A Convening of Heaven's Conference Table.

"There will never be any peace...until God is seated at the conference table". (The ChiLites, 1973).

"Hear ye. Hear ye. By the power of the All Seeing and Unseen, I thus make this holy proclamation to declare, affirm and acknowledge that...

Earth can no longer be ignored. Men have taken it upon themselves to become self-professed deities, gods as it were. This can no longer be tolerated. "Operation Judgement of Humanity Conference is hereby convened".

The summons goes out long before anyone admits to hearing it. A low, metallic chime...too soft to be an alarm, too insistent to be ignored ~ it threads its way through the upper precincts of Heaven, brushing past clouds, archives, and the quiet alcoves where minor deities nap with one eye open. No one can later agree on when it began. Only that it must have, because now all of the relevant celestial representatives are all here, gathered around the vast conference table that gleams like an endless polished horizon.

The meeting has been called to address the new state of war in the world below, though even that phrasing feels premature. The war is not quite a war yet ~ more like a series of misaligned actions and gestures ~ a grand, poorly planned choreography of threats and counter-threats - where the innocent seems to be bearing the brunt of human stupidity. Yet it seems unable to become quite settled into its final shape. Still, the gods, angels and other heavenly agents have convened, as protocol demands, though protocol itself seems to be hesitating at the threshold.

A Storm deity from the western quadrant clears her throat, as if preparing to speak, but the sound comes out thin and uncertain, like a cloud deciding whether to rain. She glances at her notes ~ blank, of course ~ still, she pretends this is normal.

Across from her, a war god with a dented helmet taps one finger on the table. The rhythm is irregular, almost apologetic. “So,” he says, not quite committing to the word. “We’re… here.”

A murmur of agreement rises, though no one seems confident about what they’re agreeing to. The god of Boundaries and Borders adjusts his spectacles, which he doesn’t need, and peers down at a map that keeps shifting under his gaze. Lines blur, redraw themselves, then blur again. He nods as if this is exactly what he expected.

“It’s not official yet,” someone offers. “The mortals haven’t declared anything specific.”

“They never declare anything at the right time,” another replies, but without conviction. “Still, we should be… aware.”

A goddess of Mercy folds her hands, then unfolds them, then folds them again. “We’re always aware,” she says, though her voice wavers. “Aren’t we?”

No one answers.

The table whirrs faintly, as if absorbing their uncertainty. A tremor runs along its surface ~ subtle, but unmistakable. A few gods glance at it, then quickly look away. The table has always done that.

The Chair of Celestial Oversight opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “We are gathered,” he begins, though the words feel borrowed, “to discuss the… situation.”

He gestures vaguely toward the world below, which hangs in the air like a grave mistake which everyone regrets. Clouds drift across continents that seem slightly misaligned, as though the planet has shifted on its axis by a fraction of a fraction ~ too small to measure, too large to ignore.

The war god leans forward. “When do we intervene?”

The question lands softly, like a feather that somehow weighs more than it should.

“We don’t know what it is yet,” the storm deity murmurs. “How can we intervene in something that hasn’t decided what it wants to be?”

Silence settles, heavy...expectant ~ the pause before an unspoken prophecy.

The table trembles again ~ longer this time, deeper. A pulse of light flickers beneath its surface ~ something inside it is gathering momentum.

A few gods shift in their seats. A few pretend not to notice. A few stare directly at the tremor ~ daring it to clarify itself.

It doesn’t.

Instead, the vibration deepens, the light brightens, and the air around the table thickens with the sense that something is arriving ~ not yet fully formed, but enough to tilt the room toward its future.

The gods lean in, waiting for the beginning to begin.

And the table, patient and inscrutable, flutters on the verge of action ~ waiting for those who would speak first.

The shift begins so quietly that no one at the long, gleaming table can agree on when it started ~ something in the air feels slightly misbuttoned, as if Heaven itself dressed in a hurry.

The chairs are already filled. A few archangels shuffle their notes with the mild irritation of beings who have never once needed notes. Someone coughs, which is unusual for a celestial gathering. Something strange was occurring in the realm.

At the far end, the Chair of Eternal Oversight clears his throat, but the sound comes out hesitant. A statement that hasn’t decided whether it wants to be spoken. “Well,” he begins, and the word hangs there, unanchored. “Well,” he repeats, as if the second attempt might reveal what the first one lacked.

No revelation arrives.

Just the infernal table, giving off a faint rattle that ripples across its impatient surface ~ barely perceptible, like heat over asphalt. A few attendees again glance at it, then immediately look away, the way one avoids eye contact with a stranger who might ask for directions one cannot give.

Minutes pass. Or maybe they don’t. Time in Heaven is usually crisp and well-behaved, but today it feels like it’s waiting for someone else to go first.

A junior seraph raises a hand, then lowers it before anyone can acknowledge the gesture. “Are we… ever starting?” she murmurs to the angel beside her.

“We’ve started,” he replies with the confidence of someone who is absolutely guessing. “This is the start.”

Across the table, a principality flips through a stack of papers that are all blank. He nods at each page as though it contains exactly the information he expected. “Yes,” he says to no one in particular. “Good. Good.”

The annoying irritation of the table sounds grow a little more insistent ~ like thought trying to form. A few feathers loosen from wings and drift downward, landing without sound. No one comments. Even the feathers are growing weary of the silence.

Someone suggests they review the minutes from the last meeting, but no one can recall what the last meeting was about, or if it happened, or if meetings in Heaven have ever had minutes. Still, they nod, because nodding is easier than confronting the possibility that something fundamental is slipping sideways.

A soft throbbing begins ~ maybe from the table, maybe from the air, maybe from the collective effort of pretending everything is fine. It vibrates just enough to make the glasses of water/beer tremble, though the liquid itself remains perfectly still.

The Chair clears his throat again. “As I was saying,” he begins, though he hadn’t been saying anything. “We are gathered to discuss…” He gestures vaguely toward the center of the table, where the buzzing now pulses ~ a heartbeat trying to calm its rhythm.

Everyone leans forward, waiting for the sentence to continue, for the purpose to reveal itself, for the beginning to finally begin.

It doesn’t.

The thrumming deepens. The glimmer brightens. The feathers continue to fall in slow, deliberate spirals.

The conference table suddenly quietens, standing in reverence...God and Mrs. God finally make their divine appearance. The occupants of Heaven’s conference table seems to inhale, hopefully preparing to begin the debate for the fate of the world.

The room holds its breath, suspended in the moment before the moment, the almost-arrival of something not yet willing to name itself.

The meeting continues, maybe it has or hasn’t started at all. The distinction feels increasingly theoretical.

"Will this time be different". An irreverent Archangel Selaphiel, the Prayer Leader, whispered, no humor in his voice.

"Who knows. Every century or so ~ this conference convenes...humans will always have their wars. Mostly the table watches, wagers and places bets on their favorites". Archangel Jophiel, her of beauty and wisdom, answered.

"SHHHH"! Gabriel the Heavenly Messenger, admonishes annoyingly.

"Place your bets...this time humans have gone too far ~ highest bidder gets to decide their fate". Uriel, the Wisdom Bearer, read aloud the proclamation passed to him from the head of the table.

Humanity's fate hung in the balance once again.