Self-proclaimed prophet Rodney Drayton established His Heavenly Temple of the People’s Order for Christ’s Sake in an abandoned industrial space flagged on inspection and destined for condemnation. The building stood a single story tall and falling down, all but melting into the desert. When dirty — which, in this sandswept San Bernardino slum, was often — the stucco exterior bore striking resemblance to a defiled public toilet. And so, to the chagrin of the half dozen or so environmental-types stuck clutching to such a substandard of living, a steady stream of volunteers whitewashed it each month. Afterward, the church reflected an unnatural glow upon those passersby that might talk shit.

Still, there were those privy to its filth.

“Susan was different after we lost Harry,” confessed Mauve, sister-in-law and sister to the deceased, respectively. “Do any of you even know that story?”

She surveyed the congregation from the podium, daring them. Her gaze fell upon her niece, Anne, now an orphan. The girl, 17 , sat fourth row center, flanked by empty seats reserved for absent friends and family. A funeral of sorts.

“She had a daughter, too. Did you know that?”

Anne’s eyes widened. Someone noticed.

“I don’t even know why we’re here, honestly. I mean, Susan’s dead, sure, but did you people even know her? I mean before… any of… this,” she said, waving the back of her hand at the dilapidated chapel. “She may as well’ve died when Harry did,” she added under her breath, but still into the microphone. “Did you know she was married?”

Widowed, as a matter of fact. Mauve’s brother, a firefighter, incinerated in a plane crash during a national effort to extinguish local wildfires. A rescue attempt. Mauve shook at this, her second empty casket in as many years. The church, on the other hand, held many a memorial in its heyday, often without a corpse. Time and again, remains required transit, demanded back by families lost long before death, to say nothing of the souls. Susan’s was no different, save the autopsy.

“… I mean, who are you people?”

To that point, a pitiful parade regaled their fellow parishioners of Susan’s dedication to Rod’s creation, her tireless work ethic in the upkeep of His Heavenly Temple and her enduring sacrifice to the People’s Order in the intervening years, most of it trite, and all for Christ’s Sake.

“I just… What is this place?”

“This place?” Another voice boomed over the public address. On cue, two unkempt brutes in monkey suits ushered Mauve from her soapbox. She disappeared into folds of cheap material and a fog of drugstore cologne. “This is a house of Rod.”

A raucous applause erupted from the audience. They whooped and hollered, hot and bothered by some perpetual combination of poverty, illiteracy and spiritual bankruptcy. Dust built up under the ill-fitted collars of their Sunday best — on a Thursday, no less — and they scratched at themselves like leashed animals, desperate for the moment itch cedes to pain. Amid the commotion, a small group of Anne’s friends stumbled into the venue’s back row, mercifully late.

“Susan asked me not to be here today,” this man began. A eulogy. He entered stage left, spoke into a wireless headset and held rolled-up, loose-leaf, legal-sized papers, not so much crushed as squished by his delicate and just-that-morning manicured fingers. “Heck, she wrote it down in this lawful document.”

True on both accounts. In her final will and testament, Susan left behind only funeral instructions and lawn furniture. Within a week of her demise, the dealership had repossessed her car, the bank her house, and a conclave the copper wiring. She’d funneled the cash from her dead husband’s settlement into the good prophet’s pockets of her own free will. Left to her own vices, then, Susan gave both to a fault and default.

That is, until her doctor found a donor, and she’d asked Rodney for a loan.

“Susan and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye, did we?” he continued. “To be honest, I don’t think she much understood charity… or church, for that matter!”

This bit met with a collective twitch from the twittering flock. Rodney had refused Susan, and they knew it. They tried not to know it, but it gnawed away at their irrational centers like termites did Rod’s kingdom. Rod’s will eluded them, though, as did most revelations. They prayed for things like world peace and luck at the track, but Rod worked in imperious ways.

“And I know how much she appreciated that I entrust disciple Michael with your salvation when I am away on mission, which we all know is often!”

Also true, Rodney rarely joined the masses. His witnesses wondered at their savior’s omnipresence.

“But I felt I had no choice but to incorporate myself into this service…”

In reality, Rodney had incorporated a great many things into his church over the years, bits and pieces of this and that, here and there to suit his own intentions. Once, he’d even considered incorporation for His Heavenly Temple of the People’s Order for Christ’s Sake; His proposed solution to “ … a misunderstanding,” Susan had written in an open letter to whomever it concerned, “between the church’s former accountant,” (the same), “and the Internal Revenue Service… thereby allowing the church’s operation for-profit, that he might continue his global outreach programs and salvation efforts, respectively.” The Prophet withdrew his proposal upon learning of a court order forbidding his leaving the state — or holding a business license, for that matter — citing his certainty that God stood the same ground he did, publicly.

Susan not so much. On house arrest, awaiting both deposition and diagnosis, she’d quit the choir and sang for the feds instead.

