Sin and Salvation

Reporting from the Back Pew of a Smoke-Filled Tabernacle

Las Vegas is shedding its skin faster than a sidewinder in summer. In a town where fortunes turn on the clink of dice and the whir of a slot reel, two great institutions have packed up shop within weeks of each other—one a house of God, the other a house of Ganja.

And I’ll be switched if that ain’t some poetic symmetry, Nevada-style.

First came the fall of Smoke and Mirrors, a name that was perhaps more prophecy than branding. Thrive Cannabis Marketplace’s once-buzzed-about lounge closed on April 4–after a mere two-month stint serving state-sanctioned puffs to the public.

Once hailed as a breakthrough, a trailblazer, a haven of safety for the red-eyed masses looking to take their high legally and lounge about doing what tourists in Las Vegas do best– not much of anything at all. But then—poof!—just like that, it vanished.

Not to be outdone by sin’s eviction notice, Grace Presbyterian Church, a stalwart sentry of downtown righteousness, also announced it would be giving up the ghost of its original campus. After seventy years of offering sanctuary, scripture, and the occasional potluck casserole, the church will host its final services–May 4th—the same date, some might note, as the next Star Wars holiday.

Coincidence? Divine mystery? Or Las Vegas being Las Vegas?

Between freeway expansions, rising rent, and a neighborhood now as stable as a roulette table on a cruise ship, the church is squeezed tighter than a choirboy’s collar. The good folks of Grace’ll be headin’ west to Rhodes Ranch, where the rent is cheaper, the pews fewer, but the faith no less determined.

While it’s unknown if the man upstairs smokes, if He does, it seems He’s kicked out of His lounge and sanctuary in the same season. What’re the odds? Well, in Vegas, you could probably place a bet on it.

So here we are, waving goodbye to two temples—one built on prayer, the other on pot—each promising peace, reflection, and the occasional spiritual snack. One passed the plate; the other passed the pipe.

Both headed somewhere new, perhaps with better parking.

And maybe, just maybe, we’ll see a future where the faithful and the faded meet in the middle—where sermons come with snacks, and communion might involve a gummy or two. After all, if Las Vegas teaches us anything, its salvation wears many disguises–and sometimes smells faintly of sandalwood and salvation.

Amen, and pass the edibles.