The street, p.9
The Street, page 9
“Let’s rest here on the church steps.” It was a woman’s voice floating up from the street through the open window beside me.
“I don’t know,” it was another woman’s voice. “The windows are open. There might be somebody in there.”
“The pastor is in there,” the first voice responded. “That’s his car. He must be in his office though cause there’s no lights on in the sanctuary.”
Her voice sounded familiar to me now.
“How do you know that’s the sanctuary?” the second girl asked.
“Cause I went there for about a month.”
“What?” the second girl was flabbergasted.
“Remember back when I was off the street for a while?” the second girl must have nodded quietly because the first one continued. “I came here for a while.”
“Wow!” the second girl almost whispered. “Dana Parker in church! Who would have guessed?”
“My mom used to take me to church all the time before she died,” the girl confessed as memories of her floated in my mind. “Maybe I should have kept going.”
“How cute, a streetwalker with religion?” the second girl was suddenly venomous.
“I’m not coming down on you Tiffany,” Dana assured her.
I was impressed by Dana’s insightfulness. She was wise enough to recognize that Tiffany’s attack was not really directed at her. More likely it was conviction or remorse.
“I guess I just wish I could find another way to survive.”
“I can understand that wish,” Tiffany was calm again. “I just don’t see how church is going to help anything.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dana grumbled. “Do you have a lighter? I really need a cigarette.”
“If you have a cigarette for me, I have a lighter for you.”
“It’s a deal,” Dana agreed. I heard her rustling in her purse for a moment, followed by the smell of cigarette smoke wafting through the open window.
“Well, God,” I spoke in the spirit, “if this is your answer, it is not really helping so far.”
Tiffany spoke next. “Church, what a waste of time. I went into that little store front place up Broad Street to ask for food once. That pastor went off like the fourth of July. He started with the fires of hell and ended up walking me out the door telling me to put some clothes on before I get myself raped.”
“Wow,” Dana sighed. “They weren’t like that in here.”
“They’re all the same,” Tiffany pronounced.
“They were nice in there,” Dana insisted. “I went for a few Sunday mornings in a row. They always had coffee and donuts.”
Just a small part of my spirit turned cynical for just a moment. “Great, thanks God. I should stop preaching and open up a Krispy Kreme.” I apologized right away.
“Coffee and donuts is not worth setting through an hour-long sermon about sin and hell,” Tiffany insisted.
“I know,” Dana agreed. “I guess that’s why I stopped going.”
Tiffany chuckled.
“Still I remember some of the things the preacher said,” Dana continued. “They seemed to make sense at the time.”
“Oh, yeah?” It sounded like Tiffany was daring her friend to remember.
Dana accepted the challenge. “I remember he talked about how Jesus doesn’t really like religion but He wants to be our friend. You know, like have a relationship with us.”
“Dana, come on,” Tiffany was incredulous. “A relationship with a dead guy, are you kidding?”
“No, the preacher says that Jesus is alive in heaven getting things ready to come back and get us.”
“Do you believe that?” Tiffany asked.
“I think I do,” Dana said as if she couldn’t believe her own words. “The preacher also said that we are all sinners and need Jesus to save us. He said that a liar is just as guilty as a prostitute.”
“Guilty?” Tiffany groaned. “Guilty of what? Making a living? Paying my bills?”
“Come on Tiffany,” Dana called her out. “This is me you’re talking to. You aren’t paying any bills. You live with me in that rathole apartment that Jerry pays for. Obama pays for the minutes on your cell phone. The only things you spend money on are cigarettes, drugs, and a hamburger every other day.”
They both laughed for a minute. I didn’t get the joke.
When they composed themselves, Dana continued, “The preacher meant that we are all guilty of doing things that break Jesus’ heart. That was just the way he put it, that the bad things we do break Jesus’ heart.”
“Well, why does this Jesus care what we do?” Tiffany was irritated now. “Why can’t He just mind His own business?”
“Because He made us,” Dana responded lovingly. “I guess that makes us His business.”
“I never asked Him to make me!” Tiffany snarled.
“According to the preacher, Jesus made you because He loves you. He keeps trying to get us all to come back to Him. At least, that’s what the preacher says. He says Jesus wants all of His children to come to heaven with Him.”
“I am really getting tired of hearing about this preacher,” Tiffany hissed. “Besides, break time is over. You don’t want Jerry to come looking for us.”
“Right,” Dana agreed. “We had better get back on the street.”
I could hear the high heels clicking down the sidewalk. “Still I might come back here Sunday morning,” Dana said. “You want to come with me?”
“Maybe,” Tiffany said. “If I can get up early enough.”
“Right,” Dana agreed.
“Thank you, Lord,” I whispered into the darkness.
I thought I saw a light for just a moment. But it was gone before I could tell where it had been. I sighed and embraced a scripture that was floating in my spirit. Gradually I was able to feel the light inside me. My spiritual eyes opened gradually enabling me to once again walk by faith and not by sight.
