Sometimes the most powerful messages get delivered outside the pulpit.Usually my brother preaches sermons from the pulpit of his inner-city church. Today, he preaches from the street. It is a sermon for an audience of one–a thief.
“Lawrance! You take that Coke right back there into that store,” my brother yells from across the street. “I saw what you did.”
By now, the preacher has crossed the street and is looking down on the 12-year-old, stolen six-pack of Coke in his hand.
“Lawrance. You steal six-packs when you’re 12, and you’ll be robbing banks by 20. You’re too great a guy to spend your life in jail. Now, let’s go tell the grocer what you’ve done.”
With that the preacher and Lawrance march into the little corner deli. Lawrance goes first. In sober tones he confesses his sin to the man behind the counter.
Back on the street, he takes off toward the dilapidated row house where he lives with his grandma. He does not stand around in friendly conversation with the preacher.
“Lawrance can’t sit still,” my niece tells me later as we are discussing the incident over dinner. “Ever since he came into my class he’s been causing trouble.” Her father wisely refrains from commenting on Lawrance’s behavior. He says simply, “Lawrance needs our love.”
The next morning my brother is weeding his flower garden beside the house. Lawrance is on his way to school.
“Hello, Preacher,” he calls from across the street.
Usually he heads down the street to school–or to who knows where. But today he crosses the street, comes and takes a look at the preacher’s flowers.
“Nice flowers,” he says simply.
He has exhausted his supply of small talk. He holds up his hand in a kind of high-five.
“Well, bye, Preacher.”
And he is gone. Shuffling off down the street again.
“Lawrance came to school today,” my niece tells me. “I invited him to the church learning center after school. He says he might come. I really think he will.”
I don’t know if Lawrance came to the learning center. But I do know this: Sometimes the most loving thing a preacher can do is say, “Stop. What you are doing is wrong.”
Thank God some still have the courage to say it.
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Ruth Senter is senior writer, Campus Life
Copyright (c) 1995 Christianity Today, Inc./LEADERSHIP Journal
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Copyright © 1995 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
