I've always had a problem with evangelicals- not just the Christian type but anyone who feels the need to be totally in your face about their beliefs. That kind of loud, proclaiming, utterly self-convinced style of communication has always seemed to mask an empty person. I remember an encounter with some of them years back when I was trying to hire a room from some Elim Pentecostals for my Authentic Movement group. Fearing that if I mentioned the word 'dance' they would immediately assume I was going to play loud disco music (this was the normal reaction I got from church halls and such like)  I was at pains to tell them that we worked in silence and that it was 'meditational'. Well! Wrong word!! At the mere whiff of a hint that anything like 'meditation' might be occurring on their premises they closed up. 'Oooh no! we don't  hold with meditation' - said in the same kind of tones as one would normally expect for adultery or smoking weed.  Anyway- a couple of days ago I had a run-in with one of these people who started to pick on one of my friends. I made absolutely no headway in convincing this guy that he was quite wrong about said friend, as you never can with those types. But I did come up with this poem in the reflective aftermath. 

The Evangelist

He's a hollow man

All on the outside.

All noise and certitude.

His jaws clack-clack-clacking,

Everything is alright as long as he keeps talking,

Proclaiming. Filling the silence.

Because in silence there is space,

Emptiness, longing.

He shouts and no-one listens.

He knows the words by heart,

A well-worn groove,

That jumps and repeats repeats repeats.

His greatest terror lies within.

What lives in there leaves him

Trembling under the bedclothes

Scarcely breathing.

In the silence he hears their pant and shuffle.

The monsters of his deep.

That place his terror keeps at bay,

That unknown locked away room

In the attic of his soul contains

A  shriveled tiny seed,

Abandoned, alone, waterless,

Un-nourished, waiting waiting waiting

For a chink to open, a crack to appear,

To let in, maybe, oh! maybe!

A single ray of light.

And maybe, Oh! Let it be!

An ear, that finally listens,

And hears his own tiny desperate voice,

Calling "I am here!"