“… For ‘Service’ is indeed our duty to God, and why we are all here, all of us today, to bask in His light and see to it that Sister Susan’s service, rendered now complete, grants her spiteful [sic] entry into the Lord our God’s eternal kingdom!”

It was clear to Anne that Rod wrote nothing for the occasion. In fact, he hadn’t read so much as a word — of God’s or anyone else’s — in years. He spoke in tongues, though, and performed the occasional pre-prescribed miracle, but he drew the line at snakes. A charmer to be sure, he never mastered his own kind.

“And I see that the Good Lord’s invitations extended themselves to more than just myself today,” he said, turning his attention to an exuberant, if not illuminated peanut gallery — fresh blood — that he might preach to them the word of Rod, but thought better of it. They wore caps and gowns, graduates — Anne’s classmates — giddy from that morning’s ceremony.They looked drunk so juxtaposed, but may have been the only sober people in the place.

And they’d been drinking.

“I think we all know how much Susan liked to be in charge,” he began again. “I think she knew it too . . . Did you know it, Anne? How are you holding up, dear? It’s been too long.”

Anne had never seen this man in her life, not even pictures. Rod extended his hand, but Anne recoiled from it as she had her mother’s at the point of Susan’s conversion. She slunk in her seat and folded her arms behind her, anxious, while Rodney — a white man before the fake tan — licked the rejected palm and slicked his hair back, unctuous. He flicked wet stick from his fingertips so as not to ruin his sharkskin suit, and wiped them on a brand-new Bible.

The kids slid around in their seats, snickering at him. Their nylon uniforms, significant of successful, secular advancement, slipped on the church bench’s unpolished particle board with audible zips. Rodney cursed them for such a prideful display in ‘His’ house; his house, really. Rodney had taken up residence at His Heavenly Temple a few months back, when his court-appointed accountant required of him an address other than that of a hotel, motel or P.O. Box., both of them having tried them all in descending order.

“You see, when I woke up this morning, I found I knew something I hadn’t known before,” he explained. “I went to bed not knowing the first thing about it and then WHAM! I knew it like I’d known it all along. I just knew I had to speak to you all today. I knew, you see, because I spoke to Jesus…”

This confession astonished everyone in attendance.

“Yes! Yes, I spoke to Jesus! I spoke with Jesus. I spoke with Jesus this morning and I said unto him, ‘Hear me, Lord, that I might hear you! So that I may know… That what I think I know…  that you know, too.’ ”

 CHORUS: HEAR HIM! (A psychotic-sounding choir chimed in.)

“‘Jesus, I know now that, while I may not have been Sister Susan’s favorite prophet…’ ”

Her favorite prophet had been Fred, since cast out and also dead. Nevertheless, the almighty Rod began punctuating his speech with a limp-wristed fist, almost slapping at the Good Book’s cellophane wrapping.

“‘… that I must forgive!’ ”

CHORUS: HAVE MERCY!

“‘… that I must attend!’ ”

 CHORUS: AMEN!

“‘… that her sacrilege!’ ”

 CHORUS: (GASPS!)

“‘…  I must condemn! If we are to be free from sin!’ ”

CHORUS: AMEN! (Again.)

         “‘… from pride…’ ”

CHORUS: (A hush.)

“‘… and vainglory.’ ”

 CHORUS: (Mush, in the palm of his greasy mitt.)

Three-syllable words presented something of a phonetic impediment to the People’s Order, a fact known all too well and exploited by — for dramatic, if not always exploitative, purposes — The Prophet Rodney Drayton, whether he knew the meaning of the word himself or not. The convocation comprised checkered pasts, meager presents and altogether delusional futures, with no small percentage of its populous rendered sterile at the hands of substantial abuse. But such addictions — kicked or not — wielded less kinetic power over them than this man, save the tardive dyskinesiacs.

Even the graduates writhed in Rod’s possession.

“You see I knew it in my soul I had to be here… that Susan’s last requests, you see, were nothing more than tests…”

CHORUS: (Some nods.)

“… of faith…”

 CHORUS: (And CLAPS!)

“… of God!”

CHORUS: (More GASPS!)

“… I do confess!”

So mired were they now, deep in crap, that Rod’s sheep bleated, chewed the cud. The grads near peed their pants.

“And do you know what he said unto me?”

An enchanted silence indicated to him that they did not. Instead, they craned their necks toward their Prophet, mouths agape and starved for the one true Rod’s regurgitated liturgy.

“He said, ‘REPENT!’ !”

 CHORUS: (WAILS! and BAWLS! Weeping women, shawls and all.)

“‘ASK YOUR PEOPLE FOR THEIR MERCY, THEIR FORGIVENESS, FOR YOUR TRANSGRESSIONS, RODNEY!’ !”

         At this, disbelief overwhelmed the assembly. Terror overtook the first three rows, then Anne — alone, entranced, serene — and save the last, the others. They thought their Prophet Rod pristine. The grads bit lip and suffered.

