My Early Story (15)

 

George Will and New York, Part Two

 

George rolled the window down to hear the words:

 

“My name is Eufemio Alvarez and I am a minister of the Lord Jesus Christ. I just heard one of you singing about Jesus and the Holy Spirit told me to come over here and find out who you are.”

 

Well now, when someone knocks on your door and says something like that, you invite him to come in.

 

Eufemio Alvarez was about 5’6”, medium build, and was in his mid to late 30’s. He talked fast, had darting dark eyes, and on this particular day wore a black trench coat. His face bore scars from what was possibly severe acne. He smiled a lot. I think his smile was animated by observation – hence the darting eyes – and the rapid tempo of his life – he was usually on the move.

 

As Brother Alvarez, for this is how we would call him, sat in the back seat we introduced ourselves and told our story. When we finished he said:

 

“I’m out of town tonight, speaking in New Jersey. Here’s my card. On the back of the card I’m going to write down the name and address of a church that has service tonight, and also the pastor’s name. You go there and tell him that I sent you. The church is only a few blocks away on Delancey Street.”

 

After a little more conversation our guest departed.

 

That night we arrived at the church and waited for the pastor’s arrival. The entrance to the church had a steel storefront folding gate that was locked for security. Soon a man in his 50’s arrived, wearing a dark trench coat (remember it’s winter in NY) and unlocked the gate, pushed it back, and then unlocked the door to the church. It wasn’t a “church building” but it was hardly a storefront church either. It was attached to other buildings in the block and it could easily seat 300 people, possibly more, and had a high ceiling such as you’d find in a free-standing church building. That little section of Delancey Street had, at the time, nondescript stores and walk-up apartments.

 

We followed the man inside and introduced ourselves, showing him Brother Alvarez’s card. The man, who was the pastor, gave us a warm invitation to stay for the service. It was, to my thinking at the time, an unusual night for a church service, either a Tuesday or Thursday. What I didn’t know at the time was that the Spanish-speaking Pentecostal churches of NYC had services 4 – 6 nights a week, depending on the particular church – they took church-life seriously.

 

As time for the service to commence got nearer and nearer I wondered where the people were, as the actual time arrived I wondered why we didn’t begin. The people were very friendly to George and me – introducing themselves and their families, many of them spoke English, but many of the older people didn’t. As the minutes ticked away the service still didn’t begin and people were still arriving. After 20 or 30 minutes music began, people started singing, and still folks kept coming. I guess the pastor didn’t get down to business until a good 45 minutes after the scheduled start time – that was my introduction into life in a fast city in the slow lane.

 

Everything that transpired was in Spanish – and I was intrigued. People were excited about being there, the music was vibrant, the children were respectful, the singers and musicians were involved in heartfelt worship and ministry – people were glad to see each other, they were glad to be there.

 

Deep into the service George and I were invited onto the platform, were introduced, and were then asked to speak. I went first and really didn’t have much to say. Basically what I said was that two years ago I had been in NYC as a runaway boy, now I was back to preach the Gospel.

 

George had more to say because he really did have something to say. I never heard George speak for the sake of hearing himself speak. He talked about Jesus being our source of life and about Jesus being our Good Pastor, our Good Shepherd. George has been preaching and teaching that ever since I’ve known him – right up until this very day, and I suspect his last words will be about Jesus being our source of life.

 

The service lasted for at least a couple of hours and as it drew to a close I didn’t have sense enough to wonder where we’d sleep that night. I mean, why not live in the moment. As Reepicheep says, “Let’s take the adventure that Aslan gives us.”