B
We Are Walking
Most people hate to hear a preacher, and I understand that. Still God has sent us. I belong to an association of preachers on the West side of Columbus. We all know how it is. Still God calls preachers, and in His word, He proclaims them to be necessary, and so here I am called to preach the Word of God.
My wife and I attended a Church of Christ for a number of years. This was before she was called to sing and I was called to preach. We loved the pastor, but when we moved, we attended a Church of Christ closer to the new place.
A dear friend called me awhile back to let me know that our first preacher was dying. She asked if I could go and visit him. She mentioned that he was feeling like his life’s calling to preach had been in vain. I couldn’t allow that to stand! If no one else had been touched by the words God gave him, I had. In fact I consider him to be one of the greatest influences in my life.
Noah preached 120 years with no salvations. When God called Isaiah to prophecy, God warned him that no one would hear him.
As preachers there is a fire that burns inside us, a flaming desire for everyone to know the truth. There is no freedom without the word. There is nowhere to rest except in the truth. People begin running from death as soon as they become aware of right and wrong. As soon as that knowledge worms itself into your heart, mind, and spirit, you know that you are a sinner and you know that sinners die.
The knowledge of Christ’s redemption should gladden our hearts. Instead, we take conviction personally.
“I am not a sinner!” we lie to God and to ourselves. “Sure, I have made mistakes, but so has everyone else and most of theirs are worse than mine.”
So with the full understanding that preaching will not make me a lot of friends, here goes.
You can be saved. Today you can be saved. If you are not already saved, you need to be saved. How do I know? “For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” Perfection is the standard by which folks are accepted into heaven. Nothing less than perfection is required. Only Jesus can provide that perfection.
He is the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except by accepting the salvation provided by Christ.
Admit that you are a sinner just like the rest of us.
Admit that you are totally helpless to quit sinning on your own.
Believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God.
Believe that Jesus lived a sinless life.
Understand that because of this truth, His death on the cross pays your debt if you choose it.
Tell Jesus that you are sorry for your sin and that you want to never sin again.
Ask Him to take away your sins and replace them with His righteousness.
As He said to the woman that the Pharisees wanted to stone for adultery, you should go and sin no more.
You will sin again, of course, but understand that you have the Holy Spirit inside of you making you strong. You also have Christ right by your side to pick you up each time you fall.
Just as I have a responsibility to preach, others have a responsibility to listen. This hatred of the sermon is downright stupid. As the scripture says, how will anyone know Jesus without the preacher?
How beautiful upon the mountains
Are the feet of him who brings good news,
Who proclaims peace
Who brings glad tidings of good things,
Who proclaims salvation
Who says to Zion
“Your God reigns!”
I know that most folks are led to Christ by friends and lay people. But where did those folks hear about Jesus? Who keeps reminding of the good news week after week? The sermon is important, and only fools roll their eyes and sigh and grumble.
As for me, I intend to just keep walking. Walking and preaching, that’s what I do. I wonder if that makes me the guy who is too heavenly minded to be any earthly good?
I guess I won’t know until I’m on my deathbed and then we will see if anyone shows up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A
The Abandoned Street
Even so then, at this present time there is a remnant according to the election of grace. (Romans 11:5)
I was in my car driving around the neighborhood alone in silence. The air conditioner was running on high in opposition to higher-than-normal summer heat. Usually when driving alone, I would have the radio on. It would either be tuned to the oldies station, because I am an oldie, or to the Christian music station, because I am a Christian who loves music, or to the preaching station because since I am a preacher, the radio is my only choice to hear other preachers.
Today, though, I chose silence. There were fliers on the passenger’s seat beside me announcing a revival service to be hosted at our church in just a few weeks. I was taking the fliers around to the area churches inviting them to the service. The mission had left me depressed, and rather than turn on some music or preaching to dispel my funky mood, I had chosen to wallow in it.
I had started out at 10 am in hopes of catching some folks in their offices; it was now 1 pm and I had found only three of the twenty churches I stopped at that had anyone in the building.
In the first one with signs of life, the pastor was in, and he thanked me for stopping but informed me that his denomination would not allow him to participate in any events outside of the denomination.
In the second of the three, a secretary assured me that she was not even allowed to post fliers for events occurring on a Sunday as they would be having services of their own. In the third, the pastor interrogated me on my beliefs and determined that he could not in good conscience promote the event because my style of baptism did not agree with his.
Empty churches and uncooperative churches left me in a funk. Honestly, I am usually very good at allowing the joy of the Lord to ease me out of a bad mood, but for some reason, this day I just couldn’t find the edge of the pool. The pool filled with gloom and despair.
Eight years and this congregation was holding twenty members. Eight years and no cooperation among the churches. Eight years and no money for a benevolence fund, children’s church materials, marketing, and not even much-needed facility repairs.
I felt alone and defeated.
