…………….But church is not about that and it’s time we wake up.
I live in a very rough city. My church is in a rough part of this rough city. But I love my pastor and his wife…. And that is where the power of God is falling.
Last night on the way into prayer, I was busy texting my pastor’s wife. She is my best friend and we love being dumb together.
As I was texting, a very tall black man stopped me in my path. In his hand he had a crumpled brown sack, toting a beer he had just purchased from the liquor store down the street. As I stopped, stepped back, and braced myself for what was to come, he begged, “Don’t be afraid.” “I can tell you are afraid of me.”
There was no one crossing the street to the church. No one outside. I thought, “What in the world am I going to do?”
I said, “I’m not afraid of you”, as I squared my shoulders. He said, “Yes, you are.” I squared my shoulders and told him again, “No, I am not afraid of you. I have lots of black friends.”
He began to tell me how much he was hurting in life and that I was going to be his wife. Nicely and calmly I began to witness to him and invite him to church. But I have never been so scared. I could not read his eyes, and that bothered me most of all.
As I kept listening to him, he grabbed my wrist, right above my pepper spray. (I had put my keys over my finger with the pepper spray and keys dangling down. My hands were full of my bible, a clutch, and my phone. Please don’t carry your keys this way!) I thought, “Oh no, here we go.”
I thought about running. I thought about screaming. And God told me, “No, you are the only church he sees.”
He continued talking to me, telling me he was a Crip gang member. He lifted up his shirt because he wanted to show me all of his stab wounds and how he didn’t want that life any more. He had A LOT of stab wounds all over him, even on his head. Yes, he did have a knife under his shirt as well.
He told me he was an alcoholic and asked me to pray for him. I said, “Yes, I will pray for you. I am studying to be a substance abuse counselor.” That gave me the opportunity to put his arms, at least, under subjection. I was very nervous because by that time he had tried to get me to move down the sidewalk with him and he had even touched my hair and moved it off my face.
This was the real deal folks.
After I prayed for him, he desperately grabbed my arms again and wanted me to go down the street with him again. He was pleading almost screaming to me, “I just want somebody to love me! I just want somebody to love me!”
I continued to be calm and friendly, inching into the street where cars or people would stop if they came.
Enough people finally started coming that he went on his way, but let me tell you..
Church, you better be prayed up. You better not be thinking about what hairspray everyone is using. You better be able to go BOLDLY to the throne when you pray for someone. It might mean your life.
Or someone else’s………….
