It was an old evangelical church
with stained stonework,
mossy shingles, and
pews that needed
refinishing…
In the back,
near the alley,
a creaky wooden
staircase wound up
the bell-tower to a
cobwebby room
crammed
with past sins
and old furniture…
Pretending to be one
of the Hardy boys that week,
I sleuthed every nook and cranny
looking for keys, and secret passages,
or any other kinda cool stuff I could stash
in a cigar box and pretend was a treasure…
.
It was also a
time when I began
learning about voices
(tones, inflections, spirit)
mostly sitting on an old
bench under maples,
alive with sparrows,
observing, and
listening to
people
walking past
with groceries,
returning from work,
or to meet up with friends…
And some of the worst voices
were the shit-faced drunks
tottering outside
a seedy pothouse,
puking and cursing, and
all of them utterly oblivious to
the greeter smiling from the stoop
handing out bulletins for Sunday service…
.
Cattycorner, across the street,
a strident street vendor was hawking
cigarettes and cheap souvenirs to passersby
and cars entering the expressway…
.
And that muttering
old woman at the
bus stop across the
street thumbing through
a dog-eared magazine she’d
pulled from the trash. With
skittish eyes darting (this
way and that way)
she would sneak
swigs from a bottle
in a brown bag and then
curse at the top of her lungs…
.
And there was one voice
(disdainful and arrogant)
that echoes in me still,
the
highfalutin
new music director,
(a once palmy recording artist)
fast losing patience with what he was
referring to as ‘harmonic inconsistencies,’
.
“Your intonation is off,” he barked
.
“What do you want,” a woman quetched
.
“Just sing your notes, that’s what I want,” he returned
.
“I’m here to help the church, not please you,” she spit back
.
“That’s good because you’re not,” he countered angrily
.
“Fine! I’m leaving! Find somebody else!”
.
And from an open window
on the second floor,
I remember Pastor
grumbling
to someone
about squeaking pews,
walls in need of paint, his growing
discontent with the new music director,
pitiful tithing, an operational budget in need
of a miracle, and a troubling trend of
gossip at Saturday functions…
.
And at the height of his rant,
.
As if by magic, a
swarm of sparrows suddenly
began flitting near the same window,
and all of them were singing
in harmony, without
budgets, directors
conceit or
controversy, and
when he heard them,
Pastor stopped complaining, and
after hanging up, he remained near the
window listening to something I felt certain
he had never known before in this old church…
.
richard lloyd cederberg – 5/2021
    Between the Cracks - A Monumental Journey Series