Originally published November 10, 2000, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1408
The worshipers sat in respectful, anticipatory silence in New York’s St. Marks church, waiting for His arrival.
Usually when the faithful attend the church, they have to settle for communication with He Whom They Worship to be within the confines of the heart, or the mind, or the soul. People don’t go to church expecting that there’s actually going to be a visitation from the Divine One. That he’s simply going to materialize before them, smile boyishly, say, “Hi, how you doing?” and proceed to chat them up for the next few hours. At least, I don’t think a lot of people expect that. Maybe a few. Hëll, maybe all of them. I’m Jewish. I know from latkes and the lyrics to all the songs from “Fiddler.” From Christian church services, I know zip.
With that said, there was nevertheless a thrill of anticipation in the air that was (by my guess) atypical for church gatherings. The lights went down, all eyes on the stage. Light shone on the pulpit. The wait stretched over minutes. Nothing happened. The folks in the crowd began to laugh or talk to each other. One idiot started chanting under his breath “Let’s go, Mets” (hey, I had to keep myself amused somehow.)
People started guessing that a sensational entrance was being planned and had momentarily misfired. “Maybe he’s going to be raised up on a platform behind the podium…” one person speculated. “No, he’ll be lowered down by ropes from the balcony,” guessed another.
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