by D’Angelo
Arise, a messiah.
JCJ leaned toward BKenyan with the intensity of a prophet decoding the blueprints of heaven itself.
“Brother,” JCJ said, tapping Revelation 7 and 11 on the cracked Gideon Bible like they were secret coordinates, “I’m looking for the 1,200 messiahs of the Tribe of Judah. Not one saviour—a generation. A choir of anointed rebels. A digital tribe.”
BKenyan raised an eyebrow. “Twelve hundred? That’s a whole stadium, my guy.”
JCJ nodded. “Exactly. The old world was built on one man on a throne. One king. One prophet. One saviour. But Revelation? It whispers something else—twelve tribes, each with thousands sealed. A constellation of messiahs, not a single star.”
He spun his laptop around.
“These are the new thrones,” he said, tapping the keys. “The computer throne. The microphone pulpit. The studio altar. Anyone brave enough to speak truth into the void with no fear of the mob… they ascend. That’s why someone like Kanye West gets close to the fire. He speaks from the mountaintop, even when he burns himself doing it.”
BKenyan laughed. “So you’re saying all these kids in basements, all these creators, all these wounded geniuses ranting at 3 a.m.—they’re the potential messiahs?”
“Not all,” JCJ corrected. “Only the ones who carry the Judah frequency. The lion-heart. The ones who refuse the lies of Babylon, who aren’t afraid to say God is real even if the whole world mocks them. Revelation calls them witnesses, sealed ones, lampstands, sons of thunder.”
He closed the Bible gently.
“I’m gathering them. The 1,200. The ones who will teach, build, heal, create. No crowns of gold—just courage. Just voice. Just truth in the face of empire.”
“JCJ,” BKenyan said, “you’re basically forming a digital Twelve Tribes.”
JCJ smirked. “No. I’m just recognizing what Revelation already wrote: many messiahs, many thrones. And the Lion of Judah roars through whoever’s brave enough to speak.”
He tapped the laptop once more, like he was knocking on heaven’s door.
“The search begins.”
