Priest Ioan Bădiliță
Today like yesterday and like forever God descends from the pew of eternity and makes his matutinal journey on the streets of the district. Sometimes He is dressed with second hand clothes with an empty bag in His hand, other times He hides behind those annoying kids who beg for some money at the semaphores.
He sees us on the rush all the time making the sign of the cross timidly and hastily for not being noticed by the other people from the sidewalk or the other travelers from the bus which passes by the Church.
Near a window it is heard the cry of a new born baby. IN the block of flats from across the street a woman cried after her husband dead in a work accident. On the staircase a drunkard sleeping on a mat of cigarette butts holds a dog at his chest as if it were a talisman received from his parents.
The car horns are in competition with the chirping of the blackbirds. The blackbirds ultimately give it up. They were not created for covering a noise, but for blessing silence. The sun lays his sunrays like on a tablecloth. It invites us at the great daily photophanic feast
But our eyes are drawn by screens, by the barcodes of the bills, by the commercials from the crossroads. There is another failed morning.
God sits on a bench in the park and sighs. His eyes have dark circles. Suddenly a tear flows down His cheek. He wipes it with the annular of his left hand where is twisted one of the nails from the Cross. He gets inside the church near the park and pours His tear on the door frame from the church porch. He hung the bag from His hand on the holy doors. But it is not empty anymore, it is filled with all the pains and sighs of the world. Then He goes in the Altar disappearing in the shadow of the Oblation niche.
When the priest entered for the Vespers He put the bag on His shoulders and gave the blessing. In fact it was not a bag anymore. God made from it an epitrachelion, embroidered with the thirsty souls looking for the spring from the pew of eternity.