Open Air: Dead Air

What a crowd! Over on our left there are forty or so young persons milling around and chatting to each other, as four or five teachers try to look confident and in command, hurrying here and there to check on clipboards and questionnaires for whatever project they have in hand this afternoon. As Stephen starts to speak, he attracts the attention of a fair few. Some smile, others are surprised. Several offer opinions to their companions, but it’s all low-key and inoffensive.

Suddenly, they get the word to move off, and they’re away. Stephen interrupts himself to say “and I’ve never driven away so many people in one go before!” which amuses the onlookers.

As he continues, I survey the scene: almost everything is as usual, with Janette in front of Superdrug, myself to the right of Stephen, and Peter - well, he’s not here yet; but, we live in hope. We missed him last week. There are the trams, the vans, the lorries, the foot traffic, and the food stalls; mothers pushing prams, Lycra-clad cyclists, students on scooters, casual tourists and anxious travellers; police in hi-vis vests and council workers in orange overalls and business types in dark suits… And here we are, in the middle of it all.

And yet - what is it? It’s noisy, as so often, but the sounds that reach our ears are somewhat blunted, muffled. It’s as though they were travelling to us through dead air. Perhaps it’s to do with the weather forecast that I read the other day: It looks probable that this will be a recurring theme during this anticyclonic spell, with plenty of what is known as “anticyclonic gloom”, with stratus and stratocumulus clouds capped by the sinking, stable air within the anticyclone and failing to shift for most of the time.

Dead air, eh? Well, in its other sense, this is what we try to avoid in Open Air preaching. Unless you’re a master of the dramatic arts, you don’t want to pause for any length of time. People will simply assume that you’ve lost the thread, or that you’re not confident that what you have to say is the truth. If you get stuck, just keep going with a few fill-in phrases, and glance down at your notes to bring yourself back on track.

It works for me.

As I’m thinking these things, Peter appears, his boards on already. I’m pleased to see him. We shake hands and he tells me he’s not been ill, he’s been on his travels in Scotland. I’m relieved. And his text today? “Seek ye first…” (Matt.6.33 - but you knew that, didn’t you?) After a brief chat, he’s off to where it’s busiest, by the shop fronts.

The tracts are going well, but not to the groups of foreign football fans who pass by at intervals. They’re lost in another world altogether, and Stephen’s summary of the Fall and what followed is falling on deaf ears. An older man, grey-bearded, bespectacled, and wearing a blue flat cap and coat, finds it most interesting. He takes a tract, thanks me, and listens for a few minutes, departing with a thumbs-up for our speaker.

The next one to stop is a young man of Muslim appearance - but no, he doesn’t waste my time with endless, useless questions, he asks for a free bible. He seems to have some church connection, since he mentions “my priest”, but he’s rather vague about it all. So, I add a copy of “Ultimate Questions” and urge him to give it his attention. He puts the two books away in his bag, and says he will.

I sense that Stephen has come to the end of his stint and is wondering whether to begin again or not - but then the young man is on his way, so I can don the mic and take my turn.

As I ready myself, cheering and chanting from down Market Street gradually rises in volume. More football fans? Yes, here they come - but then they wheel away down towards Manchester Town Hall, and the sound is fading away even as I begin. Our shy young friend emerges as per usual to eat his lunch perched on a nearby bollard. He doesn’t like being approached, but he’s here and attentive every Wednesday.

My introduction is topical. Will President Trump Make America Great Again? And if so, What Will Make Britain Great Again? You can take it from there, I’m sure. A belligerent-looking gent with a takeaway coffee and a carrier bag stands by expectantly; but when I say “We’re not here to preach politics”, he turns on his heel and walks away.

As I speak, a few falling leaves drift down nearby, and again I have the feeling that everything is dull and muted by the heaviness of the air around us. However, a pleasant-looking young Muslim woman in a black headscarf, heavyweight white hoodie and black, floppy trousers approaches Stephen to ask for a free bible. She glances all around as she waits for him to get it, looking a little self-conscious, then puts it straight into her bag and moves away quickly. Then she stops and listens to me for a while; but, at Stephen’s approach, she departs in haste.

