The Street Preacher
The Street Preacher
by Kenneth Chafin
He stands on the corner of Fourth and Broadway
in front of the Brown Hotel, catching his congregation
between "walk" and "don`t walk," an open Bible
in his left hand, a fisted right hand pounding the air,
his words bouncing off the walls of his urban canyon.
He`d look like an Old Testament prophet with his
craggy features and full beard, if he`d trade his cowboy boots
for a pair of sandals and his polyester suit for a woolen robe.
His sermon is plain. "God`s upset by how we live, and
wants us to repent and change our ways," It`s a message
they aren`t ready to hear, at least not from him.
More likely they`ll learn of the sad state of affairs
from the evening news or their Wall Street Journal,
where they won`t be embarrassed by the directness
of the report or the hint of personal responsibility.
On Sunday morning recognized ministers
will preach a more refined version of the
same message, to people seated in pews,
who also give too much weight to the nightly
business report and whose minds keep crossing
the street every time the light changes.
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