Old Ways

It is both amazing and difficult to talk to old folk. Amazing in that I get to hear stories from past lives, troubles, hardships, lessons, and loss. Difficult in that these people rarely have anyone willing to listen. I can tell from the moment they begin their story, to the last minute before we part. They cannot get enough to tell me about their life. Indeed the Gospel is the goal, but to get there, I need to go through the law first - and this is where grace is much needed.

I have listened to much presentations of the gospel. We have much resource on the subject especially now that we have the internet, so that there is not a shortage of doctrinal studies about confessions of faith, theology - systematic and otherwise, sermons, but a few on the subject and importance of presenting the law, and placing the person you are talking to on trial to be convicted and found guilty before God. It is wrong to assume one talk will suffice. Oftentimes you need to go back again and again to talk to the person about so many things concerning their experiences even before you can open up the gospel to them. I have found that jumping straight to the solution (the gospel) without presenting the problem (man's separation from God), is not only ignorant on the part of the person sharing, but it is ultimately fatal to the listener.

Old folk here are usually raised in a religious family. Having reached old age, they are not too keen on new ideas and beliefs. But I have my Father on my side, and I continually plead with the LORD for an opening while the person is telling me his side of life. I do not have a plan in talking with people, but I do have a burden towards them. I take an opening when I see it, but more often than not, waiting for one takes great patience. Sometimes, it doesn't come.

I talked with lolo (grandpa) on the step where he sleeps at night. He works as a parking attendant at the nearby drugstore, earning enough for dinner (less than a dollar), and a meal the next day. No family. Self reliant. Self sufficient. And totally self-centered. I do not mean that in a bad way, but in the way that we as humans all share. He needs Christ as much as I do. He is already 71 years old. Weak. Coughing. Incoherent at times. Time and again I told him what he needed to hear. The law and the gospel, in between his pauses every 15 minutes or so. Short bursts of truth in broken order. But there was a glimmer of hope for me when his eyes went blank as I told him death is the penalty for creating a version of God that is not His. For a moment he processed my words, looked down, and continued with his story.

Finding the right words to simplify God's word, finding the right timing to speak, finding the grace to listen for two hours - it seemed to be an effort in futility. For a time it was like speaking to a wall. But what can I do? Nothing really. It was already evening as he excused himself as it was past his shift. He said he wanted to talk with me again if I ever pass by. I told him I would love to.

As I stood up I saw another man who by the way he was dressed had just stepped out from work, sitting a few feet from me on the same step thumbing through his phone. I offered him a tract. 

"What's that about?" He asked.
"It's free, it's just something for you to read."
"No thanks," he said waving me off.
I offered it to him one more time. He shook his head at it.
"It's actually a warning about the day of your death. You don't know if this might be your last night here on earth." 

I turned to walk away. Shaking my head for his loss as I made my way to the pedestrian lane, and crossed over to where I was parked. I looked back to where the man was. He was now standing, looking at me all the while. Did I rattle him? I sure hope so.