Before Cigar Bars, There was Wilkerson

(Updated with photos, October 2, 2021)

Among the verdant green woods of East Texas yesterday, the man who pioneered a harrowing ministry to New York City's infamous street gangs died when he drove his luxury car into the path of an 18-wheeler.

The Cross and the Switchblade has proven to be a seminal account of conviction, insight, and tenacity against the odds. David Wilkerson, its author, was an ordinary, WASPish young preacher from small-town Pennsylvania. Yet in the late 1950's, he felt God calling him to begin an outreach ministry to none other than gang members and drug addicts in New York City's increasingly violent slums.

Back then, the unprecedented phenomenon of white flight had already gripped urban America, as post-war Caucasians scrambled for new, pristine suburbs. In the vacuum created by such a mass exodus of its employment base and middle class taxpayers, the world's largest city (at the time) found itself reeling from an epic surge in crime, drug abuse, and acute social dysfunction.

Nicky Cruz, left, and Israel Narvaez, right, of Brooklyn's notorious Mau Maus street gang,
trading in their weapons for Bibles with Wilkerson.

David Wilkerson's Impact

For a white guy who didn't know Spanish, attempting evangelism in Gotham's hardened streets and lethal alleys struck many people as foolhardy. Even within the evangelical church. Most people of faith were fleeing the inner city as fast as everyone else. To them, it was like rushing from a burning building; and then seeing a lone, naiive figure dash back into the inferno to try and rescue others.

Fast forward a couple of decades, and Wilkerson hadn't only evangelized one of Brooklyn's most ruthless thugs, Nicky Cruz, but he had charted a stark new course for how the church can minister cross-culturally.  He'd begun one of the country's first urban-based youth outreach programs, Teen Challenge, in Brooklyn.  He'd founded an improbable congregation targeted towards Broadway's notoriously libidinous theater industry and boldly named it Times Square Church. Eventually he'd launch his own Christian leadership ministry, World Challenge; which, among other things, had him scheduled to preach in locales as diverse as Haiti and Ireland later this year.

Times Square Church today

Oddly enough, I'd referenced Wilkerson myself only a few days ago in this very blog while discussing the early years of modern inner-city ministry in New York. If he wasn't the very first to do so, Wilkerson was among the very first to labor for the Kingdom when our modern-day inner city was not a popular place to do so.

Now that Gotham has defied the odds and become more glamorous than ever, it almost seems like evangelists are swarming over urban America like it's some sort of lark, doing church with a hip grunge vibe.  Back in Wilkerson's early days, urban ministry was hardly urbane; it literally was life and death, especially in Brooklyn, where even today, fashionable 'hoods for newly-arriving Gen-Xers remain few and absurdly gentrificated. When Wilkerson stepped out into Brooklyn's gang-choked avenues, there were no trendy trinkets to salvage from the urban culture, like cigar bars, for helping Christianity "fit in" and claim "credibility".  Preaching Christ was all that worked. (And for the record, that's all that STILL works...)

Back when I was in high school, I read a yellowed paperback copy of The Cross and the Switchblade of my father's, himself a Brooklyn son. Native New Yorkers of faith who stayed in the city had marveled - albeit with a dose of New York skepticism - that somebody from out of town wanted to help them reach their city. My father's family had remained in Brooklyn, even as the rest of the city seemed to be coming apart at the seams.

What struck me about the ministry God gave Wilkerson wasn't its more sensationally charismatic elements. And yes, he claimed to be a pentecostal. Even when I lived in Manhattan after college, my friends at the city's venerable Calvary Baptist Church never really credited Wilkerson as being completely orthodox, although Times Square Church was considered one of the three major evangelical churches in Manhattan at the time, including Redeemer Presbyterian (there are many, many more today)

No, it was Wilkerson's willingness to be used of God for something few others would embrace or celebrate, or even understand, that challenged me all those years ago.  I've never been a risk-taker, and maybe I didn't understand that what God was inviting Wilkerson to do involved considerably more risk than I would think was wise, even today.  But it didn't seem so much like risk as it did simple faith and trust in a sovereign Lord.  After all, how much risk is really involved if the One Who's leading us has already guaranteed ultimate success?