“‘FOR YOU AND SUSAN HAD YOUR DIFFERENCES! YOU BOTH WORKED YOURSELVES  HALF TO DEATH FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!’ !” (on average, anyway). “‘AND SO, CAN IT BE ANY WONDER TO YOU, RODNEY, THAT YOU DID NOT ALWAYS SEE EYE-TO-EYE? THAT YOU CROSSED EACH OTHER, HOPED TO DIE, IN PURSUIT OF GLORY — NOT FOR GOD — BUT FOR YOUR EARTHLY, SINFUL PRIDE?’ Ladies and gentlemen, I was ashamed!”

 CHORUS: NO!

         “Found out!”

CHORUS: (WOE!)

“I am deranged, and lost without… my heavenly brother, Jesus Christ. And so I prayed, hip-hip!”

CHORUS: HOORAY!

“‘I cannot let go to her grave, beloved Susan…’ ”

 CHORUS: SAY HER NAME! (Still wound tight and in unison.)       

“‘…I cannot abide she carry her grudge to You, oh Lord, I must forgive her!’ ”

Cockeyed, tongue-tied, no one budged, and boy, did Rod deliver.

“Well… you can imagine my dismay when I heard nothing more.” The Prophet mopped his brow with a silk handkerchief, exasperated. Panic swept the room, but then, in a rush, “So, I made my breakfast…”

 CHORUS: (Not a word.)

“I ate my breakfast…”

 CHORUS: (Crickets.)

“I made my lunch…”

 CHORUS: (No one stirred.)

“I ate my lunch…”

Then howling fits from the enlightened pew. The grads passed a flask back and forth and slapped at each other for holding the liquor too long. They averted their eyes, unable to look this man in his, but lusted for more, and popcorn. Rodney cleared his throat, girding himself against the laughter and gathering further the attention paid unto him.

“And then it dawned on me.”

The heads perked up like chicks at sunrise.

“‘I am afraid, oh Lord!’ ” he screamed at the ceiling. “‘I fear what it means to deny one her death rights [sic]!’ ”

         He paused a moment, deluding them.

“‘FEAR NOT, RODNEY!’ !”

 CHORUS: HALLELUJAH!!!

         “‘Oh, but I do fear it, Lord!’ I screamed to the veritable rafters of my very own home!” (Quite literal, actually, again one and the same.) “‘DO NOT! FOR I HAVE SPOKEN TO SUSAN THIS MORNING, AND SHE HAS ASKED ME TO DELIVER TO YOU A MESSAGE…’ Well, you can imagine my surprise when Jesus Christ Himself told me that Susan had anything to say to yours truly . . .”

This time everyone laughed except the graduates. They sat there stunned and disbelieving, keeping time with heavy breathing.

“‘SUSAN HAS ASKED ME TO TELL YOU THAT SHE HAS FORGIVEN YOU, RODNEY. YOU SEE, WE’VE BEEN CATCHING UP…’ ”

         The grads counted themselves lucky to catch their breath.

         “‘…SHE CONFESSED TO ME THAT SHE SEES NOW, IN MY DIVINE LIGHT, THE ERROR OF HER WAYS. SHE WEPT BITTERLY, RODNEY, THAT SHE MIGHT NEVER HAVE A CHANCE TO SAY TO YOU HOW TRULY SORRY SHE IS FOR HER INDIAN GIVING. BUT NOW THAT SHE HAS BATHED IN THE BLESSED WATERS OF MY ETERNAL KINGDOM IN HEAVEN, SHE HARBORS NO ILL WILL TOWARD YOU, AND UNDERSTANDS OUR FATHER’S INFINITE WISDOM FOR THE FIRST TIME. NOW GET YOURSELF TO THAT FUNERAL AND GIVE ‘EM SOME OF ROD’S LOVE FOR ME!’ !”

Now no one sat still, least of all Anne, who fidgeted in abject horror at her mother’s alleged resurrection and a madman’s spiritual debt collection. The adherents, moved by such passions, wore grooves in the pews. Just then, in an act of outright blasphemy — and one the prophet would soon sermonize — Anne shook herself loose of Rod’s spell, took Mauve by the hand and led them to the nearest exit.

“And so, it is with great humility that I would like to play for you all a song…” said Rod. He waved onto the stage another young woman, trembling and delirious under the weight of such great responsibility. She ascended the pulpit’s single stair and handed Rodney his guitar, placed it right in the hands of the only person present uninvited, and retreatedoffstage.

And with that, Rodney took up his instrument, detuned it, and belted out such an affront to the deceased’s human decency that even his worshippers winced. The choir joined in without knowing the words and made a mess of the verse and the chorus. He played his guests off with a second verse, a real gift from Rod, while the graduates broke down into hysterics at the sight of such theatrics. The Prophet drowned them out the best he could, off-key and flustered, but persistent, if not for the glory of Rod in the highest, His Heavenly Temple or the People’s Order, but for Christ’s Sake.