That light, that bright light!

7/10

Penelope, my Greek friend is back for another look and conversation about the differences between Greek Orthodox and the Reformed tradition. She’s thinking her middle name, Josephila, goes back to Josephus, the Jewish born Roman citizen author of the Jewish War. (Not as she thought the translator of the koine  Greek version of the Hebrew Scriptures, the Septuagint. The very name implied seventy translators, the elders.....)

Rob’s still asleep. Wake him up. And he helps me out big time. Sweeping, cleaning, garbage. As we talk, I learn more of his story. A tragic auto accident. I keep thinking of my two children...

Where are the now?

They’re rested.

Rested?

Rested. RIP. Dead. 

A military career as a sharp shooter. What to believe? Does it even matter?

Nan comes in to review finances. It could not be more grim. The abyss closer than ever. The fact that we have survived so far, by hook, crook and grace, allows others not to understand how serious it is. And serious it is. The fact that SPSA is facing serious issues as well does not help. We're past muscle, down to bone here.

Get a shirt on! One black man yells to another in a wheelchair. A third steps forward to defend the man in the wheel chair. The yelling man retreats. The defender sees me. Comes over to me on the steps. Remember me? I used to sleep here with my woman.

I look closely. What’s your name?

Dennis, man, Dennis. I slept here back in the day. Back in the day of Arthur Cafiero, man. That was me in  that picture of you in the  Post. 

New York Post photo 2003

And then I remember. They still blame me for his death, I say. 

Nah man, nah. I was there. You was there. Reachout was there. The man wouldn’t move. Ain’t none of us to blame, man. We all tried. He was sleeping with his boy Anthony. Woke me up about 3 AM. Pointed right over there. Said, that light, that bright light! I knew then, man, he was headin home. Headin home. 

Why didn’t you call me?

Didn’t have your number, man. And if so, what then? 

We could have...

And then what man? Then what?

Who called 9-11?

I did, man. Dude was blue. they came. Tried to  revive him. No way. He dead. I know man. You came. You said his words. Took him to the church ground. Lay him by the pastors. I know...

Still...

Let it go, man. You did your best. Welcomed him. Let him  sing with that voice of his. Broke bread with the man.Let it go.

Wish I could.They don’t know...

Gregory made it, man. Straightened out. Stood up. Got his own self in gear.   Got a job. Me too. Split up with my woman. Got a good crib. Good view too. It’s all good. Arthur died. We lived.  Ain't sayin on account of, just sayin. Let it go.You loved him. he loved you all. Let it go.

Wish I could. Dennis looks good. I wish him well. 

Just this last week, someone blames me for Arthur's death. They just don’t know. It's been 10 and a half years. Been thinking about him, Rachel sent me a photo this week, 

(What the New York Times wrote: http://www.nytimes.com/2003/01/30/nyregion/church-pays-tribute-to-a-man-whose-home-was-its-steps.html )

New York Post:  http://www.nypost.com/p/news/item_kenrW8SF35SLL2aKkxZDKP

How the right saw it; http://www.amnation.com/vfr/archives/001170.html

Rudolfo has a lot to sat again. Those big brown sad eyes. He has a crib. Has a woman. Rudolfo, you are a rich man....

While I’m talking with Rudolfo, a man walks in, asks could he see the sanctuary.  I say sure. Awhile later, he comes back. I love this place, he says.I’m from LA,. here on vacation. Had to see the church. Thank you, truly beautiful. Thanks for keeping the doors open. I nod, he leaves.

RL comes in. Looks around. Looks at Danielle. At me. Meet me at my office, he says.