Which, as I contemplate the sudden passing of Wilkerson, returns to haunt me afresh as I look at where I am in this journey of life. What is risk? What's guaranteed in this journey, and what isn't?

Switchblades and Seatbelts

Unfortunately, a foolhardy element of risk shrouds Wilkerson's death in Texas' Cherokee County.  Police officials discovered  that he wasn't wearing his seatbelt at the time of the crash.  Wilkerson died at the scene, while his wife, a passenger in their white 2008 Infiniti, was airlifted to a hospital in nearby Tyler.  The driver of the truck Wilkerson hit head-on was also hospitalized after his truck plunged over the bridge they were both crossing.

The Wilkerson's split their time between New York City and the tiny East Texas town of Lindale.  In his late 70's, he'd given up the pulpit ministry at Times Square Church and had been living somewhat under the radar, roving the globe giving seminars and preaching.  A small, private family funeral has been tentatively planned in Lindale, with a grander public memorial service in New York later in May.

But good grief - what's up with famous evangelicals not wearing their seatbelts? In 1997, you'll recall that singer Rich Mullins, driving without his seatbelt on, accidentally flipped his Jeep on a highway. Although being flung from his vehicle didn't kill him, being run-over by a passing tractor-trailer truck did. I'm being blunt to make an ancillary point: 65% of all people killed in car accidents died not wearing their seatbelts.  And it's not like buckling up takes a lot of time or is terribly difficult.  There aren't many good reasons for not wearing them. Especially for those who should be setting a good example.

Obviously, when it's your time to go, it's your time to go, and nothing can change that.  God's sovereignty is perfectly synchronized between our mortality and His eternity.  So, although death can come in tragic ways, people of faith have hope in believing His summons to Heaven won't be early or late. But, sheesh - for a man with Wilkerson's ministry pedigree to be killed while not wearing his seatbelt?  That's just so sad.

Parting Words

Still, at least as a native Brooklynite, I would be shamefully negligent if I didn't emphasize the extent to which God honored Wilkerson - and the faithfulness with which he served Jesus - among some of the most unloveable people in the world's greatest city.  Few people have ministered to New York's unloved in such a Christ-honoring and groundbreaking way.  While I'm wary of some of Wilkerson's pentecostal proclivities, I can't help but be grateful for his overall legacy.

Despite all of the success God gave Wilkerson, however, New York in many ways has deeper poverty, darker crime, and more blatant licentiousness than ever before.  Indeed, the back-to-the-city ethos Wilkerson helped start among evangelicals can't claim victory anytime soon.  But Wilkerson himself, on his blog yesterday sometime before going out on his fateful drive, posted these words:

"To those going through the valley and shadow of death, hear this word: Weeping will last through some dark, awful nights—and in that darkness you will soon hear the Father whisper, 'I am with you. I cannot tell you why right now, but one day it will all make sense. You will see it was all part of my plan. It was no accident. It was no failure on your part. Hold fast. Let me embrace you in your hour of pain.'

"Beloved, God has never failed to act but in goodness and love. When all means fail—his love prevails. Hold fast to your faith. Stand fast in his Word. There is no other hope in this world."

And all God's people said, "Amen."
_____

Embarrassment of Resources

HOLY WEEK, or THE WEEK OF CHRIST'S PASSION
DAY 43 OF 46




Want to drive yourself crazy?

Spend two whole days surfing blogs and websites of supposedly important Christian organizations, preachers, theologians, and opinionated blowhards.

Granted, I fall squarely into that last category myself. Well, the "opinionated blowhards" part; I doubt anybody would consider this blog important.  But even this blog helps to illustrate how much evangelical content has been compiled just on the Internet. It's not until you flip from page to page and website to website like I did yesterday, though, that you risk getting really depressed. Not only does this plethora of content stake out all sorts of ideologies, perspectives, convictions, and obsessions regarding Christianity, but after a while, I realized how redundant non-essential most of this well-groomed content is.

Indeed, despite advanced technology, there really isn't anything new under the sun.

Building Bigger Barns?

Perhaps moreso than ever before, the evangelical church in North America has a crushing trove of accessible advice, reference material, sermons, reviews, workshops, articles, podcasts, critiques, Twitter feeds, and rhetoric waiting for its Biblically-astute audience. The sheer volume of these resources must be inexhaustible.

