A Snapshot

 

2020

I was glad at first to see the two street preachers in the centre of town on a rainy day. I had a little time to spare that day.

I sat on some steps listening to the first preacher. He was a man with a bag for life, possibly in his fifties. I thought I recognised him from another place as the preacher who had managed to draw a crowd once. That is still rare these days. He had the kind of megaphone which was so turned down he may as well have just shouted. We shall call him Dull Preacher, grey all over.

Dull Preacher not only preached badly, he was also a little nasty with it. Nearby signs railed against abortion and homosexuality. He preached what he said was the 'whole gospel', except he left out the part which says that God is love. He didn't say anything illegal but railed at the people of the town as 'wretched, vile sinners'. He took particular pleasure in telling everyone that they were spiritually dead (why tell us then? We're all dead, how can we listen, how did we even get into town?). And that we are on our way to hell. The usual kind of thing which puts people off street preachers.

"I was meditating on hell this morning," said Dull Preacher. What a life. Was this a regular meditation? Was it particularly motivational?

For some reason his version of hell involved spiders crawling over his body or everything a person fears but an infinite amount worse.

It was the middle of the Covid pandemic (which I will write about next week), with the town under tier three Government restrictions, with jobs and shops going and a people suffering all around. Dull proceeded to say, "You are all under the wrath of God!"

This in itself didn't bother me too much as I believe in free speech and I know it is often said. Many believers think it is true. But Dull was so smug with it all. The people of the town resisted or ignored him. A couple sat in wheelchair buggies, one vaping, looking like they were with their grandchildren, all trying to keep dry with hoods. Dull did the usual thing of railing against 'false religion' including Islam, Jehovah's Witnesses and Catholics. Standard stuff. Boring. And quite prejudicial.


He was helped by another man, who we will call Red Jacket Preacher, although I want to call him something worse. He had been holding up signs which read, 'Babies are murdered here'.

I thought that maybe Red would be better than Dull. Red was an elderly man. Nothing wrong with that, except he hadn't turned into a fine wine. He seemed to have turned to vinegar. Red had been circling the people handing out tracts while Dull told everyone that we were all dead. In the interim between the changeover of preachers I saw Dull with his arm around Red, first laughing and then praying in public. In the middle of the street. It is common these days. Public prayer. Virtue signalling. The town seemed disinterested.

Red didn't use a megaphone. But to my horror he was even worse than Dull. Everyone in the town, according to him was much worse than a vile, wretched sinner. And by God was he determined to let us all know. He seemed obsessed with railing against adultery in particular.

Once again he preached how the town was under the wrath and judgment of God. But notably he did not preach the whole gospel either, by which I mean he left out the actual good news that God is love as evidenced by the cross. Both preachers lingered on and remained with the bad news and deleted the good news aspects of the gospel, namely God's love and mercy. It was the last thing a people who were desperate for love in a plague needed.

"In fact," said Red, getting a kick out of his task, "God does not love you. He despises you." Except unlike the revivalist Jonathan Edwards, who said similar things, Red was ineffective and his small, Covid-fearing shopping congregation only shook their heads in anger and sadness. What with the pandemic, Brexit, the poverty and everything.

“Oh you haven’t suffered enough yet. You’re going to hell.”

“I’m already there!” shouted one guy who walked past… a sign of life.

Awful.

And then it happened. I had been listening and did not feel too incensed, although I recognised that the preaching was particularly bad. Before I knew it, I had approached Red and stood in front of him. This is what I remember of the following exchange. Dull sidled in then, to prevent violence I suppose, or film the exchange on his mobile.

None of us were wearing masks, but I wasn't intimidatingly or illegally close.

"Can I help you?" Asked vinegar Red.

"No, I don't think you can. I just wanted to say that I think you should also preach about the love of God as well as God’s wrath."

Sometimes I speak too quietly and I don't think Red heard.

"How can I help?" He said, showing no intention or likelihood of helping in any way whatsoever.

I had been sitting listening in the hopeless hope of some miracle - or to intervene if there was an arrest, to keep even these bad preachers safe.


"I'm here to protect you!" I said, exasperated.

My outburst seemed to amuse him.

"Protect me?!" He laughed "And how do you propose to do that?"

"Which church are you from?" I asked.

"None of your business!" Replied Red, still smug and unaccountable. And I looked deep into his eyes and could see that he couldn't care less about me.

It felt rude.

"I'm a journalist" I tried to explain, "I'm here to protect you..." But I was becoming increasingly upset at Red's arrogance. A rude smugness I have encountered before in some Christian circles. It is a kind of sanctimonious self-righteousness which states 'God is with me in everything I ever do or say and he is not with you'. Dull listened in, too close in my face.

"SO GO OFF AND JOURNAL THEN!" Shouted red preacher, still laughing. And that is how I am currently obeying him.

"You have no idea." I replied.

I don't remember much more of the exchange apart from their hard heartedness.


I walked away. But not calmly. I was upset. I cried, too sensitive as usual. I walked through the rain, which mercifully hid my public tears, up the street away from the incompetent preachers. I wondered if I should go back to confront them again. But I felt too fragile to do so. Instead, I made an attempt to write up the incident, before the usual attempts at forgiveness.

I went back later, intending to either film them or conclude the exchange in a more adult way, but they were gone. Thank God they had backed off. The town did not need them. And neither did I.

Red and Dull, Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Later I did dig and find out who they were and which church they were with - but I do not want to identify them or the church because not all believers are like that and besides, I was being oversensitive. Plus, knowing my luck and their characters I would get sued, even with the journalistic defence of truth.

And up and down the country, this pitiful exchange was symbolic of the spiritual state of the nation at the time. Not only were we in the middle of a pandemic, we were in the middle of a decline. The opposite of a revival. Known in the dictionary as a declension.

Yes, there are actually words for almost every spiritual state you and I might be in. Even, for some, conviction periods, an intense time when you begin to doubt many things you used to believe and believe many things you used to doubt...