Wednesday, December 21, 2016

A Crack In The Ceiling

I was walking westward towards the only church I knew, the Church Of Holy Apostles on 28th and 9th, and it started raining, and it was raining hard enough. I found myself standing in front of what looked like a church, so I walked in. Little Church. Church Of Transfiguration.

When I went through the symbolic transfiguration experience that was a few weeks before I had ever come across the term. I have always known about the crucifixion, but I had not been aware there also had been a transfiguration. When I chanced upon it and read upon it I was like, wait a minute, that explains that experience I had a few weeks ago. There was no shining. There were no clouds. I was not on a mountain but in a crowded dorm room. But it was an experience of electricity passing through my entire body. Nothing unpleasant, nothing painful. But it was a tremendous force. It was actually quite pleasant.

And here I was at a church of transfiguration. It's a beautiful church, beautiful size, beautiful garden, beautiful music and worship, and so I showed up every Sunday for about six months. Then I was asked to maybe leave and I left.

Many Sundays after that I have showed for the 10:15 AM service at the St. Patrick's Cathedral and taken worship sitting in the audience, and have been tremendously moved.

Before the Little Church I had been showing up at the Lutheran Church Of The Messiah in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. One Sunday a guy there, Nathan, said to me, "You should attend a church in Chelsea." I remember thinking, why would I attend a church in Chelsea! A few short weeks later I was attending a church in Chelsea where I met another guy named Nathan, pleasant guy.

Pastor Amy Kay of the Lutheran Church Of The Messiah (she is St. Thomas come back like John The Baptist was Elijah come back) took me to lunch one day. At one point she said, "your own room." That was the Holy Spirit talking through her. A few hours later I had my own room at the 30th Street shelter. In the months after that I walked many times to the Greenpoint church to attend an event, usually the Sunday dinner event the first Sunday of the month.

A few different random people told me at the Little Church that I should attend "a bigger church." I resisted at first.

I have also walked two ways to the Woodside Gurudwara about once a week, sometimes twice. Two succeeding Sundays as I was walking to the St. Patrick's Cathedral for the service I saw a ton of pigeons, maybe 50, maybe 100, feasting on something by the sidewalk and I immediately understood. You want me to go to the Woodside Gurudwara? I will go, I said. And went. Thy will be done, always.

I had not been the praying worshiping kind. I had read one of the gospels a few times. When I learned I was the Son of God I felt a little self conscious that I read War And Peace at high school but I had not read the Bible cover to cover. I had always been completely comfortable attending houses of worship associated with various religions. A few years ago when I was living with a Pakistani family in Jackson Heights I ate my evening meal at a nearby mosque the entire month of Ramadan.

I had not been the praying worshiping kind but I have always had an uncompromising attitude towards justice. After I read through the Old Testament I saw God has always cared more about justice than worship.

I am almost done reading the Bible cover to cover. I understand as easily as I understood the Stephen Hawking book A Brief History Of Time when I read it at high school. I understood it so easily I lost interest in the Newtonian high school physics they were teaching. The Bible is a fascinating book.

Last week I was sitting near Macy's. I had with me a bag of peanuts I had bought for a dollar at Jack's next to the Church Of St. Francis Of Assissi on 32nd. And I had garlic. And I was feeling so amazed that I had invented this perfect snack, healthy, cheap, and chilli hot like I crave. And half way in I started thinking, wouldn't it be nice to have some coffee right now!

Just then a few young people apparently working for Uniqlo showed up with drums of coffee and cream on their backs. I took the coffee and burst out laughing. I knew Abba had done this. God, the prankster. I walked a few steps, and as if to confirm that yes, He did it, there I saw an abandoned woolen cap on a table that I picked and am wearing right now. Head to toe I am covered with stuff Abba gave me. The boots I wear appeared under my bed. The winter jacket was a gift at the Bowery Mission with the Thanksgiving meal.

The coffee appearing is like this scene in the movie The Young Messiah when God makes it rain.

God made it rain because He wanted me at Little Church. God made it rain a few times when He wanted me to stick around just a little bit longer at the Church Of The Sacred Hearts Of Jesus And Mary on 32nd and 1st.

The boots are precisely the black boots I bought a few years in a row at a store on 74th Street in Jackson Heights. I am a walking kind. And these boots are strong. They appeared under my bed brand new.

I went through the symbolic crucifixion experience in a small room in a shared apartment in Astoria I got evicted out of. It was after I had had pizza. It took me months to realize not only was I the Son of God, I had been doing my Father's work for decades already. My experience in white American racism started with a pizza. Before that in Nepal I had done the crucifixion on ethnic prejudice, racism and casteism at the top school in Nepal.

After that Abba made light of my use of the word awakening. This had not been an awakening. True, I learned my true identity this year after four plus decades on earth. But I have been doing the work all along. I just did not know I was. But I was not doing it alone. Abba has always been involved. There is a poster you can see many places right now. It says, who shall inherit the earth. The tiny hand in that poster is mine. That is how I will do my work, by holding on to my Father's finger.

I have made no mistakes, I have most certainly not made career mistakes. I have been doing work. Crucifixion is work for the Son of God. Jesus had to experience human death before he could conquer it for all humanity for all time. I have had to experience racism for the same reason. Racism, ethnic prejudice, casteism, and the whole spectrum of isms.

On the work front Abba simply said, continue. As in, the Augmented Reality Mobile Game I was trying to build before I learned my true identity is something He wants me to build. The first time He met me in person was at the Starbucks in Greenpoint. That store is central to my idea.

He simply said, "Did you want to see me?"

This was like Him meeting Abraham. He has met me over a dozen times so far. Recently he met me five times in a row.

So at Little Church I was trying to get some of the people I got to know to become angel investors. I had no success. The church roof cracked open in one place. I did not connect the dots in real time. Much later I realized that was like the curtain getting torn at the Temple in Jerusalem.

I deciphered two meanings. You worship my Son every Sunday and here he is in flesh trying to get you to invest in his tech startup and it is part of his work, but you will not budge, but I bet you will fundraise to fix this roof that I slightly teared up.

Another meaning is the heaven will crack open and the Spirit of God will descend to engulf all earth. All you got to do is ask. You asked for a Kingdom of God on earth for 2,000 years and I have answered your prayers. My son here is the political Messiah many Jews thought Jesus might be.

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