Divine Theatrics

I recently came to the realization that the only people who ever tell me to put my hands in the air are cops, armed robbers and Jesus. And while there are several other characteristics that often blur the line between those three, I will try to only focus on the events surrounding this particular epiphany.

Brandon and I had just learned that people will give you suspicious looks when you are on the beach wildly swinging a golf-club while dressed for neither the beach nor golf. We had made it back to downtown and were turning onto North Fourth Street when I finally gave up trying to articulate my recent bouts with debilitating boredom. I was reaching for the radio knobs when my attention was diverted by the booming voice coming through the driver's side window with that distinctive, hollow conviction that is common among ministers who have long ago made the leap from shepherd to thespian. Brandon, whose eyes were immediately brightenned with a perverse twinkle, informed me of what a perfect opportunity this was to break out of this cycle of boredom. So I cut the block and parked below the neon-backlit sign of the Brooklyn Building.

"Amen"s and "Hallelujah"s assailed us as we crossed the street. The minister, a tall, slender, shaved-bald black man in his early thirties, was in the middle of a seemingly passionate, "amen"-laden diatribe that had no real focus but instead touched on nearly every major aspect of christianity. "Because your sins are forgiven. Amen. Because you have been vindicated with his blood. Amen. Because He will strike down all who oppose Him. Amen."

An usher appeared out of nowhere and nervously showed us to the general vicinity of two empty chairs beneath the big, white, circus-style tent. The tent was home to not only the minister, but also a scant congregation consisting almost entirely of middle-aged black women as well as half of a funk band.

In mid rant, the minister aparently decided that a show of humility was in order and he began to walk around amongst the congregation. He paused next to an elderly white man (coincidentally the only other white person in sight), placed his hand on the man's slumping, plaid shoulder and said, "There are some here today that the Lord has called for a very special purpose." Sparadic "Amen!"s and "Preach it!"s erupted as the minister moved on to finish, without ever touching another member of the congregation, what eventually became a long, meandering, fire-and-brimstone tirade. Towards the end the minister resumed the podium while trailing off into some strange chant that is aparently well known among those who frequent the house of the Lord. The band kicked in with a dragging, stodgy tune that resembled "funk" only in the text-book definition of the term. The bassist's fingers crawled meticulously over the frets in a downtrodden manner, making it obvious to all that if his concentration was broken for even a second they would run unbridled through all of the notes hidden in the back of his mind. The Lord wouldn't stand for it.

The conclusion of the song brought yet another wave of "Praise the Lord!"s and "Amen!"s as well as a single, boisterous "HALLELUJAH!" from Brandon. The minister decided to ride this ripple of energy as far as it would take him. It was time for the final scene. The Grand Finale.
"Now, the Lord performs miracles even today. Amen. We have all seen it. Amen. Folks come in here blind and leave sighted. Amen. They come in in wheelchairs and walk out. Amen."

It is usually fairly easy to tell when things are about to cross that line between weird and fucked up. The turning point this time came when the old man slowly began to make his way to the pulpit as the minister concluded his ramble about healing. The fact that the minister never once asked for volunteers or made any indication that he actually planned on doing any healing made the whole scene seem oddly choreographed at first but not enough to arouse genuine suspicion. The band broke out into another not-so-swinging rhythm as the minister, a helper (who had aparently materialized while I was blinking) and the old man stood softly talking in a huddle just below the pulpit. Once a game plan was decided on, the helper broke huddle to stand behind the old man who was left facing the minister. An abrupt, "Put your hands in the air towards the Lord!" and the mans hands shot quickly to shoulder level in a half-panicked motion that is typically reserved for liquor-store clerks. The minister placed a hand on each of the mans shoulders and bowed his head. It was time for the old man to fulfil that "very special purpose" that the minister spoke of earlier. The old timer obliged by falling backwards into the open arms of the helper who lowered him gently onto the grass. Once again there came the inevitable burst of "Amen!"s and "Hallelujah!"s.

Yes, hallelujah indeed. Praise the Lord that this nameless man that no one other than the minister seemed to have any ties with was finally cured. Cured I say! He will never again be afflicted by that terrible mystery ailment with no visible symptoms! Not after the Lord our God purged his body with a divine sucker-punch that knocked him flat on his ass. It was indeed a miracle.

A towel was gingerly slipped under the old man's head as he lay motionless on the grass. Meanwhile, the minister was busy giving his closing words. And what combination of words could possibly do justice to the miracle that was just witnessed by all?

"Thank you all for coming out tonight. And for all of those who didn't come out, you can just tell them that we hope the ribs were good but we had some good food here tonight too... I sure hope somebody cooked some ribs... or some chicken or something."