(The baffled king composing Hallelujahs)
Im in my overstuffed chair watching the news. Its cold outside. Bitter. A gray October day, 2006. There on the screen is JonBenet Ramsey with angelic face and golden hair. She is dancing again on TV in that black polka dotted dress. Its been a whole decade, I think to myself almost out loud a world away from Boulder.
The newscaster tells me that they may have apprehended her killer. He turned himself in and is standing there, a sniveling little man on the screen in my living room, looking pathetic, in cuffs and surrounded by badges. I pull my shawl up over my shoulders with a shudder and smidge of hope that this is he – the murdering bastard. Maybe theyll fry him, I think to myself, almost out loud a world away from Boulder.
Then the screen flashes and JonBenets aunt is introduced to the viewing public. A microphone is shoved in her face as she is asked the most asinine question known to all interviewers when addressing the bereaved: How does it feel?
HOW does it feel? How does it FEEL? How DOES it feel to think they may have found JonBenets killer?
Auntie answers. And she is bold. Gods timing is perfect, she says.
I sit windless, breathless. In that moment, the clock that had been ticking ceaselessly for ten long years as the killer roamed free, stops. I see with unnerving clarity the reality of my faith as it begins to slip away through the cracks of this theology. Perhaps perfect timing is relative? Perhaps it is a fools notion.
Its a cold and its a broken hallelujah, I think to myself almost out loud. And a world away