Frankincense

Came across this short story in the Herald this month, and it really spoke to me. It's called "Frankincense", written by Jack Dueck:

Malls always seem to lower one's IQ: cacophony of warring sounds; flare of garish, eye-piercing lights; crying, stressed babies; epileptic neon promotions. No angels descending under this garish iridescence. Is this how the world ends? Not under a bright Advent sky, but in fluorescent orgy?

Nearby an elderly gentleman in suit, top hat, and cane is confronted by two religious propagandists. For truth, no doubt - but in violation of mall policy. Slipping into a nearby bench, I pretended to read a newspaper as I witnessed the story play out.

But these are things God wants you to know.

Under the cascading mall cacophony, his mild response was barely audible. They insisted.

But do you believe in the Holy Spirit?
Yes, surely.
By what proof?
Schubert, the Psalms, Bach's St. Matthew Passion, Paul's letter to the Ephesians, my rose garden, people who love me and I them...all is ours in Christ. The devil owns nothing' the Spirit pervades everything.

And they left him, thinking, "He's just another unbeliever."
But I was left with the transcending fragrance of another world in the middle of a shopping mall.