The Preacher

His face, of course – was white!  He must have received some help from his wife!  At least, someone got him up and into his day and told him he was one of the special few – seemed like the job for a wife to me!  But, there he was – staring at some sort of teleprompter above the lens on his side, reciting one of the biblical references to the Old Testament or James II – or Jacob I, or the Sermon on the Mount, or the proboscis of the prophesies (I obviously just didn’t know).

It was 4:30 a.m. and I was queued up for channel surfing, but had gotten myself hung up on this sweaty lipped preacher on channel 72.  Not sure why I stayed with him, but something about his hair that appeared to be greased and obedient – though the front ‘wave’ arched down, maybe a quarter inch or so into a curl so perfect I was expecting one of those professional surfers to come screaming out across his somewhat reticent brow – before it would likely disappear behind his ear with fists raised and pumping with testosterone lit success.  That didn’t happen – though if it had – it would have been the perfect moment for it! 

His eyes were intense and bulging, amplified by his grey sport coat and wide dark tie that pushed folds of skin upward into that sea of movement below his chin.  His words poured into the television speakers with such lovely and thick resonance that I briefly thought about buying something from him – though he had not yet appeared to be selling anything!

He spiced his morning offerings with words like ‘bliss’ and ‘comfort’ and he also  crooned ‘Jesus’ as an adjective and then a pronoun, and then an object of the preposition (or something like that) – it was all pretty straight forward really.  I tried to imagine his audience.  I was thinking there must be a few thousand dark-haired middle aged women who planned their mornings around him.  They would likely have their hair in some sort of rotund shape with a cloth over the top and with the interior dark, wet perhaps warm, surely sticky – and with a curler or two to ensure the appearance of the unlikelihood of any interest in casual sex once the hair was released into the daylight!

The men (if there were any) would likely be sitting in their shorts, in their favorite chair - their faces grim – but holding fast in the promise that the preacher offered the best chance that the world might soon right itself again and they (the men) would carry the lantern out front of sacred spiritual battalions – where there was darkness and danger and chivalry and any females around would look to them for guidance and comfort – and of course, casual sex! 

The preacher looked up from time to time -- solemn in his commentary – though his words held the promise of redemption (not sure what that even is).  I knew he was but one of numerous television preachers who stood solid in their early morning sharing of the ‘good news’ who also stood ready to collect your troubled insomnias and redirect them to the appropriate donation tent if you would just hold on for the directions on how to do that. 

 I imagined that a delicious section the true audience would continue to produce many years of lucrative appreciation for these early rising beacons – while I, with one click of the TV remote would again transport myself into the land of Rocky and the Power Rangers – vulnerable to the Devil’s work of course – but really none the wiser for it!