Open Air: A Busy Afternoon

Meditative… Yes, that’s the word I’d use to describe him. He’s listening to Stephen, cigarette in one hand and earbuds dangling by their wires from the other. Hirsute… That would do, too. His shaggy hair pushes out from under his blue baseball cap and hangs down as far as his bushy, black beard. There he stands, after taking a tract from me, inhaling smoke from time to time and then breathing it out in two separate streams from his nostrils.

He’s joined by a bespectacled young man of studious appearance, in a black sweater over iron-grey jeans. His head is inclined to one side, and his left hand is hidden in his messenger bag. I wonder idly whether he’s carrying a weapon. Well, it’s only a few years since the incident of the kitchen knife in the sports bag, which veteran readers may remember. I’ve often wondered what happened to that drunken unfortunate after the police took him away. But no, this one doesn’t look the type. A few minutes later, and he’s off.

The hirsute gent flicks his cigarette butt over his shoulder and lights another. By the time he departs, he’s heard a good deal from Stephen. I hope he’s taken it to heart. But my speculation is interrupted, as two young and well-dressed Muslim women pass by, holding hands. The one in the black hijab stops suddenly and drags her friend in the white hijab back towards me. She wants a tract. That’s good!

Next, it’s a lady in a tight, rust-red sweater and tight, black leggings over white ballet pumps. Does my bottom look big in this? Far be it from me… Her hair is cropped to within two millimetres of her scalp, with wire-rimmed glasses and golden ear studs completing her ensemble. She’s eating a baguette from a paper bag and carrying a red and yellow shopping bag, which she puts down as she engages me in conversation.

She asks about our church, but then talks about her work, her travels to encourage others in their evangelism, her sterling efforts on behalf of this and that… I’m little wiser when it’s all over, since she brushes aside most of my enquiries and answers only in vague generalities when pressed.

As she goes, leaving me wondering what she really wanted - apart from attention - I see Kieran approaching, a capacious rucksack on his back as usual. I’m pleased to see him; but, a moment later, he picks up a remark from a passing group of young people, calls to one of them - and they’re in a conversation! And then, it’s my turn to preach.

While I’m taking off my gilet and making sure that my sleeves are rolled up, the GoPro is looking over my shoulder and noting Janette in conversation with a long-haired lady. But it also shows that there is still no sign of Peter. Transport trouble, or a trip to the coast today?

But, no time to worry now. I pray for a moment and open my eyes to see Kieran in conversation with Janette; and, on my right, our friend Stephen 2 (the one with the grey hair and beard), come to help with what he can. That’s good! While I get under way with a little badinage about my age with a wannabe comedian, Stephen 1 speaks to a long-haired woman in a black top, her skirt billowing about her legs in the rising breeze.

It’s busy today, with various folk coming and going and doing this and that, so there may be things that I miss, even with the assistance of the GoPro. I need to focus on the task in hand - and on this bulky, black-bearded young man in the bright red hoodie. He stands a few yards away, regarding me with a thoughtful air, his sleeves rolled up to show us his tattoos. Is that Jewish script on his hoodie, with something in English underneath? I can’t quite make it out.

And here comes an elderly lady that I’ve spoken to on previous occasions. She’s small and frail and leaning on the shopping trolley that she pushes in front of her wherever she goes. She stops to listen, as do an Asian couple, while our friend in the red hoodie (P., as I learn later) pulls a bible out of his pocket and waves it at me. Then, as I touch on the fear of God, he chips in with “Amen! Amen!” Well, nothing wrong with that; but, as I mention judgement, he begins to offer me advice… “You’re forgetting Matthew 24 when He separates the sheep from the goats!” Hmm.

Fortunately, we’re interrupted by our elderly friend, who shuffles forwards holding out a handful of silver coins, offering it to me “for your work.”

Fortunately? I take that back.

I’m caught. Every week, we make it abundantly clear that our bibles are free, our literature is free, we don’t get paid for what we do, and we are not rich people, and our church is very definitely not after anyone’s money. So I can’t take this offering, even though that will probably make her feel sad or even slighted. I’m as kind and as appreciative as I can be, but she still looks a little downcast. And then P. approaches, and Stephen 2, and both of them add their three penn’orth of wit and wisdom, until it threatens to get quite out of hand…

I must get on, I tell them, as Stephen 1 looks on with a wry smile, as if to say “Rather you than me!” Indeed…

Back on track, and here comes Jason B., and straight away he’s in conversation with a portly gent, all in blue apart from his black shades. They’re joined by a tall chap in a black jacket and blue jeans who seems to find their conversation most engrossing. Then P. takes himself off to chat with Stephen 1, and Janette, Jason, and Kieran huddle together in conference outside Superdrug.

It’s a busy afternoon, and I have a very varied audience. There’s an earnest-looking, fair-haired youth in a white tee shirt with a silver cross on a chain around his neck. He sways slightly from side to side as he listens. A refugee from Soul Train leans back on a bollard: he’s the epitome of cool, his hair in side-swept, curly bangs, wearing a stylish, cream-coloured waistcoat over a black tee, and flared denims over white Converse All Stars. Beyond him is a black woman in a beige dress, and there are a few others in the near distance.

