Open Air: Empty Away

The good news is that I’ve got a new waterproof - from the “Even Further Reductions” rail in T. K. Maxx; the bad news is that it’s just a glorified plastic pacamac, and it’s grey, rather than the usual black. But, it will have to do for today.

Peter is ready for whatever the weather has in store, in a waterproof coat and a wide-brimmed, waterproof hat. It’s just the two of us at the moment, but the clock is ticking, so we’d better get started. We pray, and Peter takes up a position nearby, rather than over in front of the shops. I want him to keep an eye on me.

I ease into today’s topic via the upcoming election, confidence in men as opposed to confidence in God, and what we will wish we had when we come to the end of this earthly existence. It sounds quite interesting when I listen to it on the GoPro a few days later, but it evokes no response whatsoever from those within earshot at the moment. Even my “Wreck of the Hesperus” joke falls flat. Peter’s tracts are going out, but that’s about it.

Hmm. There goes a dusky youth carrying a Palestinian flag aloft. No one seems to notice him, either. I pause as a tram goes by, and look up to see Kieran arriving, in a smart blue anorak and black pants, carrying a rucksack full of tracts - at least I assume that’s what he has in there. “If he’s able to stay for a while, that would be a good thing,” I think. As I continue, I note one listener, a tall man in blue jacket and pants. He sips his takeaway coffee for a couple of minutes, and then takes himself away.

Up comes a shortish gent with a receding hairline and a black moustache. He accosts Peter and Kieran, and soon they’re in earnest conversation, with serious faces all round. A curious cove in long, blue shorts pulls his black hoodie open as he approaches, showing me the large cross that he has dangling from his neck. He has a sleeping bag draped over his shoulders. He calls out encouragingly, and I thank him. “Have a lovely day, sir!” he replies.

Here comes a dark-clad gent, bearded and bespectacled, riding an electric bike with a white frame and tyres big enough to put on a tractor. He parks it on my left, puts a lock on one wheel, and saunters off. Perhaps he thinks it will be safe in my keeping…

Meanwhile, Kieran is introducing himself to a couple of girls of Muslim appearance who have been listening to me. That’s good!

A couple of youths pass by; the taller one offers a casual obscenity from a safe distance. I thank him for being a living lesson, demonstrating how the sickness of sin in the human heart produces behaviour that is both irrational and reprehensible.

A young woman in a black and white print dress stops and tells her son to listen to me while she speaks to Kieran and Peter. Does she know them from somewhere? Perhaps it’s just Peter’s text boards that have caught her attention.

Clunk! There’s a noise from behind me. A Muslim woman has collided with our camera, knocking it sideways. She carries on regardless, a column of children of varying ages trailing along in her wake. I straighten it up, and turn back to my preaching. I’m having to keep going all the way through, today, since Stephen’s invaluable abilities are needed elsewhere this week. A couple eating nuts nearby decide to scatter the rest of their bag on the pavement. A swirling mass of pigeons descends to devour them, clearing them away in a matter of moments.

Kieran is now moving through the stream of passersby, tracting and talking, while Peter has drifted over to his usual place outside McDonald’s. As I speak feelingly of the effects of the ageing process and how we must all grow old, a young Asian girl smiles and shouts “Not me!” I smile back, but beg to differ…

Time for a two-minute break. A familiar figure appears: it’s Dan, looking as cool as ever in a mustard-coloured hoodie, long shorts, and stylish yellow suede boots! It’s an outfit I couldn’t get away with, but he manages it with ease. We chat for a while, and Peter and Kieran join us. Then the sun breaks through the grey cloud cover, and they move away as I recommence.

There’s quite a racket now from nearby building work. Dan has met a friend and departed, Kieran is talking to a grey-haired man in a grey jacket and jog pants. When he leaves, he gives me a cheerful thumbs-up. A council worker in orange overalls talks to a dark-clad gent, waving his litter picker in my direction.

It’s time for my ‘salvation as a free gift of God’ illustration, so I take out a £20.00 note and wave it about, causing a young man in long shorts to detach himself from his little group of friends and dash over to claim it. What a pity he doesn’t know what “It’s just an illustration!” means. He looks a little crestfallen, and I feel a bit mean - but I’ve got to pay for the drinks in the Bagel Factory when we’re done here…

Time for another gospel summary, after rebuking a lanky youth for saying “Shush!” I feel led (a phrase that I usually avoid) to name particular sins and to ask repeatedly of those within the sound of my voice if there is anything on their conscience, anything that they want to forget, but they can’t, no matter how hard they might have tried. A young man in a maroon anorak, hood up, stands with his hands in his pockets, a black bag over his shoulder. He looks disconsolate. I press on. “I don’t know if you’ve anything on your conscience. I don’t know if you feel guilty about anything this afternoon…”

He raises his hand.

Let me ask you: at this point, what would you have done?

As far as Open Airs are concerned, I believe in the primacy of preaching. More often than not, asking questions is, for many folk, just an underhand way of getting you to shut up. If you’re on your own, fair enough - stop and talk. If there are others present, send the enquirer to them. And so, I direct the young man to speak to Kieran.

But Kieran is busy talking to someone else. The young man stands there for a moment, irresolute; and then he walks away.

I’ll leave that one with you.

And now there’s another gent paying attention, a crop-headed, middle-aged man leaning back against a bollard, arms folded across his chest, a seriously grim expression on his face. As I press on, Kieran approaches him and speaks to him, but only briefly. As I’m deriding prosperity teaching, and doing an impression of an American televangelist asking his audience for money, a clueless youth begins to scold me (from a safe distance) for mocking religion! Dearie me! I tell him to listen more carefully before coming to foolish conclusions.

Another young man, one who was talking to Kieran earlier on, is paying attention to me - but then he, like many others, turns his attention to a rival attraction - a set of juvenile shoplifters trying their best to empty the shelves of Superdrug, just across the way. Janet is somewhere over there, I think, having arrived when my attention was elsewhere. Hope she’s keeping clear of it all…

I press on, of course, since I can use this as a perfect example of what sin in the human heart produces, even from a very early age. The commotion continues, the juvenile perpetrators running to and fro and in and out of the shop, until security staff lock the doors and wait for the police to arrive.

It’s just a normal day on the edge of Piccadilly Gardens. Sometimes it’s more like Piccadilly Circus.

As I come to a close on “and you can be freed from all that, through the precious blood of our Lord Jesus Christ”, the stern-faced fellow on the bollard adds a resounding “Amen!” I thank him, and that’s that.

Later on, in the Arndale, we talk of many things; but, as usual, folk are a bit too tired to put much down on paper about their various encounters; so you’ll have to make do with my account, such as it is.

Please pray, if you would, for one or more of those mentioned above; Kieran asks for prayer for the two Muslim girls to whom he spoke, and for C., with whom he prayed. Pray, too, if our Lord puts it upon your heart to do so, for that young man - the one that I let go empty away.

He’s still on my mind.

Every blessing.