Open Air: Proverbs 14.29 Patience Is A Virtue

It’s a promising start. As soon as the little poster advertising free bibles is Blu-Tacked to the lamppost, a young lady with an impressive afro is asking for one. I oblige her, and add a copy of “Why Christianity?” - an excellent little booklet by Ray Comfort. She’s pleased, and so am I.

All unpacked and ready to begin, we pray, and then Lorna and Janette move out to take up positions for tracting, while I stay close by on Stephen’s right. There’s a slight breeze, but it’s pleasantly warm, with some hazy sunshine. It’s already busy, and there are lots of bikes about today - including a hired one that has been unceremoniously dumped on the pavement to Stephen’s left.

There is plenty of extraneous noise: machinery whines and thumps inside the shell of Debenhams-as-was, clattering and banging accompany construction work in the Gardens, and our old friend Mr Tuneless Plunkety-Plunk-Plunk is plying his busker’s trade somewhere behind us. But our little Roland can cope, and Stephen can be heard right over by the shop fronts.

As he presses on with his address, a woman with straight, blonde hair and sunglasses pauses momentarily in front of our poster and makes a comment. Reading her lips on the GoPro video, I conclude that a soap and water mouthwash would be in order. As she passes me, she mumbles something along the lines of “All a load of expletive deleted!” Well, that’s a challenge. I call her back, and a lively discussion ensues…

It goes on for a while, and she moderates her language and her attitude, and even admits that it’s been a reasonable exchange of views - but I just can’t get her to take away any literature. Her name is L. As she leaves, I think: “Well, you can’t win them all, but you can at least prepare the ground.” So we trust.

Meanwhile, Janette is in conversation with a couple of ladies, and a man wearing a silver cross dangling down over his white tee shirt clasps Stephen’s hand with a “Bless you, brother!” and then goes on his way. Across the tram tracks, a young lady in black (except for a silvery heart on the front of her hoodie) is leaning against a lamppost, giving Stephen her full attention. The fringe of her hair falls to within a centimetre of her big eyes, giving her a somewhat soulful look… Her handbag lets her down, though: it looks like an overstuffed pink puppy, alas.

And here comes Peter, crossing diagonally in front of us, making haste to get to his usual station outside McDonald’s. I’m pleased to see him. But I must make a note of the conversation I’ve just had, so I step over to the junction box, where Stephen prompts me to get ready to take over in a couple of minutes. Proceedings are interrupted, however, by two ladies who are decidedly (as my mother used to say) “mutton dressed as lamb”, and who have clearly refreshed themselves not wisely, but too well.

The one in the chequered dress two sizes too small for her embraces me briefly, then attempts to do the same to Stephen, much to his chagrin. Then she’s off to Lorna, who receives her with much more grace. After some exchanges, she and her companion are off down Market Street, their raucous comments heard high above the usual ambient noise for several more minutes.

My turn now, so I remove my gilet, pray briefly, and launch into “How To Get To Heaven”, introduced by a reference to the recent death of Mr John Michael “Ozzy” Osbourne. And no, I wasn’t a fan, despite my liking for some sorts of heavy metal. Anyone who could take Crowley seriously doesn’t deserve much of my attention.

Stephen’s tracts are flying out, and soon he’s talking to a tall, black bloke in a light grey tracksuit, while I get a couple of folk exclaiming “God bless you!” as they pass. An unkempt gent in a green hoodie over several layers of clothing - perhaps a rough sleeper - seems to have taken up residence just around the corner of the Atmosphere Monitoring Station, and now he emerges to ask Stephen for some literature, returning to his makeshift camp to consider it.

Listening to myself later, on the recording that we always make, I sound reasonably fluent; but there are only a couple of casual listeners, and they’re at a distance. However, everyone seems to be doing a roaring trade in tracts, and Janette is soon over for another bundle.

As I conclude, an amplified “Hallelujah”, long-drawn-out and monotonous, drifts across the pedestrianised area in front of us. Many more follow. I can’t make out where it’s coming from at first. But then I see him, over by the tram tracks on our left, with his big speaker turned directly towards us: our old friend, the tall, black bloke with the greying cornrows, who so enjoys disrupting any kind of Christian witness. And yes, as soon as the hallelujahs end, he’s off on a rant about the evils of the Church, and then all the ills of society today, and so on and so forth - but what he actually believes in is still a mystery to me and to everyone else.

Despite the distraction, Stephen finishes off his address successfully, and then I take over to do the best I can. Mr Noisy is obviously not getting the attention he craves, so he switches to several controversial topics, including a rant about sexuality, designed to stir people up rather than to make them think. He gets some choice language from passersby in return, but he just shouts over the top of it all 

Lorna is in conversation with a burly, bearded bloke for quite a while, and Stephen has met a woman in a turquoise top who seems to have several questions to ask him. The next thing I know is that he’s handing her a bundle of tracts and she’s proceeding to hand them out! Another volunteer, it seems!

Eventually, we’re all done and about to pack up, when our rough sleeper in the green hoodie rushes up and asks me to take his picture as he stands alongside our bible poster. I’m pleased to do so, and then I’m pleased to see our friend Ronnie, who brings me up to date with his news. Then we pray, and it’s off to the Arndale, leaving Mr N. to his harangue.

Our new helper is called Florence, and we have an interesting conversation at the Bagel Factory. I give her a copy of our Statement Of Faith, to try and ensure that we’re all singing from the same hymn sheet. Peter tells us that he’s recovering from the heatstroke he experienced recently when out witnessing up in Keswick. He’s taking things a little easier for the time being, he says.

I’m glad to say that, when we compare notes, it seems that literature went out in greater quantities than ever, despite the interference we encountered. And we’re happy with that.

Please pray, if our Lord puts it upon your heart to do so, for any or for all of the folk mentioned above. Next Wednesday will be very warm, according to the forecast, so if you’re intending to join us, don’t forget your sun hat and some water. You will be very welcome.

Every blessing!