i was running late entering sunday morning worship service: the liquid contents of the cup i was holding spilled all over the tiled floor as i sprinted down the aisle, leaving a delectable aroma of freshly brewed coffee all over the place. with disheveled hair and wearing a crumpled, un-ironed shirt, i waved at everybody to their delight, and sat down gasping for breath.
i didn’t realize there was a wake in church this morning. joyful and vibrant singing had passed away. the whole congregation was mourning, (but clueless,) as the melody dragged its feet, as they sang, ‘glory be the God the Father, glory be to God the Son…’
then the minister stood behind the pulpit, took out the little black book, and dished out the free exposition, way above the heads of the small cosmopolitan congregation. those who were able to reach it had longer arms than the rest and had the ability to stretch it out to grasp the lofty expressions. the others held on to the little they could get their hands on, that was delivered just slightly above their heads.
the rest did not get much — if at all they did get anything.
some were like prophets in a trance, transported elsewhere in an altered state of consciousness — hearing words audibly in one’s head and seeing alternate visions… dreaming.
some brought their darling pets along with them and were obviously distracted all the way, to get anything of what was thrown above the heads of the listless mob. at every turn the pet would fidget in their heads and claw on their thoughts compelling them to yield to its demands: whatever it takes to draw their attention away from the free exposition, the darling pet does.
many missed the free exposition swirling right above their heads because they were either too busy calling the attention of those people they knew needed it most and happily pointing the finger at them; others threw the free exposition back at the minister with the little black book in resentment and avowed disapproval; others, being too self-absorbed, tried to avoid spears hurling in their direction, seeing how sharp the ends were that pointed towards them.
others were not able to get much because the free exposition delivered above the heads of the congregation had already fallen on the floor and splattered in an indistinguishable mass before they could extend their hands to catch some. all they could get to in good time were the refreshments, which were served after the free exposition. too little… too late!
but the rest who forsake the assembly — and those who habitually do so — were slowly being transplanted by north koreans, soviets, and iraqis who would have loved free exposition, but are either prohibited, bound and imprisoned, or, happily… have been killed.