And still, into what has North American evangelical Christianity evolved? Most congregations have yet to be integrated racially and economically. Many congregations try to apologize for the Gospel by making their services appealing to popular culture, ignoring our mandate to be in the world but not of it. The divorce rate among churched people is the same as for unchurched. And we're quickly losing ground on most moral indicators, like drug abuse, extramarital sex, fiscal responsibility, and even scholastic aptitude.

Within these past couple of days, I've read about how some Reformed pastors like to drink beer because it upsets fellow believers, and they justify their churlish attitudes by warping scriptures regarding holiness and weaker brothers to suit their preferences. I've perused vast conference agendas covering all sorts of topics in minutiae for the high-energy preacher. I've waded through biographies of Christian leaders that include litanies of books they've written, parachurch organizations they've launched, and fellow Christian celebrities with which they've ministered. And I've skimmed impressive-sounding content covering topics like missional churches, soft universalists, sustainable evangelism, transformational ministry, transformance, new monasticism, and gender fluidity.

And you thought the Gospel was only about salvation through Christ!

Doctrinal Hedonism?

It all started as what I thought would be a simple research project regarding the emergent church and the Wild Goose Festival coming up this June in North Carolina. But then I learned through my research that the emergent church had pretty much stagnated in 2009, and has been re-branded as post-emergent. And even though most of the featured speakers at the Wild Goose Festival boast legitimate emergent credentials, some of the festival's supporters were also claimed by some trendy hipsters in the Mark Driscoll genre. And then I found where John Piper gave a speech to outline the differences between Reformed emerging churches, like Driscoll says his is, and the emergent fad.

Quite frankly, I'm exhausted. Discouraged. And even uninterested in associating with many of the people whose stuff I've been reading.

People with names you'd most likely be familiar, if you're an evangelical Christian. And some people you maybe even admire.

Not because they're smarter than me, or more spiritual than me, or famous or - as some are - wealthy.  All lumped together, they make faith seem sterile and esoteric.

Working for a church like I did years ago, I've already lost my ability to idolize or become infatuated with Christian leaders. I pray for my pastors, yes, and I value their contributions to the ministry of our church, but beyond that, preachers and teachers and opinionated blowhards are simply mere mortals, just like you and, well, me. It's just the famous ones have savvy publishers, publicists, website designers, and videographers.

It seems that all they really offer is a persona and charisma which we associate with competency, authority, and achievement in our society. And yes, many of the men - and women - we objectify in evangelical Christianity possess exceptional pedigrees in these qualities. But how much has all of this attention we've paid to them and their bullet points really helped believers in North America be authentic, vulnerable, and astute followers of Christ?

Are we, as part of the world's most economically successful and materialistic society, so stunted spiritually that we need these professional Christians to help us be as ineffectual and myopic as we are?  Are these professional Christians the problem, or the people who are paying their salaries?

After all, how many of us still expect our pastors to do most of the heavy-lifting when it comes to spiritual things? And to keep their jobs, might our pastors be perpetuating the problem by building their own little empires of influence they like to call "ministries?"

What if believers across the globe had the same access to this monstrous pile of elite exegesis on doctrines and theology that we have here in North America?  Might they put us to shame by their earnest devotion to Christ - as the persecuted church already does in unsung pockets of the globe?

Even in the Church Economy, We Consumers Share the Blame

Maybe instead of relying on our extensive Christian subculture for relevance, we can demonstrate our faith better not by flaunting our exercise of stereotypically forbidden activities like drinking and dancing, but by demonstrating a Biblical attitude both if you decide to do these things yourself, or if you know other believers don't.

Maybe we can work harder at trying to appreciate the underlying reasons for why a co-worker is treating us in a particularly way; not condoning the causes or the behavior, but having a level of empathy that could help us convey the love of Christ to that person in a meaningful way.

Maybe we could exercise far more discretion in what we allow ourselves to experience in the media that might, however subtly, distort our view of sin and its pernicious dangers.

Maybe we could spend more time in contemplative study of God's Word, as well as in prayer, so that the things we learn about God and our faith come first-generation from the Creator Himself, not necessarily second-generation through professional Christians.  Not that preachers and teachers can't be a valuable resource for developing our faith, but they can't substitute for the Author and Perfecter of our faith.

