Of Wizards That Peep and Mutter

An old man steps from the darkness, dressed in the fineries of his time, black and white. He grins. A lot. A great hall looms before him as thousands and millions besides pause to hear his voice. 

The thousands and millions do not know it, but he is afraid.

"I have powers," he assures them. "Powers which you are forbidden to hold, or to witness. They are too great for you. My friends and I, we are too good for you."

No one says a word. They continue to listen. 

The old man is still afraid.

"I have gifts," he assures them. "They are very expensive, but they are available to all of you, for a price. These gifts are better than anything you have. If your child goes hungry, it matters not. Pay me for these gifts, or you will die forever."

The audience takes note. Don't pass up the gifts. Pay up.

"I have friends in high places," the man assures them. "They will do my bidding. They are better than you. They know more than you are allowed to know. If you speak ill of me or of them, they will retaliate."

The audience fears him. They will obey, and many shall never utter a disagreement.

"I am perfect," the old man says. "I don't make any mistakes, you can count on it. Some say I make mistakes. They are evil, fear them. Adam and Eve? Mistakes. Jonah? Big mistakes. Peter? Plenty of mistakes. Joseph Smith? He was stupid and unschooled in our wisdom, though he did God's work.

"I don't make mistakes, and I am learned and wise. Don't worry about me. Don' t think about it. I'm incapable of fallacy."

The old man speaks God's sacred name. 

"Amen," he says.

He steps back into the darkness, not to be seen again for months.

The thousands and millions say, "We are a great people, for we have perfection at our head."

They walk into the streets. Scrawny men with shaggy beards ask for money and food. Children languish without fathers. Fathers sit behind bars, though they did not offend God. All these and more cry up to God for deliverance.

"We have not got any money," the thousands say, and walk by. They are priests, they are officials in the fine buildings.

Then they give thousands and millions in money to the old man in the darkness, and the old man buys them expensive gifts. Castles of marble and gold are built around the world as a testimony of his greatness.

Some have no money, and they give not to the old man, for they suffer hunger and are in want of shelter. They beseech the old man, saying, "Pray, let us enter your castles. We wish to know God as well as the others."

"Have you any money?" The old man asks.

"No," they say. Some say their money was stolen. Others that they have nowhere to find or earn money. Others that great tragedies cost them all they had.

"You do not love me enough," says the old man, and slams the doors of his castles in their faces, then lifts his hands to God in prayer.

"We thank thee that we are a chosen people," he says.

And two books open, and in their pages, written over and over again, are the words,

"You are a people chosen by yourselves to be delivered up unto the flood of fire."

And the old man covers his ears and sends his minions to destroy all those who read those words from the books.