I sat down to write and I was excited to play with the words that have been developing in my mind about the changing of spring into summer and the New York bustle. Although I hear the birds chirping and the cool evening breeze is blowing through my hair, there is something else to consider that is not so picturesque. I peer through the window as Cosi and see the barista with broken glasses, she is never afraid to take her time. What steals my concentration is the raised voice of the man on the corner, he seems angry. His tone frightens me a little and I know I would never find the boldness to approach him.
I paused for a moment, encountering a woman. Our interaction was too sweet not to share with you. This dear woman stopped to simply ask me, “Have you ever read the Bible?” I responded that I have and briefly shared with her my plan to do missions work. She was humble and modestly offered her prayers for me. I truly hope she prays.
I compare the two as I continue to hear the preacher stress, “HELL… SINNERS…” The comparison to the woman is drastic and I ponder the gentleness of Jesus. The barista and her tall counterpart are on break now and engaging in lively chatter, completely unaware of the multitude of people that surround them. The preacher’s voice is becoming quieter, though still a shout. I don’t think his vocal chords can handle this much longer. He declares, “You are not saved by works! It is only by Jesus that you are saved!” That is true enough and so may be the rest of his message. However I have not listened enough to thoroughly discern. Is he right? Is my fear at the sound of his voice completely unjustified?
I remember that Paul admonished the church to speak the truth in love. I recall moments before walking by the man who took a seat on the ground next to a homeless beggar. That is where I see Jesus. A simple prayer is birthed inside of me; though my words may be true, help me Lord to display them in love. Thank you that you continue to remind me of your love and give me the grace to be that reminder to others.
I munch on the closest thing I could find to Graham Crackers (how I’ve turned into my mom), and I watch the people go by for a few more moments. The evening church service is about to begin and my time for reflection is drawing to an end.
