Monday, January 16, 2006

Soapbox Warrior

A lonely figure wanders to a busy street corner and throws a wooden crate down with a crash. His features are striking, with long-ish gray hair and piercing dark eyes. There is nothing noteworthy of his attire, except to say that it is clean, pressed and simple. With his box in place, he steps upon it and slowly draws a small black book from the back pocket of his jeans. Most people walking by seem determined not to notice the unusual actions of this man who is making it clear that he will soon be attempting to gain a great deal of attention.

The pages of the small black book are worn, even ragged and his eager search through the book makes it clear why it is in such an abused condition. Suddenly, he sees in the tattered pages what he longed to see, and with a long drawn breath he sharply exhales the words, "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand! Make ready the way of the Lord, make His paths straight!" A few people walking by are startled by the break in the voiceless silence, still others are visibly upset at the intrusive effort made by this stranger. However, two and three, now five and six people inquisitively stop to listen, sensing in the Voice a mysterious distant call from somewhere strangely familiar yet sadly undefined.

A large vein swells on the side of this man's neck with every passionate word he speaks. It would appear that this vein would burst from the weight of the Words it is pushing into the air of this busy street corner. Still, most passersby want nothing to do with this odd demonstration; they have no interest in the rantings of this Voice. But to the half dozen who have stopped, there is a greater urgency in the content of these Words than there was just moments ago in their harried and hurried footsteps. Like the swollen vein in his neck, their hearts are beginning to swell from the passion of the Words.

The echoes off nearby building walls naturally amplify the Voice above the sound of cars and trucks as he cries out, "We live in a world gone mad with self-promotion, indulgence and ego. Men find pleasure from their power over a girl. Women seek revenge on males through harsh manners and crude gestures. Babies are torn from the last safe haven on earth by forcepts and suction and children, confused by the insanity, mistakenly act out their rage by brutalizing their peers. Laws and government are powerless to heal. Self-important religious bigotry only parades itself as masters of the obvious. There is only one answer! A new heart! And only the God Who lovingly fashioned you in the secret place of His almightiness can give you that new heart. Today, let Him slip His invisible Hand into your chest. Let Him crush your heart of stone into the powder from which He will then with gentle genius recreate a heart of soft infant like quality. From that new heart will beat a new rythmn of Life. Birds will sing symphonies without beginning or end. The rain will wash your face, the sun will dry your tears, the moon will dance through the night sky and draw from your eyes a wonder and awe for which you long. Your sins, which stain you like a warrior of hate, will be displaced and removed so that the only thing from this day forward that you will wish to fight will be the old self you once treasured and despised. Come this day to Jesus, for He is your God."

Now, the six who were stopped by a mysterious Power, are bowing on a sidewalk, concrete altar. Their shoulders quiver from the release of long held emotions. A wide section of this street corner has been allowed to this tiny cathedral gathering as pedestrians pretend to ignore what is all too obvious. The man from the crate steps down and touches each bowed figure with kindness that seems foriegn to the volume of his just finished speech. One by one, those who have been bowed stand tall and look at each other as though they have just each one arrived home from a far away place. They are inexplicably changed. So too will the world around them be changed as they go home and find small planks of wood, nails and a hammer with which to create their own wooden crate.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Sounds like you Pastor Randy every Wed and Sun pouring out the desires of God's heart and mind. How you keep doing this day after day, weeke after week, year after year....we are truely blessed with a wonderful man of God! I pray that I am not just learning and not getting it...
Tallulah Joy