The Street Preacher

Some things only make sense when they are set in their proper context. For example, the street preacher. In the middle of bustling shopping areas, his presence is an absurdity. Why would anyone stand up and shout his message to passers-by who would only ignore and despise his words? The message of impending judgement makes no sense to us when we are busy running our errands, buying things, meeting our friends, or just enjoying the frantic movement of the crowd. We would only give our passing attention, shrug our shoulders, and move on. His words and presence would go unheeded. How can the end of the world occur when we have errands, deadlines, sales, and meetings?

There was only one time in my life when I truly heard his message. I took a bus to downtown Buffalo during a time of great decline and recession in the city. On the bus, I noticed the blank sad faces of all of the other riders. It was hard to be anything but depressed on that day. The weather was cold and breezy. Everything was covered with a still, gloomy dullness. It was the end of winter and the colors were all gone from the city. All that was left was white, brown, and gray.

I got off of the bus in the center of the city. I had no real purpose for my trip, so I began to wander the streets aimlessly. I walked past many stores that were closed and covered with boards. The few people who walked by me held their heads down to protect themselves from the wind or to keep themselves from seeing the dismal setting. The wind blew up the dirt from the street and created an eerie, dustlike fog. I felt lost and alone.

Out from the dusty fog, I heard the voice of a street preacher. He was loudly shouting that the day of judgement was quickly approaching and the end of the world was near. As I approached him, I noticed a frightening wildness in his eyes. It was if he could not see us, but rather he was seeing some type of vision of our ignorance, desolation, and destruction. Standing there in this dreary fog, I found myself sharing his vision. He was correct. The end of the world was upon us: this long, drawn-out state of being in a colorless, purposeless world. Our hopes and dreams were gone and we were left wandering through our abandoned city. Our only choice was to damn this dismalness with our hopes for an ending and a judgement. There was some sort of truth and beauty in his desperate rantings. In this setting his words made perfect sense.

In the days that followed, spring came and colors, hope, and possibilities came back to the world. The street preacher’s message faded away as new beginnings were discovered. Now and then, though, on those particularly gray and dismal days his message comes back to me. Sometimes we desire endings too.