Meanwhile, I’m on to “no peace for the wicked”, which gets a few smarty-pants comments, to which I give short, sharp answers. Two very young police officers stroll by as I advertise free bibles; and, all of a sudden, it’s Stephen’s second stint.

As he gets under way, a dark-clad gent wheels his pushbike past, looking out from under his luminous yellow helmet with wondering eyes. He stops, squats down holding his bike upright, and peers at Stephen through the frame. Most odd! There are another couple of casual listeners at a distance, but that’s about it.

Here comes a man of vaguely Indian appearance. He wears a pleasant smile, and has an engaging manner. He tells me his name is Moses, and that he’s a pastor from Ontario, Canada, over here to visit a relative in Rochdale.

As we talk, the cyclist gets up and pushes his bike away. But, in a moment, he turns back and shouts: “Will you watch my bike?” I tell him to use the bike lock he so obviously has in his hand and to take it to the nearby bike rack. “Oh yeah!” he says, and off he goes.

Moses films Stephen and our surroundings, and then volunteers to help out with tracting. I take a bundle from Stephen’s rucksack and he sets to work. If only all the Christians who stop by to say hello and who chatter away so casually would follow his excellent example!

Then I’m on again, and I mention him to Stephen as we change over. It’s my turn to be filmed for a while, and again he gets a panoramic view of the scene here on the edge of Piccadilly Gardens. It’s a pity that there isn’t a crowd for him to film. Still, I’m doing my best, explaining just why we are so ignorant of even the most basic facts about Christ and Christianity in Britain today. Stephen and Moses talk as they tract together.

Behind me, a large, black lady has bumped the GoPro in passing, without my being aware of it. From then on (as I review the afternoon later, on my laptop), all we have is a view of the food stalls. They’re doing good business. Flights of pigeons swoop down from time to time to pick up fallen fragments, queueing customers chatter, two more policemen stroll by, and the world goes on its way, regardless of my oratory.

But perhaps it’s not entirely ignored. The tracts are going out in fine style, and there are several people standing sideways on or with their backs to me, at a distance - and my experience from one of my previous lives enables me to tell that they are actually giving me their attention.

I finish on the fact that I am now an orphan, of a sort. My mother and my father are indeed dead: but the good news is that when I became a believer, I was accepted into the family of God, with all the rights and privileges of a true-born son. And if that’s not a blessing beyond compare, then what in the whole wide world is, I wonder?

Just before I close, Moses waves and takes his leave. I’m pleased to have met him.

As I’m packing up, a young man in dark clothing and a scrubby beard accosts me: “Did you used to be…?” And here he refers to one of my former lives, as mentioned above. “This man you’re thinking of: does he owe you money?” He laughs. “No, but that means it must be you! And I remember when you showed us…”

But here we must draw a veil over the rest of our conversation, before yet another reader puts in a complaint to our pastor. He’s a busy man. Stop bothering him.

At last we pray, while Stephen tries to talk sense to a time-wasting Muslim, another young man who will talk incessantly, but who will never allow our words to pass through the dead air into his closed-off consciousness, unless and until God’s Holy Spirit opens up his ears, his eyes, and his hardened heart.

And then we make our way to the Arndale, for fellowship and refreshments.

Please pray, if you will, for those mentioned above; and for everyone who took away bibles, tracts, and other Christian literature; and for everyone who heard at least a little of the gospel on that afternoon of anticyclonic gloom last Wednesday. We will be there again next Wednesday, God willing, and we welcome visitors who want to see what’s going on at first hand. Contact Stephen or myself for further information.

Later on, wondering whether the living word of God can ever really pass through the dead air of a day like the one described above, to give life to those who are “dead in trespasses and sins”, I ponder for a while on Proverbs 3.5: “Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.”

That’s good enough for me, and for you, too, I trust.

Every blessing!