God does not exist in your church, pastor. He does not live there anymore. He hasn’t lived there in decades. God now lives in a small house in Nongpoh. It is the house of a prostitute named Riia. God comes to her, pastor, he nurtures her, takes care of her baby boy. He is not idle ritual nor empty prayers here. He is welcomed with open arms. He wants no alms as gate-fee nor does he need offering of bread and wine. He thrives here on a measly diet, fed by a hope in desperation.
God was also with Andy when friends and family turned. He was the only one there when the nurse told him the news. God moves along his bloodstream with the AIDS virus He does not visit only once a year or only when someone dies. God is his pillion rider who enjoys a sharp wind and on warm days, a cold beer. God lives for those 100 km per hour bursts of speed.
This can’t be God, that these people worship, can it? It must be a smaller deity – not comfortable in grottoes and holy places – more comfortable being out in the open in open hearts, more alive in those who live.