Lessons from a Sidewalk Preacher

When I was a young drama student my life essentially spanned from 106th and 122nd Street off Broadway, far from the bright lights and theater marquees of Times Square. On the rare occasions I ventured further south I'd often hear a male voice bellowing at the top of his lungs, “Jesus loves you! Loves you! Loves you! Loves you! Loves you!”  

It took several weeks of hearing this street sermon before I saw the man behind the voice. In my mind he had become mythical, larger than life, a kind of modern day Wizard of Oz. Then one evening the curtain were finally drawn back. 

He stood about 6’2, with a wiry frame, and I'd guess was well into his 70s. When his tattered King James Bible was not clutched against his chest it was held above his head like a mast above a ship. And similarly it seemed to guide his every move.  

As I inched closer to the man few of the folks walking past shared my fascination with this sidewalk preacher. Perhaps they had grown wary of him over the years. Maybe the novelty of living in New York City had lured me to this performance, or maybe he was just the crazy old man in the neighborhood nobody paid any mind.  

Still, there was something about him I found profound even though I couldn’t yet articulate what it was.  

                    

As the years went on I'd continue to hear the same three words spoken over and over, each time with vigor, never with the slightest hint of fatigue.  

How could a man in the final chapter of his life wearing a tired cotton suit in August find the will to continue his work?  

This was the question I desperately needed to answer. In a place known equally for granting dreams as breaking them, a city where slumped shoulders and the visage of defeat were common, here was a light, a victor.  

But how?  

He believed in what he was doing and infused his life with  a sense of purpose.  

It's easy to write off such a man as a fanatic or out of touch with reality. But what is non-debatable is something compelled this man to get up each morning. 

In the end I found his passion honorable.