Street Preacher

456984652_dd7b5870b4Easter Sunday was a glorious day in more ways than one.  Not only did we gather for worship and celebrate the resurrection of Jesus at First Baptist Church, but God himself was in a celebratory mood, festooning the city of Richmond with sunshine and soft, swirling breezes in honor of his Son.  Or so it seemed as I strolled along Monument Avenue with family and friends that afternoon, soaking up the joyful ambience of an event called “Easter on Parade.”

“When does the parade actually start?” I heard someone ask.

“Um, this is it.  YOU are it.”

And so we were: a great throng of happy people—friends walking arm in arm, parents pushing strollers, children in Osh-Kosh overalls, and dogs EVERYWHERE, many of them in costume.  I loved the three Greyhounds wearing tiny hats; the Dalmatian whose black spots had been supplemented with pink, green, blue, and yellow ones; and the Yorkshire Terrier who looked up at me over the frames of her very stylish sunglasses. 

I couldn’t stop smiling.  Christ had risen and everywhere I looked people seemed to be grateful for the gifts of warmth and sunshine, friends and family, children eating ice cream cones and dogs wearing funny hats.  But then I came to that corner where the street preacher was plying his trade. 

He stood on a stepladder, holding a microphone and shouting words of judgment at the crowd.  “Are you perfect?  Do you think you’re perfect?  Well, you’d better be, because if you’re not there will be hell to pay!”  I could see people cringing, complaining, and moving away from the sound of his voice.  I cringed and moved away, although I felt a little guilty about it.  Shouldn’t I be supportive of someone who would stand in the midst of that secular crowd and try to preach the gospel?  Shouldn’t I admire this young man for his courage, and at least give him a collegial thumbs-up? 

Maybe I should have, but I didn’t.  I winced and walked on by, my perfect afternoon tainted by that encounter.

I don’t think I would have minded so much if he were preaching the gospel, if anything he were saying sounded like good news, but all I could hear for as long as I could hear him were words of judgment and condemnation.  If I were strolling down Monument Avenue and knew nothing about God I might assume that the Maker of All Things was really mad at me, and wanted to roast me in the flames of hell forever.  Where is the good news in that?  The street preacher did mention Jesus occasionally, but only in the context of “bleeding and dying on the cross” to save me from my sins.  Again, if I knew nothing about God, I might gather that the Maker of All Things was really mad at me, but took his anger out on his Son instead, nailing him to a cross where he bled and died.  “Yikes!” I would think.  “This is one angry Maker!  And if I get saved I get to spend eternity with Him?  With someone who would send people to hell and nail his son to a cross?  No thanks!”

I said to a colleague later, “People like that make our job harder,” and he agreed, because reaching people who don’t know much about God and don’t want to have anything to do with Him is a little bit like coaxing wild deer to eat out of your hand.  You have to stand very still, and hold out that handful of grain in the least threatening manner possible.  Any sudden movement, any noise at all, will cause the deer to turn and bolt.  You have to earn their trust, and you do it by approaching them gently, offering them something good, and meaning no harm.

Here I was, walking among my fellow Richmonders on Monument Avenue, within sight of First Baptist Church.  I was speaking to people, smiling at people, trying to open myself up in every possible way to friendly conversation that might, in time, turn to important things.  But then the street preacher showed up, shouting judgment at the top of his voice, and it was like watching a herd of deer turn and bolt. 

What will those people think the next time God comes up in conversation, or the next time someone invites them to church?  How long will it take to undo the damage done on one sunny afternoon by a street preacher?

2 thoughts on “Street Preacher

  1. Jm,
    Your authentic gentleness will suffice should you be in a position of having one come to you because he/she was turned off by the “street preacher.” I personally think you did the right thing!

  2. How do blame, threats, and anger bring a little bit of Heaven to Richmond? How does it work to put fear and anxiety into God’s people?

    It’s not working.

    I am stunned that someone would use Easter Sunday to be vengeful and judgemental. Monument Ave. does not tolerate that sort of thing, that is one reason why it is a blessed place to walk, relax, meditate, bicycle, breathe deeply, and merely to be.

    Richmond’s First Baptist is in a good location where a little bit of Heaven is welcome. The mix of culture, language, economics, beliefs leave an awesome scene. The Church welcomes believers and non-believers, celebrating the name of Jesus.

    What would Jesus do? He might have stood in the unhappy gathering and studied this street preacher, might have started singing a soft happy song of praise, might have started praying out loud. In singing, others might have joined Him, turned away from the haggler, the judge and jury, the gloom and doom orater, and focused on what Jesus’ message was and still is: joy in the Creator, God.

    Wouldn’t that be sweet to see a peaceful and joyous communion, a spontaneous community on the street —over -loving, over -worshiping, over- praising the negativity that spouted fear amd loathing. Such blame and intimidation , such toxic fuming is recognized as to what it is-temporary, angry, but most of all, fearful.

    God takes away the fear and substitutes giving, reaching out, faith, the substance of things hoped for. First Baptist Church stands for that and so much more, so that the next time Monument Ave. strollers see the building, hear its message, receive an invitation, they will remember the Church’s continuous and caring stance, its encouragement of unification, not separation,. They will remember the Church’s blending and eclectic ministry to the community, the well-heeled and no-heeled folk who have the inreach, the outreach, and the cross reach to bring Heaven to Richmond, one day at a time.

    Praise the Lord: it’s working.

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