I saw you downtown this morning as I was heading back to my
car, standing on a step-stool and yelling to make yourself heard. A fit-looking
guy in his forties or early fifties, casually dressed in jeans and a fitted sweatshirt,
your neat-trimmed beard streaked with silver. Nothing strange or threatening
about you really, except for the shouting. From the way people cringed and
hurried past you, I could tell they didn’t like it.
At first I thought you were ranting about something
political, but then I saw the Bible in your hand. That made me curious. So
while all the people around me kept walking, I stopped and listened.
You know, it wasn’t a bad message you were preaching, at
least not the part of it I heard. You weren’t calling down judgment on the
people passing by, or trying to badger them into joining your church; you were
saying that God loves us, that He sent His only Son to earth to save us, and
that no matter how bleak the world looks or how badly we’ve been hurt or how
many times we’ve screwed up, there is hope if we trust in Him. I worried for a
while you were going to say something weird or creepy, but you didn’t.
You were just … loud.