Prime
Street-preaching in the 21st century
What you need to know:
IF. What if street preachers tried out a different style?
Street preachers are a much-maligned lot. That many of them are a public nuisance is true- screaming hoarsely into the ear and offending one’s olfactory senses with their trademark cologne: eau de sweat. But, what to do with them? Having given the matter due consideration I have decided to think outside the box and present three proposals for the Alternative Sites for Street Preachers project (ASSP- not funded by donor aid).
Public toilets
Imagine the number of people who troop in and out of these places all day long- souls ready for harvest. And they would have no option but to listen as they-ahem!-attend to business. The preachers (now ‘restroom evangelists’) would have to find a way to blend into the shadows at the corners of the toilet. The important thing would be for the toilet users to be forewarned, because nasty accidents could happen here. For example, in a men’s urinal if a gentleman were to walk in, unzip, relax, and aim, only to hear an almighty “Prrrrrrrrrraiiiiiise God!!! Hallelujah!” right in his ear, something terrible could happen next! But those would just be teething problems. In time the system would work perfectly.
Street preachers as boda-boda operatives
As preachers, it would be good for them to earn their daily bread from something other than begging. With a megaphone affixed to the handlebars they could preach the whole journey through, clearing the traffic before them Moses-style, with the roar of their convictions. If carrying particularly hardened sinners/passengers, the boda preachers could turn their megaphones to face the back. I imagine their passengers would arrive at their destinations well convicted and repentant (though you never know, some might react the opposite way and prefer jumping off the boda to having to listen to the preaching).
Street preachers as iron-bar gang members (minus the iron bars)
Imagine walking home using that dangerous panya route when you hear footsteps behind you. You pause, they pause. You start walking again, the footsteps resume. The path is deserted so you decide to make a run for it, only for a tall, heftily built man wearing a woman’s stocking over his head to emerge in front of you and grip you by the arm. He reaches slowly into his pocket to remove something and you start screaming in earnest now, unable to believe that your life will end this way. The masked man looms over you and mutters menacingly “Yesu afaayo…” and you pass out cold. When you regain consciousness the only trace of the masked man is a gospel tract tucked carefully into your pocket…talk about effective!