“Lord,” I finally started to pray. “I am not sure I can keep this up. This neighborhood needs a lot more than one pastor way past his prime. I’ve been running on fumes for seven of the last eight years. The tank is dry and I am so very tired of doing this all by myself.”
According to a lot of my own past sermons, God was already answering me. I couldn’t hear anything though. My inner cry baby was wailing way too loud. Then the devil chimed in. He listed the name of every pastor and gospel singer I had ever known who had been caught in sin.
“You are alone,” he hissed, “Curse God and die!”
“Shut up serpent!” I raged in my spirit. He left me for the moment, but, in truth, his words affected me. Disgust and anger continued to grow inside me.
I was already steering the car back to the church, cutting my mission short by hours. “No one is going to show up for this thing anyway,” I convinced myself. “Why waste the rest of my day on a fool’s errand.”
“God, what is it that you want from me?” I hissed in my spirit as I parked my car in front of the church. “What do you expect from me?” I continued to gripe as I entered the front door and locked it shut behind me.
As I entered my office, I tossed the 100 or so leftover fliers into the trash can. The service wasn’t for a few weeks, but I gave up on the fliers in a huff. Clearly by this time, the day had become all about me. I was tired and lonely. I felt as if God had abandoned me on a deserted island and expected me to clean it up all by myself. I wondered if it would be appropriate for me to go down to the gym and find a basketball to talk to.
“God, do you see this pit you planted me in?” I returned to prayer as I flopped into the chair behind my desk. “How do you expect me to bloom here when I am being choked out by weeds?” I continued after a huge sigh with my face in my hands. “Drugs, prostitution, alcoholism, robbery, and murder, and that is just an average weekend. They ignore me at best and hate me at worst.”
“They hate him too.” My spirit reminded my flesh.
I heard that one. I lifted my hands from my face and slowly looked around the room as if I expected to find Jesus sitting in one of the chairs that surround my desk.
“You’re never alone,” I sounded disappointed in myself. “You know better than that.”
The phone rang.
“Community Christian Church,” I said into the phone after crossing the room to pick up the handset.
“Pastor Dave?” I knew the voice. It was the pastor of a local Church of Christ I had been meeting for lunch every month for almost a year. “I called earlier but there was no answer.”
He probably was not as disappointed as he sounded. That was most likely my spirit feeling convicted because I had allowed other pastors not being in their offices to rob me of my joy.
“Could they have been out working for God, like you were?”
I heard that one too.
“Pastor Steve,” I replied as if everything was wonderful. “How can I help you?”
“You had mentioned dropping off some fliers for your revival service. I was wondering if you could get them to me in time for Sunday service.”
“Of course,” I assured him. “I was just getting ready to head your way.”
“Do you remember your sermon about the remnant that God always has in the ready?”
I heard that one as well. My hearing seemed to be fully off of the selective setting.
“Pastor Wes at the Baptist church wants some fliers as well,” Steve continued. “Could you stop by there on the way?”
“No problem,” I promised.
“It should be a great service,” he predicted.
“I am sure it will be.” I actually meant it.
“Dave,” the way he softly uttered my name sounded fatherly even though he was several years my junior. “You’re not alone, you know.”
“I know,” there was a smile on my face. “You’ve been listening to God today, haven’t you?”
“Your name came up in my prayers,” he admitted.
“Thank you,” I replied. “I’ll be alright now. I just needed a little kick and a big hug. I’m much better now.”
“Good,” Steve continued. “We need all the soldiers we can get out here.”
“Amen brother, amen.”
We hung up and I crossed the room to the trash can. The fliers were no worse for the wear, so I retrieved them and started for my car.
“You should never grow weary in doing well.”
I definitely heard that one.
“He will never leave you or forsake you.”
“I know, I know,” I spoke in my spirit. “It was just one of those days.”
“That’s why He never leaves us.”
I really heard that one.
B
We Are the Remnant
I look at all the lonely people.
In this part of the city, drugs are a huge problem, so are prostitution and violence. Folks come to my office for help; they almost never admit to a drug problem. In fact, it is more common to have someone in the office as high as a kite tell me that they have been clean for more than a year.
No one has ever confessed to prostitution though I have seen a few of them on the street.
Lying to the preacher to get some food or money is an accepted way of life on this street.
There is one thing though that folks seem to be totally honest about. If they are lonely, they will say so—men or women, heart-broken and confused. “Why have I been abandoned?”
I used to nod my head in agreement to the conventional wisdom that it is so very easy to be in a room full of people and still be alone. I still do understand the emotional sickness that allows us to feel that loneliness is an inevitable truth of human existence. The truth though is that loneliness, for the most part, is a choice.
Setting aside extreme cases of shut-ins and solitary prisoners, let’s consider regular people.
First, let’s consider the unsaved person, someone who does not know the Lord. People are everywhere. We just often make assumptions. We think people are too busy for us or our personality or our addiction or our handicap makes us unlovable.
