On Finding the Niche

This Pentecost, I went down the street, looking for a niche. I found the niche where the homeless fellow slept on the pavement in the alcove of the grand hotel. I found the niche jacket in the window niche in isolated splendour watched by the old man leaning on his stick.

            The Holy Spirit being colourless, Whitsun was celebrated as white, (confused with wise), though now it’s red as fire. Would Whitsun be the ultimate niche experience, since no matter how niche your language, you can still expect to hear something to your benefit?

            I know many who seek their niche. Something that fits like a glove. Many there are, also, who want to fill a niche with some enterprise. Or some thing. Or some one. Can we have a niche salvation? Everyone to be saved in a singular way?

            Every religion seems split into fragments, factions, ever finer niche expressions. Perhaps these are niches in one grand cathedral.

            On the pavement where Pilate pronounced his judgements, in the day of isolated splendour, then, as it was not possible he should be holden of death, we received one salvation. Because you cannot be saved in your own little niche, alone.