[Consumer salvation failing its own messiah]

The messiah is an archetype humans hold mostly as God:
a final receipt, a lifetime warranty,
a being who will, for the low price of belief,
absolve the cart, empty the wish list,
deliver next-day peace.

So they dressed Him in limited-edition skin,
wrapped the cross in shrink-wrap,
turned the nails into loyalty points
that never quite redeem.

He stands now in the cathedral of the mall,
halo replaced by LED ring light,
hands raised not in blessing
but in that universal gesture:

Do you want fries with that?

The sermon streams in 4K:
Suffer now, pay later.

Your brokenness is trending.
Your pain is pre-approved.
He tries to speak in parables
but the algorithm keeps cutting
Him off at 60 seconds.
He tries to multiply loaves
but the bakery sues for copyright infringement.

He tries to heal the leper
security escorts Him out for not wearing shoes.

On Black Friday He is crucified again
between two flat-screen TVs,
crown of thorns rebranded
as a seasonal fashion statement,
marked down 70%.

His final words are lost
under doorbuster announcements
and the soft mechanical voice repeating:

Your call is important to us.
Please stay on the line.
The tomb is a storage unit
in a suburb that used to be a garden.

On the third day
the stone rolls back by itself
because the rental fee bounced.

He walks out empty-handed,
no merchandise, no rewards card,
no receipt to prove He ever belonged to them.

The messiah is an archetype humans hold mostly as God
until the return window closes.

Then He is just a man
with holes in His pockets
and nowhere left to spend or go.

:: 12.12.2025 ::