The Rules

On a bitter January evening with a hang nail moon hovering bright above the city of Boston, Ed walked passed the Church of Christian Science.  The church’s façade and dome was surreal and impressive and even at night it looked as if you might just fold it up, take it home, and later tape it to your wall. By the church that night, the long pool was empty, reflecting nothing, like a mirror in a dark room and Ed stood with hands in pockets right next to it about thirty feet away from the church.

In an alcove of the church, out in the frigid air, a heap stirred slowly. A shadow shifting weight in amorphous directions. Just as Ed noticed the shape a man in a long coat and hat appeared from round the corner and stopped in front of the alcove.

“You have to move on,” he said, “you can’t stay here.”

There was no response from the dark heap of shadows.

“You must move on.” The man said, in a slightly louder voice. “This is Private Property. You cannot sleep here.”

The shape made no sound, but shifted slightly, like a large plume of smoke hanging in still air. The cap-wearing man had an aura that shimmered in a bright red against the darkness, a thin line countered his crisp, angular shape. He took a step closer and said, “You have to move on away from here!” nearly yelling. Ed took five long strides and stopped just a few feet away from him.

“Excuse me, sir,” Ed said.

The man was startled and took a step to the side and looked at Ed suspiciously. His dark eyes caught the golden light of the lanterns illuminating the mall.

“Can’t you allow the man to pass the night on these steps?”

The official looked at the heap of shadows, then back to Ed.

“No. He can’t stay here. It’s private property.”

The man was not excited nor did he appear to glean any pleasure from his duty, but his resolve was apparent in the flatness of his voice, a flat determination. An official voice.

Ed contemplated the scene. He was well aware that this was the guy’s job, and with a job there are duties that must be performed. But this is a church of Christ, Jesus, a man who accepted everyone and preached compassion and Caritas; charity. A man who dwelled with lepers and beggars and surely did more than just sup with prostitutes. How can anyone not be welcome at the steps of a house devoted to Him?

“Is this not the house of God?” he said, “and are we not, all of us, His children?”

The official’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Ed watched his face. His eyes softened and went blank for an instant. His breath formed puffs of vapor that dissipated into the frigid air. He regained his composure and straightened his shoulders.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, “he cannot stay here. I am on patrol and this is private property.” Then, he uttered the mantra of the sheep: “I don’t make the rules.”

Ed thought about saying, “Whose rules do you live by, the word of man, or the word of God?” when he noticed the heap of shadows was slowly moving away against the pale stone wall like an ink stain spreading across paper. The official let out another sigh and shrugged his shoulders. Ed walked away down the dark and empty plaza. He stopped at the Korean Store on the corner of Mass Ave and Hemenway. He bought a 40oz and sat on a bench in the Fenway watching the Boston skyline twinkle like jewels.