in these latter days, the people dwell in great cities, their eyes fixed upon screens of glass, their hearts ensnared by the ceaseless hum of digital voices. From the flooded streets of Valencia, where the waters rose in wrath, to the scorched fields of California, where wildfires devour the land, the earth itself cries out against the weight of your iniquities. You chase riches, calling it progress, while wars rage in distant lands—Ukraine’s cities crumble, Haiti’s people languish in chaos, and the nations arm themselves for strife yet to come. Yet still, you hoard treasures, blind to the Giver, your souls withering in the shadow of your own making.
Woe unto this generation, for you have set your hearts upon fleeting things—upon wealth that slips through your fingers like the cryptocurrency bubbles that burst, upon pleasures that vanish like the fleeting trends of your TikTok scrolls. You call evil good and good evil, lifting up influencers who speak smooth words, who promise ease without effort, prosperity without principle. You shower them with your likes, your subscriptions, your gold, and say, "These are our prophets, for they tell us all is well."
Yet the sword of justice hangs over you. The land groans under your greed—plastic chokes the oceans, storms batter the coasts, and pestilence lingers in the air, as the pandemics of yesterday warn of tomorrow’s plagues. Behold, the Lord speaks: "Repent, or I will withdraw my Spirit from you. Your treasures shall become as dust, your cities shall crumble, your systems—your banks, your grids, your supply chains—shall fail." Four generations shall not pass before the consequences of your choices overtake you, unless you turn again unto me.
Woe unto the cities of this age—New York, London, Beijing—for they are spared only by the righteous among you, those who still seek truth amidst the chaos of X posts and breaking news. But if you cast them out, if you silence their voices in the din of cancel culture or scorn their warnings as outdated, then shall destruction come swiftly, and none shall stay its hand.
Hearken, O people, to the words of the Lord! Your riches are cursed, for you have forgotten the Giver. Your tools vanish—your jobs lost to algorithms, your privacy stolen by data breaches. Your security slips away—not by chance, but by the curse of a land forsaken. You seek happiness in doing iniquity, applauding pride parades while ignoring the homeless at your gates, but joy is found only in righteousness. Turn from your envy, your malice, your endless striving for that which cannot satisfy.
O ye wicked and perverse generation, how long will you choose darkness over light? The anger of the Lord is kindled—see it in the hurricanes that tear through Florida, the famines that stalk Africa, the divisions that fracture your elections. Yet His mercy waits. Repent, and He will turn away His wrath. Blessed are they who humble themselves, who serve their neighbor, who remember their God amid the clamor of this world. But woe unto those who harden their hearts, for their desolation is sure.
Hear my words, O people of this land, and let not your probation pass in vain. Cast off the chains of your folly—your obsession with screens, your worship of wealth, your neglect of the earth and its people. Seek the Lord while He may be found, and pray that His anger be turned from you. Repent, and be saved.
Signed
John The-Not-So-Beloved
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