It was springtime and the spring bloomed. Easter time. If the spring is a time of new growth it is also a time of renewed youth. I sat at the back of the rock n' roll Jesus church on the floor, legs crossed, tradition broken, brow furrowed with a slight curl to my lip. A skeptic. Not of God or the power of prayer or love or community - I am a skeptic of influence. You simply are not the word, I thought. But I listened and watched the kids pass to the back where toys and fun and other kids play so they don't have to sit through the entire homily, bored. Never get into it with preachers I reminded myself. Preachers are like drunks, belligerent and diseased or lying. The kids seem to know this by instinct. God is where the fun is, with the toys and joy, with mom and a warm breast or on the long expanse of lawn where Rose secretly hid the eggs.
God is everywhere Rose.
Huh?
I said, God is everywhere, he is in everything you do. The preacher said to me audibly for the room to hear.
Was I speaking?
You said, God is where the fun is.
I said that out loud?
Confused, the preacher looked toward me, smiled and said with certainty, you said that out loud.
Never get into it with a preacher, I thought.
Apologies, please continue, I added as the soft creak of chairs and uncomfortable shifts became more noticeable.
Would you like to pray?
Together yes but not for me, not now and here for me like this.
Don't get into it, I thought again. Don't get into it.
Don't get into it? the preacher said.
Damn it! Did I say that out loud?
Yes, Rose, you did.
I'm sorry, please continue,ignore my interruption. Mass resumed.
Jesus, what comes next dear lord?
Submission.
To what?
To what? C'mon. God. Submission. Giving up. Giving in. Going down the river. Submit fool.
Um, ok, take me then.
My lord, my love, sing this. You'll know my love then when you sing.
But you are not my lord, are you?
I am a messenger.
Where is my lord?
Your lord is certainty.
Where is certainty?
Silence.
So I joined the chorus and from the pew I sang and as I sang I felt better and bolder and raised my hammer higher and as I placed it low it split the seat and made a crow and a crack. SCREECH, SPLIT, CLUNK, above my junk.
1 comment:
laughed, realized, then laughed again. thanks prose, papa z
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