keep an eye on us.'
I could tell this would be a conversation at cross-purposes. 'How's the congregation?'
'Sinners still sin. And bingo Saturdays.'
'You can't give me a lead on God's whereabouts, though?'
He stood to his full six-foot-two and bellowed, 'Go thee forth to the highest, for the highest shall become the lowest and the lowest shall become the highest!'
He dropped to his knees, begging St. Herman to eliminate the liquor tax, compulsory education, and foods fried in Crisco.
I stashed the bottle behind the card table altar and left. So much for the voice of authority.
Sunlight splashed the northern Arco Tower remains with smeared reds and oranges as I returned. Rosy fingered Dawn had not yet touched the streets. I walked in a dreamy morning world where light filtered down indirectly from the sky, softening every shadow. An occasional spear of sunshine lanced into the street, reflected from a high window.
On the corner of Figueroa and Fourth stood a man in a dark suit. He held a bunch of magazines close to his chest like a shield. The covers faced outward. He spoke quietly to the bums that passed him and he didn't seem to mind being ignored. He was portly, short-haired, and a little nervous. I didn't blame him, considering the locale.
I wandered over to him to check out the `zine. Sure enough, it was one of those religious societies. Maybe it was worth a try.
'Say, pal. Know of a way I can find God?' I judged the direct approach to be best.
He wearily handed me a copy of the magazine. 'Simply accept Jesus into your life. He is the path from sin to salvation.'
Salvation wasn't exactly what I was looking for. 'No. Thanks. I mean, I want to
God. In the flesh. Or whatever.'
He sighed and answered without looking at me. 'Give me a break, Mac. I've got a long day ahead of me, and I don't need sarcasm.'
I nodded. He was right. A breeze almost tugged the magazine out of my fingers. That was when I noticed it was a Hallelujah House publication.
'Say-this is Emil Zacharias's group, isn't it?'
'Yeah.' He didn't seem too pleased by the association.
'Do
think we're in occupied territory?'
He shrugged. His gaze never crossed mine for more than an instant.
'You might say that Satan has a foothold in this world. C. S. Lewis thought so too, and you wouldn't call him nuts.'
'I wasn't calling anyone nuts,' I said. 'Do you think God will accept his challenge?'
'Christ the Lord will return to implement the Kingdom of God. It's in the Book.' He flinched once or twice while speaking. His gaze darted about to search for someone else to rescue him from the grilling.
I was just getting interested.
'Do you think Zacharias was trying to send an SOS to God? Trying to hasten the Second Coming?'
He slowly shifted from one foot to the other. 'Look, brother. I don't know why you're so intrigued, but no man can hasten His return. Not even Emil Zacharias. He flipped out. It happens sometimes. There was a guy twenty, twenty-five years back named Jim Jones. He flipped out lots worse. Everybody's entitled to crack a bit, especially in Southern California. That doesn't invalidate two thousand years of philosophy and prophecy.'
