The World for God

Just dug this up. I wrote it last year at about this time. Amazing sometimes when we fast forward a year in our lives.

The World for God

I met them as I was walking back from late night coffee with an old college friend I hadn’t seen in years. Going over in my mind the conversation we had just shared while shutting down a Starbucks in Grand Central Station, I was concerned that I had pushed my faith too hard on him. I had no intention of doing so. I really wasn’t looking upon this as some sort of evangelistic conquest waiting to happen.

Most of it was innocuous enough—simply two old friends who had been accustomed to seeing each other daily, catching up on 10 years of mostly lost time. It was our last exchange that had me most concerned. He spoke of all the good-looking women rushing past him as we exited the terminal and mourned the fact that there was no good way for a single guy to flag them down and begin some meaningful conversation or at least get an email address from them. That’s when I plunged overboard accidentally. I told him that the good-looking women hang out at church and don’t rush off. Before I knew it I was inviting him and working out the logistics of him staying at our place on a Saturday night so he wouldn’t have to get up early and commute to our worship service. He stopped me in my tracks, reminding me that he was still holding out for a nice Jewish girl with whom he could settle down.

An abrupt goodbye and a wave of self-doubt.

And so it was that I got off at my subway stop, wandered north a couple blocks in the opposite direction of home to look for some members of our congregation who told me they were sleeping opposite the nearest Catholic Church to our corps. I didn’t find them, but did meet three new faces – C, a tall gaunt man with a black head wrap, Rock, the suspicious one of the bunch who did not offer his hand to shake mine back and Matt, the social butterfly of the crowd, barrel chest and bald head to look the part. Antonio, a regular, was sleeping on some cardboard behind them. We spoke for a moment, I told them about our services. They asked if the meal on Sundays was any good. Rock was specific about wanting my opinion, not Antonio’s and we parted ways.

Close to midnight, I was ready to call it a night when the Spirit spoke and told me to take yet another long way home. Staying two blocks north and not at all sure if this was just me, just my imagination or the leading of the Spirit, I walked on. I prayed that the Lord would reveal the specific people he was urging me on about. The first couple of fellow pedestrians might have made me out for half a crazy person as I stared at them in hopes that the Spirit would do his thing and let me know. Then I spotted them. Across the street, two Asian men, one well dressed in black, one with the ubiquitous urban black canvas cab with a short bill, a straggly goatee and some piercings. Both were smoking and leaning up against a closed Chinese food restaurant. I crossed the street close to where they loitered. I walked past them at first hoping the Spirit would give up on this urging. But he nagged at me and I’ve regretted being disobedient to the leading of the Spirit in the past, so I turned around. I slowly, cautiously approached them hoping the voice would call me off at the last second, offer up some other goat to sacrifice instead of me like he had done for Abraham and Isaac. No such luck.

It wasn’t until I got close that I noticed the telltale earpiece planted in the ear of the well-dressed one. It was very similar to the ones worn by the street scouts for the Japanese brothel on my block. I had no idea what to say, so I stumbled out with:

“You guys work around here?”

Nods of the head.

“I work near here too. Where do you guys work?”

Well-dressed pointed over his shoulder, up the steps of the brownstone next to the Chinese place. “Right up there.”

“Oh. I work at The Salvation Army over on 52nd.”

“The what? Say the name again”

“The Salvation Army at 52nd” (you know, right down from the other brothel?)

“52nd and …?”

“3rd, right next to 875, the big building.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know it.”

Long pause. What to say now?

Stumble on.

“I think we’re in very different lines of work.”

Well-dressed and smiling wryly, “Different cultures!”

“Yeah, different cultures. Well, my name’s Drew. What are yours?”

Well-dressed. “I’m Nao.”

Scraggly goat. “I’m Kaz.”

“Taz?”

“Kaz.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Enter friends of Nao and Kaz. “Well, I won’t keep you from your friends. Have a nice night.”

So, three groups: an old college friend; a trio of men who make up the hearty band of the hardcore homeless of New York City; two guys who work for a brothel in midtown.

Evangelism? I don’t think so. Obedience? Most of the way, I hope. Education? Always in this city. Kingdom business? God only knows.