He still doesn’t know what he did wrong.
Because rich people never do.
I am often personally offended by the audacity of the rich.
The balls it must take to flaunt the trappings of wealth to the whole world.
First of all, it really pisses off those who have to watch how much the people around them suffer from need and want. Not of material wants. No, just a meal and a pillow to lay their heads down on. Even a bowl of gruel is a feast. That’s just wrong.
And we all know that there are things that can’t be counted. The poor around the world is a population that never gets numbered at all. Mainly because they are invisible to people because they are homeless. How do they get heard or seen? Can you count them by the bodies bearing the stench of death gathered by the hapless who draw such duty?
No.
Can you go through an alley, the stink of waste necessitating HAZMAT suits, doing a headcount?
Of course not.
How about by the number of people evicted from housing or put to the streets by foreclosures?
Hell no.
Then how? How to count those squatting in shells of condemned buildings? You’ll never find them. Police can’t go there. A fire built for warmth in winter on a frigid night in the row homes with no cars ever parked there, a city block driven past by day but never at night, spreads. Out of control, it could build for far too long before anyone in the distance sees flames from the roof and calls in to 911.
Only when the adjacent occupied buildings on the next street out back are threatened does anyone care. They’re evacuated in the cold night and stand, bitterly smelling of smoke, enraged that an abandoned building has disturbed their sleep. Until that moment they had forgotten about the place. And what about the squatters? If found dead, it’s a crime statistic. People shouldn’t squat; it’s illegal. If found alive, the people want blood. The squatters are charged with trespassing and arson.
Just another statistic for the crime blotter. The Red Cross helped the displaced. They’ll either be okay, or, in short order, join the ranks of invisible men and women and children who huddle under blankets and piss all over the sidewalk. They stink of zombies, making passersby in the day gag or heave.
Then they are never counted again. They are not people. Not human. The only way they are identified is by default, an unfair one. Drug users who have refused housing or been kicked out for violating the conditions of the program that placed them are everywhere. One street in the Bronx grows to three; in Brooklyn and Queens it slowly rises in a literal Fibonacci sequence. In Winter the police round up these wretched and take them to shelters in a van. Some hide. In the morning if the night stayed below freezing long enough, they’re just dead bodies. That’s it.
By summer they get methadone in the morning, then with panhandled or stolen cash, follow the replacement drug with heroin, pills and anything else they can. Used needles litter the streets and gutters. They’re everything you want to avoid from their stench to the savages they morph into when coming down from fentanyl-infused pills and smack. And the glass pipers are the worst of the lot.
In New York City, you get to know where you can walk, and that your route to the train, market or McDonald’s might change tomorrow.
Most of those are dual-diagnosis patients, once evaluated as having a mental illness and drug or alcohol addiction. The law prohibits keeping them hospitalized beyond 72 hours. Then they’re back and once again the scary things that give others nightmares.
It is hardly fair. But then, neither is it fair for evicted people who don’t have substance abuse problems to be avoided by association. They need help. They beg for it. But most often there isn’t any. Housing for poverty-level families and individuals is short. By lottery they are called to interview and biased people judge who is and who is not “desirable” or “qualified”.
It’s all chaos. Cruelty. Those two mix, and people suffer.
And then they die.
In all this, the concrete and asphalt canyons, is it any wonder then, that the man who still doesn’t know what he did wrong, and worse, tells himself that he did no wrong at all, became a victim?
It hardly baffles me, because such a man is arrogant, and in his arrogance, reaped a bit of what he sowed.
Or did he? That is a valid question right now.
During a livestream sermon, Brooklyn preacher “Bishop” Lamor Miller-Whitehead (he’s not really a bishop. He took the title!) was interrupted by two gunmen and robbed along with his wife of jewelry. The take: one million in fine jewelry and gems including rubies, emeralds and diamonds. The thieves were spotted in a white Mercedes.
Say what?
A Mercedes…
That just seems off to me. However:
The so-called pastor with the qualifications of a tech school certification is crying out for vengeance. He calls it justice but I know that if this is really a legitimate heist, he wants more than arrests. He is thirsty for revenge. His offer of 50 grand for information on the thieves seems odd to me. The man must be tripping in money.
How does that happen?
Because when it comes to religion, the gullible sheep, hungry for hope and for Godly help have been conditioned to give money to get something in return. Lies about riches from God pouring down on them are old lies perpetuated by the likes of Joel Osteen and other rich preachers who care nothing about us but very much about our money. They don’t speak for God, they speak only for themselves.
Is that the case for Whitehead?
Yes. Obviously so.
For appearances he’s brought in a therapist for those present. In light of his lifestyle, he just doesn’t want to lose paying parishioners. I doubt very much that he gives a damn about them.
Known for having custom clothes, each suit likely costing two or three mortgage payments, the man flaunts his wealth and possessions in direct opposition to Christian doctrine. Christ said “A man cannot serve two masters, God and money.”
He followed up with “I say to you, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.” That’s one very dark warning. The eye of a needle he spoke of had nothing to do with sewing. It refers to a gate, usually arched but extremely narrow and with such low clearance that a tall beast of burden could not pass. In other words, Rich men will rarely go to heaven. In his travels, Christ warned, “Woe to the rich, for they already have their reward.” They would go no further. Death was the end of the line for them.
Leading by example, Yeshua ish Nazareth lived on what he and his Apostles could scrounge or the food offered them. Yet he never failed to serve others first. He washed the feet of his own followers, went hungry, and Judas ish Kerioth was the purse keeper who up until his betrayal was otherwise a seemingly well-intentioned man. Even then, Christ insisted on giving to the poor.
Such humility and kindness is never to be seen these days. Charitable people make a big deal out of it. There are exceptions like Spike Lee and Taylor Swift who do great things you’ll never read about. The best of us can’t boast. Silent are the ones who give from the heart with love and compassion. Rich clergy are not among them.
I’m going to pray for Mr. Whitehead. Not for him to gain revenge or to recover what was stolen. No, I cannot be put upon to do something so petty in prayer. Instead I will pray for him to see the error of his materialism and the sin of misguiding the children of God, stealing from them all the while. For the present, he has no idea what he did wrong.
The question, in the end, is, did this ersatz bishop get so arrogant about his wealth, did he flaunt it so much, that even during services he was bound to be a target?
Or was it a setup for insurance money? If so, it almost had to be public. Perhaps that explains the getaway in a Mercedes and why the video has vanished.
As he put it, “this is about me purchasing what I want to purchase.”
It’s not.
Leading a church is not about that. It’s about giving people hope through the example and sacrifice of Christ. It’s about helping them, not fleecing them of their money. And it certainly isn’t about a leader adorned in rings, pendants and custom suits.
But then again, you can only reap what you sow. A lesson to be learned and held close to your heart.
May you be well and at peace until we meet again. God bless.
Sources: CNN, New York Post
Memoirs of an American Asshole 