Open Air: The Last Lap

A few summers ago, I was walking up from my house to the main road to catch the X43 for Manchester. I was keeping an eye on the pavement, since the state of it in the area where I live “craves wary walking”, as the poet puts it. I noted that my trainers were clean and white, and wondered how long they’d stay that way. Then I considered the rest of my wardrobe (not that there was much to contemplate): faded jeans, tee shirt, etc… and it suddenly struck me that I was wearing just the same things that I’d worn as a young man, XX years ago.

“At least I’m consistent,” I thought. And then: “Hmm… but now I’m on the last lap. And what was it that Sandy Denny said?”

So, here we are, another Wednesday on the edge of Piccadilly Gardens. Stephen and I both speak twice, and he was first, so I’m on last; and I’m on the last lap of what I have to say for the afternoon. It’s been quieter than the previous few weeks, which were hectic and (happily) well-supported. Janette is over by the shops, Stephen is several yards ahead of me, going back and forth tracting, and I’m wondering where Peter has got to. We miss him when he’s not with us.

The sky is blue, the sun is warm, and there is a light breeze, and the passersby seem to be pretty relaxed, on the whole. Some of them seem to be preternaturally laid back - perhaps something to do with the fact that Stephen has already been offered a quantity of Class B drugs, which he tells me he politely declined… However, the Stoner Community in general has been keeping a low profile in the area recently, I’m pleased to say.

Earphones are on, earbuds are in, phones are occupying an inordinate number of folk, and many of those within earshot are obviously not native to this land, judging by their speech and appearance. Tracts have gone out in quantity, and there have been a few brief encounters, but not very many. I’m dropping down now from the broader sweep of my address to more personal matters, including some elements of my own testimony.

The young man leaning back against a bollard a few yards away is giving me all of his attention. How do I know that he’s not just an idler? Because of my long experience of talking to many and various groups of young (and not-so-young) people in my previous lives.

He’s wearing a smart white tee shirt, dark grey jeans and trainers, and he has a black rucksack on his back and a bottle of water in his hand. I’m telling him that I’m looking forward to heaven in the same way that, as a young child, I looked forward to going back to my secure and happy home after an absence. And it’s true: see my blog on this website for Saturday 7^th June, “À La Recherche D’Amis Perdus”.

Then I close in more general terms regarding the state of our nation and the role of individual Christians therein; and, in conclusion: “Carpe diem pro Jesus Christus!” (My Latin is rather rusty - if anyone wants to correct me, I’d be glad to hear from them.) I raise a hand to the young man, and he walks over as I’m removing my head mic.

I thank him for listening, and we shake hands. “Very good, very good!” he says. “Are you a believer, or…?” He has medium-length blond hair, is athletic of frame, and open of countenance. “I’m not - but I - I’m considering.” “Well, allow me to…” I pick up my plastic literature envelope, but then: “D’you have a bible of your own?” “No.” “D’you want one?” “Yes!” As I’m retrieving one from the top of the junction box: “Hope you’ve got good eyesight, because the print is very small.” He smiles.

Stephen joins us. “I recommend you getting one of your own, preferably with bigger print and leather-bound!” He smiles again and takes off his rucksack. “And that’s not all! Today’s special offer!” I continue, extracting “Ultimate Questions” from my envelope. I commend it to his attention, and he kneels to put both items away with care. Janette arrives, looking very summery in a black and white top and what looks suspiciously like a stripey rah-rah skirt; although, of course, I don’t remember the eighties.

The young man and I exchange a few more words, but then he has to go. I thank him, and we shake hands once more, and he departs.

I still remember the pastor who, on learning that we were involved in open air preaching, responded with a sneer: “Oh yes: hit-and-run evangelism!” Well, we’ve been in the same place at the same time each week for more years than he was in his last pastorate, and we haven’t jettisoned half of the gospel as he did, so I wouldn’t set much store by his assessment.

And yet, he had a bit of a point there. It would be nice if we could sit down to a lengthy discussion and a full presentation of the gospel with everyone we encounter in the open air - but that’s seldom possible. We simply trust that God’s Holy Spirit will take whatever we are able to do, and make it at least one small part of saving some.

To that end, perhaps you could join us in a minute or so of prayer for that young man, if our Lord lays it upon your heart to do so - that he will read and consider what we gave to him, and that he might - according to God’s sovereign will, as always - come to Christ as his Saviour.

Many thanks to those who pray for us on a regular basis. Join us next Wednesday if you can - we always welcome new folk, and it is generally true that the more folk we have with us, the busier we are. That’s good!

Oh, hang on a moment! Here comes an email from Stephen, just as I’ve crossed the finishing line! I’ll add it on here, as is.

I have remembered to type up some notes before the arrival of the newsletter chastises me for forgetting once again.

As we were setting up, a couple of young gentlemen, probably in their 20s, appeared from around the corner of the air monitoring station. They both had wide grins and one of them spoke and I said, "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that." He repeated, "Do you need weed?" Do I look like the sort of person who might be in the habit of partaking of such substances? Or do I look in desperate need of a "chill pill"? In any event, I declined the kind offer, which seemed to add to their merriment. Of course, the right response would be, "No, but I do have what you need!" However, the ability to quickly seize openings like this is one of the many that I lack.

What I do think I can do reasonably well is to hand out tracts. My "go to" tract is Roger's "And Now For Some Good News" which carries an image of the sort of radio I recall from my childhood visits to my grandmother's house, along with some floating musical symbols. As I handed one of these to a young man, he asked, "Is it for a music festival?" However, he did still take it when I explained what it was.

Every blessing!