Prayer Day

Prayer day. In the church. Hard work.

At least I have work.

Before I started I met a man from New Brunswick who is looking for a job. He says it's difficult here because he has to leave the shelter at six in the morning every day taking all his belongings with him. If he had a place to stay, where he could leave his bag and phone messages could be left, he thinks he'd have no problem finding a job. The next hurdle would be the first month's rent and a damage deposit for an apartment. At ten dollars an hour. The shelter opens again at six thirty in the evening and once he is in for the evening, he may not leave. This is not to criticize the shelter people. They have economic and dysfunctional-people realities with which to deal. How does one break out of that? Is there a way break in to it and transform it?

I walked the streets praying "Oh, Jesus!" for a while. Didn't know what else to say. Prayed past empty shop fronts and full ones. The empties don't look good. Sad. Dreamless. Poor. Like the man from New Brunswick.

Sitting still in here today lays bare all the imperfections, problems that seem insoluble, suffering, incompetence and ineptitude in the world; mine included. People I can't fix have nowhere to live and aren't able to find a way to make a decent living. A demented young man in a gas mask shoots and kills people out for a good time at a Batman premiere. Young women disappear. Syrians kill each other and each other's wives and children.

Oh, Jesus!

The man from New Brunswick smiled as he told me about Prince Charles walking up to him, shaking his hand and chatting with him down by the port on the tour in St John. I wish King Jesus would do the same and fill his life with living. Maybe he already has and the man failed to notice and walked away.

The pulse of GX Dance Studio summer break dance camp bass beats below. Empty pews yawn at me. Jesus watches me through stained glass. He knows.

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