Jason strolls over for a word with the fair-haired youth, then begins to film me on his phone. Stephen 2 seems to be very worried about this, but I reassure him by telling him I’ll be expecting my usual fee later on. P. in the red hoodie says goodbye to Stephen 1, then clasps my hand. “Jesus Christ go with you!” “And God bless you, too!”

As Stephen 1 readies himself to take over, I advertise our free bibles, and our soul brother disappears, his place taken by a young black woman who leans against a lamppost to listen. The young man in the white tee shirt comes to shake my hand: “God bless you, sir!” But, before we can talk, the young black woman is by my side, asking for a free bible. She, too, is the epitome of cool: black shades, a black top with a big bow picked out in sparkling sequins on the front of it, black flared trousers and smart, dark shoes. Stephen 1 obliges her, as Gareth arrives, greets Jason, and stands looking on.

It’s all go.

I talk to the young man, whose name is R., and he praises our efforts. He’s a student at a local college, he tells me… Our conversation is mainly about evangelism and the state of the nation; he’s a most likeable young man, but I make very sure that he’s got a Blanchard booklet in his hand before we part. Why so? A quick search will take you to A. College, Manchester, and you will see, though it’s probably obvious to most readers already.

Meanwhile, Jason is filming Stephen 1. (Just in case you’re reading this, Jason, I don’t mind being filmed, but I have no desire to end up on YouTube. Why so? Ask me next time you see me.) The lady with the bible is back at the lamppost, listening. A gent of West Indian appearance is also listening, looking a little forlorn in a black top and baggy, blue jeans over big boots. His hair is greying at the temples and at the edges of his beard. It’s always a problem when folk are listening to the preaching: to approach, or to let them just listen? I let him go on; but, when I look again, he has gone on his way.

Janette is working her socks off this afternoon, coming back for more tracts every five minutes. It’s warmer now, the sky is a deeper blue, and here comes the cuddly toy vendor, pushing his mobile stall through the crowds in search of customers. He doesn’t look as though he’s enjoying himself. As Stephen 1 preaches on, there are protracted comings and goings on the part of our friends, phonings and filmings and more toings and froings… A tram passes by, hiding all from my sight. As it disappears around the bend, I note that Gareth and Jason and Kieran are gone, too! “Gone! And never called me mother!”

Ah well, it’s my turn again, and I want to make the last few minutes count. I begin with the vital difference between a cure for cancer and the cure for a sin-sick soul. You can take it from there, I’m sure. Stephen 2 has borrowed a handful of tracts from Stephen 1 and is giving them out - but he’s no match for Janette, returning yet again for more supplies. A gent in black settles on a bollard to listen.

Suddenly, a curious, chubby cove in a turquoise tracksuit sidles up to me, vlogging camera in hand. He pokes his lens right into my bible and then asks me, in whining castrato tones, whether I take questions - and if so, what’s the answer? “The answer is Jesus Christ, of course, as you would expect me to say!” At which point, he scuttles off - in search of someone more entertaining than myself, no doubt.

Then an untidy gent with a bulky, black jacket over his skinny frame and a big, black rucksack on his back shuffles up. He seems somewhat confused, and angry about something or other. It turns out that all he wants is a bible, which Stephen supplies; and off he goes, kissing it repeatedly as he does so. I press on, and then P. in the red hoodie returns and leans on a nearby bollard. A cavalcade of cyclists goes by, many of them Deliveroo riders, Janette comes for even more tracts, and I’m reading out the third verse of “Rock Of Ages” to explain how we can come to Christ.

And here is Peter at last, looking hot and more than a little harassed, due to his ordeal on public transport. He has our sympathy. We’re happy to see him, anyway, as always.

It’s the last lap now, and other listeners appear: a black bloke in a leather jacket and an overweight young man in a maroon football shirt stand side by side for a while, then the young man asks a question and I send him to Stephen. P. gets in on their conversation, then Stephen supplies him with a bible, and the gent in the leather jacket decides he wants one, too, and then - well, then the bible box is empty. That’s good!

Stephen is definitely eyeing his watch now, so I close on “Carpe diem…” and then “Amen!” To my surprise, it’s echoed by several voices around the pedestrianised precinct in front of me. Just for a moment, there is a prickling sensation behind my eyes. But I blink, and then it’s gone. I’m happy, I suppose.

Everyone wants to talk, but I’ve got to get packed up, and if I don’t do it in the right order, I won’t get everything in the case. P. wants to talk about the relationship between the Tetragrammaton and the rhythms of respiration. All very interesting, no doubt, but now is not the time. It’s time to pray, and then to head to the Arndale, where I buy refreshments for Peter and Stephen 2 and the indefatigable Janette. Stephen 1 and I don’t join in, because it’s also time to get to the car park and head for home.

It’s been a busy afternoon.

If you’ve come thus far, for which I thank you, you might as well go the second mile and spend a moment or two in prayer for one or more of the folk mentioned above. And if you want to join us next Wednesday, then please do so. It might be the last fine one for a while, now that the spell of good weather is coming to a close. But, rain or shine, we will be there, God willing. And if you can think of any better way for us to spend our time, then I’d like to know about it.

Every blessing!

[NB Some names and details have been omitted from this version of the newsletter. Christians who wish to pray for those mentioned above and for this work in general can get the full version by giving their email address to Stephen or to our pastor.]