Open Air: Noises Off

I’d better take a break. The ambient noise has been rising since we started, and I’ve been trying to make myself heard over the hubbub without turning up the amplifier too much. And now someone on the corner of Market Street is bellowing through a bullhorn. I’ve no idea what he’s on about, and I don’t think anyone else has, the sound is so distorted. I’ll just rest my voice for a moment.

John (for it is he) is with us for the first time today. He's finished his conversation with the young man who was listening to me earlier on. He strolls over. “What an interesting young chap!” Yes, I suppose you could say that. Tall and willowy, a black bandana knotted behind his head, an artfully made-up face, a frilly white shirt and baggy black bell-bottoms, white platform shoes, and a smile like that of a rising young ingenue from the Golden Age of Tinseltown… “He’s called S.”

Yes, we’ve met before. “He’s going to a fancy dress party - as a pirate. He says he’s a Christian. And he says he’ll pray for us…” Hmm. Well… He’s also been speaking to a Ryanair pilot who said he was born again, but who nevertheless took a tract. And then there was the young(ish) lady on the X43 earlier on - a freelance journalist, she said. They seemed to get on like a house on fire, which left me free to check my notes and spend some time in prayer.

I survey the scene. Janet is outside Superdrug, Peter and Brendan are by McDonald’s - but no Stephen, alas, since his responsibilities have taken him elsewhere this afternoon. A sullen-looking gent in a dark hoodie shuffles up to John and asks if he’s got any tobacco. Is that some sort of code word? Whatever it is, he goes away empty-handed. We discuss the possibility of John performing a song or two in the future, but then I have to get back to business.

As I summarise the gospel before returning to today’s topic, I see three or four casual listeners, including a friendly-looking fellow who is soon in conversation with John. He seems to have his own tracts, so I presume he’s an evangelist of some sort. The bullhorn is blaring out again, and I ease the amplifier up another notch, as I’m approached by a well-built woman on the verge of middle age, in a black cardigan over a striped cotton dress.

John and friend close in to intercept her, but she won’t be deterred: she wants to tell me about an old lady who gave all her money to “the church” and was left destitute. A shocking state of affairs, indeed, but it gives me the opportunity to point out that we don’t get paid and all our literature is free. “If you get involved in any church that’s always asking you for money, take steps,” I say, “ - dirty great big ones out of the front door!” Not so funny in print, but it goes down well with those listening in the open air. She’s happy with that, and takes a tract and is on her way.

Kieran arrives, looking ready for the warmer weather in a dark top and denim shorts. A few more folk are stopping to listen, so I turn the volume up again, fearing that my words will be lost in all the commotion. It’s a hard message to preach, since there is a great deal about the Coming Judgement, but the dour-looking individual in the dark jacket, his collar up as if against the cold, seems to be taking me seriously. He sets off as if to walk away several times, but he keeps on coming back to his previous position.

Kieran and John approach each other. They remind me of two rival gunslingers in the Old West, quick on the draw with their tracts, offering them to each other at the same time; but then they laugh, and then they’re chatting away like long-lost friends.

I’ve just got to the “Gates of Heaven” illustration (Christ as our Advocate - in picture language, but it makes a point) when Dan walks past, waving, but obviously hurrying on his way elsewhere. When I look back to where the dour man was, he’s disappeared. I’m getting hoarse, so I decide to end on (Sir) Michael Philip Jagger and his ongoing Search for Satisfaction.

A young Asian man stops to listen, drawing meditatively on some sort of vaping device. He takes out his phone and films me for a moment, then turns to our poster, then - exit stage right. Re-enter stage left the dour man, in the process of lighting up! And shortly, I’m at the end, with our Lord in conversation with Martha in John 11.25-26, and some of the most momentous words in the Word of God.

We pack up and pray, and then we’re off to the Bagel Factory, leaving the field to Kieran and A. N. Other. In the Arndale, we see Dan again - but only briefly, since he’s with someone else who can’t wait.

I’ve had to hurry through this account, since visitors have been coming and going all afternoon - but feel free to spend as much time in prayer for us as you would like.

You might wish to mention the following…

M. on the X43. She took a Salem leaflet and a Blanchard booklet with her when she left us.

S., the Pirate of Piccadilly.

The lady with the friend who was left destitute.

The dour individual in the dark jacket.

The young Asian man with the phone.

The several others who were spoken to, including V. (as so often).

All those who took tracts and booklets and all those who heard at least a little of the gospel, despite the noises off, on that warm and eminently worthwhile Wednesday afternoon last week.

Every blessing!