The Jesus Man by Christos Tsiolkas

Author:Christos Tsiolkas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Australia
Published: 1999-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

—And what is the cup of manna?

The preacher’s strong blue eyes surveyed the circle. The chairs formed a circle and he was at the head. Ten sets of eyes rested on him, waiting.

—In the Arc of the Covenant, continued the preacher, there are the Ten Commandments; the code for life for every, every human being on this planet—black and white—there is Aaron’s Rod and there is the cup of manna. Is manna the chequebook? Is that what God’s covenant with us promises? Wealth? Money?

Again, his eyes surveyed the room. He smiled.

—Remember the children of Israel. They were loaded, his thick American accent carried a giggle, they were loaded, rich with jewels and coins when they fled into the wilderness. Do you think that they could buy their provisions in the wilderness? With money?

The old woman, Mrs Carey, started shaking her head. The preacher smiled at her, encouraging.

—No! Of course not. The cup of manna is not money, is not gold, it is God’s promise to us that if we wash ourselves in the water of his Word, He will provide. Understand? That is faith, this is faith. He banged the wood of his chair with his fist. God will provide.

A chorus of amens.

Darren, whispered, O thank you, Lord.

—And what sits above the Commandments and the cup of manna in the Covenant? Above the Commandments? he insisted. You must know, he pleaded with the circle. Come on, tell me. Tell me.

—Jesus? Mrs Carey answered shyly.

—Bless you! screamed the preacher and he laughed, a rich strong laugh that echoed through the sparse wooden building. The Mercy Seat, the seat with the blood of Jesus. We are washed in the blood of Jesus, God’s supreme promise to us. In Jesus we are pure we are cleansed we are free. Understand? In Jesus.

Darren shook, an exhilaration. O Jesus, wash me pure. The eleven bodies clasped each other’s hands, kissed, brows met brows in joy and contemplation. He experienced it, Mrs Carey’s arms around his shoulders, her frail arms, loving him; Jesus was there, loving him, washing him clean.

The preacher broke the communion with a cough. Neil was conscious of the sweat on his palm, and he drew his hand away, apologetically, from Mr Chee’s frail grip. He was blushing now as the final prayer was read. When it was finished, the group quickly dispersed. Neil took the broom and the pan and began sweeping the floor.

The Church of Christ was small, empty except for the ten rows of pews, the lectern on the raised stage. A simple white crucifix on the wall. He swept away at the dust. When he had finished he wet his face, scrubbed his hands. The gaunt preacher approached him as he came out of the toilet.

—Neil, here’s your money.

The man handed him four twenty dollar bills.

—We sure appreciate you helping us out like this, Neil.

—That’s fine, Mr Weston.

Even though the lay preacher preferred to be called Bill, Neil found it difficult to refer to a man of God by his first name.

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