Back Alley Tabernacle

Vignette 6

Let those who have ears, hear, and them that have eyes, see: a back alley festooned with a fine patina, the color of freshly tilled soil. Thin trails of incense stream from exhaust pipes and holes in the ancient brickwork — the stones of the once great temple of Solomon. Yet here, still silver is thrown away as worthless. Listen. The subway moving through the arteries below the streets rattles and shakes every loose piece of delicate ductwork and flimsy fire escape, like the sonorous jingling of sequins on a ceremonial robe. See now the priest, he sleeps there in the alley, that most desolate and dejected place, rendering it the tabernacle by his very presence — a modern manger. The barrel of warm flame, a veritable burning bush which speaks in a still, small voice to the cries of its people. And now shouts of praise and worship and reverie ring out through the alleys from the elated mouths of fervent petitioners, while all the sleeping congregants dream their unspoken prayers in ignorance. They coalesce into a delicate dream state, covering everything in velvet. Awaken, O’ sleeper, rise up from your comfort. See now the illuminating lights of neon that gild the signage, casting all in a rainbow of light and glory — the promise of a nightlife. At the rear of the alley is the altar of the priest, a large dumpster the color of a still lake. Within it, sacrifices are rendered, each garbage bag a museum of its household: are these offered things truly the first fruits of their labor? Beside the dumpster lay prayer mats of cardboard worn thin and raw from the constant devotion of its kneeling supplicant. The Levitical man lay across the length of cardboard, a John the Baptist in the wilderness of a concrete jungle. His ragged green jacket in place of a tunic of camel hair; heroin in place of locusts. The burn holes in the jacket fabric could be the nails through Jesus’s wrists. His state of nodding out, the cries of Ezekiel in the desert. Behold, the weeping prophet — see the canvas who shows the sins of the world. Remove thy sandals, for the place on which you walk is holy ground. And hear now the Pharisees as they condemn the Samaritan who crosses the alley to give gold coins to this holy priest made beggar at the gate called Beautiful. They say in their hearts, Silver and gold I do have, but what I have I will not give you. Is it not the rich who are in need of wealth? But the heart is deceitful above all things. Do you love this holy child, this Luddite beggar man with crescent moons of dirt beneath his nails? The rats and pigeons have nests of their own, but this son of man has no place to rest his head. Do you love him? Then break Sabbath law and perform a miracle. Or will you cross to the other side of the road? Do you love him? Then go to that place and preach the good news. Or will you flee to Jappa and board the boat to Tarshish? Here now is your brother, your sister, your mother. Take up your cross and follow into the back alley.