I was sitting in my truck outside the landfill at 5 AM, scrolling through another preacher's fall. Another scandal. Another comments section turned colosseum. My phone screen glowed like a modern-day crystal ball, showing me the wreckage of men who once stood behind pulpits. That's when the Hebrew word hit me—אַחֲרִית. Acharit. The ability to see your end from your beginning. What if we could? What if that pastor could've seen himself in handcuffs before he reached for what wasn't his? The poem came fast after that, angry and grieving all at once.
If You Could See Your אַחֲרִית (Acharit)
A poem for the age of spiritual voyeurism
I. The Freak Show Opens at Dawn
They're selling tickets to the fall again—another preacher's private hell gone public,Another shepherd's sheep left bleedingwhile the comments section feeds.
YouTube's become our holy colosseum,where we watch the righteousget eaten by their secrets,frame by frame, sin by sin,Spiritual snuff films for the sanctified.
And I'm thinking of אַחֲרִית—that Hebrew word that meansto see your end before you start,to taste tomorrow's vomitbefore tonight's first drink.
If that bishop could've seen himselfweeping into prison concrete,Would he have reached for that first boy?If she could've seen herselfpacing that motel floor at 3 AM,Twenty years gone and nothing left to sell,Would she have said yes that first time?
But here we are—The bearded lady of belief,The strongman who can't lift his own shame,all of us freaks in this tent,pretending we're just here to watch.
II. The Drunk Never Sees the Floor Coming
There's a man I know who started with communion wine,ended face-down in a trailer,drowning in his own—But you clicked for scandal, not sermons.
See, that's what אַחֲרִית means:If you could see yourselfIn that fluorescent gas station light,shaking as you count quarters for one more,teeth gone, dignity pawned,Your kids crossing streets to avoid you—Brother, you'd never take that first sip.
But Jeremiah knew what we refuse to learn:"Make him drunk, for he magnified himself...Moab shall wallow in his vomit,and become a laughingstock."
And ain't that what we've become?A laughingstock in high definition,Our falls live-streamed for the faithfulWho swear they're prayingwhile they're really just watching,voyeurs in the house of God.
III. She Never Saw the Needle in the Haystack
If that pastor's wife could've seenher final performance—not behind a pulpit but a dumpster,not speaking in tongues but begging for one more hit,track marks like a roadmap to hellwritten on arms that once raised in worship—
Would she have taken that first pill"Just for the back pain"?
This is אַחֲרִית—the terrible giftof seeing where the path leadsbefore your foot finds the first step.
The prostitute in Proverbs,She's not selling sex,She's selling endings:"Her house is the way to Sheol,going down to the chambers of death."
Every door opened in darknessIt’s a door that won't close in daylight.Every secret fed at midnightgrows teeth by morning.
IV. The Circus We Call Church
I've been following Jesus since I was twelve,through storms that would've sunkany fair-weather apostle.But if it wasn't for those nightsWhen he met me in the deepest dark,I'd have left this freak show years ago.
'Cause we've made faith into a sideshow:"Step right up, see the fallen prophet!Watch the pastor's marriage implode!Live testimony meets LiveLeak!"
We feast on failure like it's communion bread,wash it down with brothers' blood,call it discernment, call it accountability,But it's just voyeurism with a Bible verse attached.
Where's the אַחֲרִית in our judgment?Can't we see our own endIn every stone we throw?
V. The End From the Beginning
Isaiah said God declares "the end from the beginning"—He sees your אַחֲרִית before you're even born.Every fork in the road,every almost-sin,Every "just this once" that becomes just your life.
If you could see yourself at the end—Would you recognize the wreckage?
The executive who started skimming "just to get by,"now doing twenty-five to life.The mother who took that first drink to cope,Now her kids are raising themselves.The preacher who clicked that first link,now his hard drive's evidence exhibit A.
We're all one choice awayfrom becoming someone's cautionary tale,another testimony turned true crime podcast.
VI. But Grace Sees אַחֲרִית Too
Here's what kills me—Grace sees the end, too.Sees you face-down in whatever pig penyou're racing toward,and still reaches out a hand.
That's the scandal we should be streaming:not how far we fall,But how far He'll go to catch us.
I'm tired of Christian vulturescircling every wounded soul,waiting to make content from carrion.
If we could see our own אַחֲרִית,we'd spend less time documenting others' demiseand more time pulling people from the pit.
VII. The Wisdom of Considering the End
So here's my confession:I've seen too much to play church,been too broken to throw stones,know too well how thin the line isbetween testimony and tabloid.
אַחֲרִית—it's not about fear,it's about wisdom,about counting the costbefore you pay the price.
Every drunk was once just thirsty.Every addict was once just hurting.Every scandal was once just a secret.Every ending has a beginningwe were too blind to see coming.
So next time you click on someone's collapse,ask yourself:What's your אַחֲרִית?What ending are you writingWith today's choices?
'Cause brother, sister—We're all just one bad decisionfrom becoming the next link shared,The next fall streamed,The next freak in this show.
But if you could see your end...God knows, if you could just see your end...Maybe you'd choose a different beginning.
The old rabbis taught that wisdom begins with considering your acharit—your end, not in some morbid, death-obsessed way, but like a man checking his rearview mirror before changing lanes. See, the Hebrew mind understood something we've lost in our instant-gratification wasteland: the future walks backward into you. You can't see it coming, but God can. Isaiah knew it: "I declare the end from the beginning." Every choice you make today is writing tomorrow's headline. Every secret you feed in the dark is programming your finale.
The beautiful terror of אַחֲרִית is this: it's not fate. It's trajectory. Change your beginning, you change your end. That's why grace is so scandalous—it lets you rewrite your acharit mid-sentence. But we'd rather watch someone else's story crash and burn than examine our own plot line.
What trajectory are you on that needs interrupting before it writes itself to completion?
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