At the East End table, under flickering neon and incense smoke, Chaplain Jozo Jukic rose to speak.
He didn’t need a microphone. His voice came like thunder on Hastings Street.
“Your rulers are rebels, companions of thieves. Everyone loves a bribe and chases after gifts,” he said, quoting Isaiah 1:23, eyes locked on the graffiti-tagged walls like they were Parliament Hill.
“You think Trudeau’s smile gonna save you? You think a carbon tax is repentance?” he barked. “They dress in pride, but wear lies like silk. The poor get nothing. The addicts get Narcan, but not resurrection.”
He took a breath and pointed west, then east, then finally north.
“Angels,” he said, “come in from the wilderness. From the creeks of the Interior. From Kamloops and Castlegar. From Lillooet and Lumby. From Slocan and all the secret places. The time is now.”
He slammed his staff against the floor.
“Enough waiting. Enough hiding. This is not just Vancouver. This is Zion in chains.”