A Rant About (and to) Street-Corner Preachers

This morning I read the prompt for #Trust 30, the writing challenge I’m doing this month, some of it read, Is fear holding you back from living your fullest life and being truly self expressed?

Go here for the full prompt by Lachlan Cotter.

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I headed out to my son’s high school graduation this morning thinking I’ll come home and write something. To my surprise the morning provided an unexpected time for me to go against my normal fears.

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This graduation is a milestone as all graduations are. Everyone cheers as the class walks in. We all wave, strain our necks and wave again until we receive a wave back from our graduate on the floor.

There’s a few speeches and awards given before the presenting of the diplomas begins. With over two hundred graduates everyone checks their phones at least a dozen times as we wait for our graduate’s name to be called. Each name causes one area of the arena to erupt with cheers, clapping and cameras flashing.

Eventually the ceremony is over … everyone spills out unto the sidewalk and the closed-to-traffic street.

More cheering and clapping as the proud graduates exit from the side of the arena. People again wave and strain to find their loved one in the sea of burgundy and gold. High-fives, hugs, flowers and balloons are given. People gather around their beaming graduate and make cheesy faces for the camera. A few people steady their video cameras to capture every moment.

The crowd begins to disperse, but many still mingle around … when suddenly there’s a disruption.

Like a loud clap of thunder turns the heads of picnic goers in unison … a pronounced voice from a nearby street corner causes many heads in the crowd to turn.

Repent. Jesus is coming back soon. You are sinful, but Jesus was innocent and he died …

What the …?

I strain to see where this interruption is coming from. I see two men, both with a Bible in hand, standing on the sidewalk. One looks over the crowd while attempting to appear confident and the other one stands there with his eyes shut and his mouth open.

photo © 2009 Rebecca Wilson | more info (via: Wylio) Jesus was an innocent man, who died on a cross, rose again and is coming back … soon!

Please tell me he’s going to shut the hell up. I say quietly to my husband.

People edge away from the intrusion. Some chuckle. Some frown. All are disgusted.

You must hear my message! Jesus hung on a cross for you …

No one smiles at them. No one looks interested. No one falls on their knees and prays. Instead the crowd almost repulsively moves away from them towards the parking garage on the opposite side of the street.

I pause … in situations like this I’m usually the first to disappear. But today I look from the street corner preacher to the annoyed crowd and back to the coward, still shouting with his eyes closed … I am ticked! I think about fear and wonder what I’m afraid of.

So the post-grad celebrations of Governor Mifflin High School, for my son and his classmates, is going to be cut short by some rude yelling? Over my dead body ….

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I want to shout shut up! But instead I walk over to them to have a conversation.

Repent. Hear my message. Jesus hung on a cross for you.

The shouting man doesn’t see me, with his eyes closed and all. I stand right in front of him and ask him why he is being unkind. He is shouting so loud he doesn’t hear me (or he’s ignoring me) so I turn to the attempting-to-look-brave man.

I ask him if he realizes how rude and intrusive the shouting is. “This is a time of celebration for families. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event for our sons and daughters. What you are doing is rude, intrusive and unkind.” I say. (While in the back of my mind, I’m asking myself, what’s up with me lately … when did I become the  kindness police?)

He mumbles something about it being necessary.

I repeat, “It’s rude and unkind. Will you please ask him to stop?”

He says that he’ll talk to him later.

Later … I don’t think so!

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This celebration is being ruined now … later is too late. I tap the shouting man on the shoulder.

You must listen to this message …

I tap harder, so he can’t ignore me. He stops and glares looks down at me (at that moment, I realize how big this man is and I’m hoping this supposedly-Jesus-loving guy is a pacifist)

“I’ve listened to your message, now will you listen to mine?” I ask.

“Sure,” he nods. It’s nice to see he’s kind and civilized in a direct conversation.

His name is Mark. I repeat to him what I’ve said to his companion Frank earlier. “What you are doing is rude, intrusive and unkind.”

Mark nods, “It might be, but this message must be shared. People need to hear it.” He precedes to quote some scripture.

I nod, “I understand if you feel that you have a message to share … but there are other ways of sharing it. No one listens to someone that is shouting.”

Mark tries to convince me that his message must be shared now … especially in these last days.  (haven’t we heard that before?)

I pull myself up to my full height of 5 feet, 2 and 3/4 inches, “Mark, I understand you feel you have a message. I know all the verses and how you feel you must share the good news. I’m a Christian (but sure as hell not your type) so I understand where you are coming from, but this is not doing you or Jesus any favors. When was Jesus ever unkind?” (I cringe, sure he’ll bring up the standard justification many use when they are unkind … the temple scene where Jesus turns over the tables. Thankfully he misses the opening I give him)

We go back and forth for another minute or so (my husband has long since disappeared) Mark is sure God wants him to proclaim this message to everyone. I say okay, but I suggest he finds a different way to do it, because this way does not work and it is unkind. I make the mistake of asking him if anyone’s life has ever been changed by shouting from a street corner. He is quick with a story of someone in 1820 (or some year eons ago) who repented and …

I again ask him if he would please consider my request and allow our celebrations to continue without an intrusive voice interrupting it.

I turn and walk across the street, thankful that all is quiet behind me. I glance back to see Mark and Frank having a quiet conversation … like normal people do on street corners!

My boys had left a few minutes before this rude shouting had started … so I catch up with Jerry and we head home. Both of us are annoyed and angry at the street-corner preacher’s approach.

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Have you every addressed a fear directly that has held you back from fully expressing yourself?