Think about it:  do we need more preachers in North America?  More church buildings?  More congregations?  More conferences, websites, blogs, Twitter feeds, books, and videos?

Or do we need people of faith to be more committed to Christ, more resolved to learning about Him, more repentant of their sin, more joyful from His grace, more eager to honor Him in all that we do, and more bold to talk about Him within their spheres of influence?

Remember, to whom much is given, much is required.  And here in North America, we have far more resources than we use or need. 

And like any good conservative, I dislike waste.
_____

Tales from Retail

DAY 38 OF 46

Trevor Bannister passed away in Surrey, England yesterday.  He was 76.

To most Americans, this news will come as neither a surprise nor an interesting bit of information.  In Britain, however, it's today's #1 story on the BBC's website.

Bannister's claim to fame came playing Mr. Lucas, a character on the 1970's BBC sitcom, Are You Being Served? (AYBS).  Just as America has its brand of situation comedies for TV, so does England, where AYBS has been a favorite.  Set in a Harrods-styled London department store, fictionally named Grace Brothers, this series centered on the lives and foibles of staff in its gentlemen's and ladies' departments.  

Mr. Lucas - his first name being something of a mystery - worked as the "junior" clerk behind the men's counter, the lowest rung on London retailing's hierarchial ladder.

Once, when challenged to supply his first name during a staff meeting, Bannister's character grimly refused, insisting, "Just call me Mister Lucas".  Another character, the bawdy custodian Mr. Mash, called him "James", but writers for the series eventually realized naming him the slang version of "Richard" would play well against the show's suggestively homosexual character, Mr. Humphries.

Indeed, contrasted with Mr. Humphries' stereotyped flamboyance, which in that day was rare and risky for television, Bannister's Mr. Lucas considered himself quite the ladies man and store playboy.  He was forever arriving late after an all-night date, and forever crassly wooing Miss Brahms, the far more competent junior on the ladies' counter.  As the novice salesman, he clung onto his job usually by the skin of his teeth.  His character valued authority the least, and teased Mrs. Slocumbe the most.  He marveled at the illogical ways retail sometimes works, and generally preferred giving up a sale rather than fun.

British comedy has been described as an acquired taste, and indeed, not a lot of Americans find it laugh-out-loud funny.  Most of the time, English humor comes not from blatant jokes or hilarious storylines, but from intricate writing which draws viewers into each character's persona.  British comedies tend to engage our shared humanity by encouraging us to live their shows vicariously through strongly-defined characters.  We're not expected to simply be a static audience and watch, so scripts are written both to elicit laughter and convey an almost familial poignancy as we infer well-nuanced personality traits into changing plots.

Welcome to Jas. K. Wilson

Even though I'm personally saddened to hear that the man who played Mr. Lucas has died, however, Bannister's passing has gotten me reminiscing about something else.  Back when I was still in high school, I got a job at an upscale men's store at the mall, and I worked there for over six years.  Whenever I watch AYBS, I can't ignore how the show parallels my own real-life experiences in retail.

Although it had become part of a nationwide corporation, the store for which I worked, Jas. K. Wilson, retained distinct local characteristics of when it was a fine haberdashery in downtown Dallas, just down the street from Neiman Marcus' flagship store.

Our clothes were expensive, and we were known for our service and attention to detail.  The styles of our clothing ranged from the old-fashioned to the moderately trendy, and we were never reprimanded for evidencing a bit of snobbery when customers asked for something too bourgeoisie.  We were fond of joking that "there's no such thing as a short-sleeved dress shirt."  And I can even recall managers clucking that "the customer is always right, except when they're wrong."

So maybe now you have a better idea of where I've gotten my spurts of attitude.

It wasn't all posh and refined, however.  I helped catch an alleged thief once, while working in the shoe department.  A customer reported that purchases she'd taken back to her car were stolen during a subsequent burglary of her car.  Among the items stolen was a pair of bedroom slippers for her father that she'd purchased from me.  Imagine my surprise when the next day, a bedraggled, greasy-haired white man brought the very same stolen slippers back to the store for a refund!  Complete with store bag and receipt!  I wasn't sure how to handle it, but managed to keep the guy engaged in conversation at the cashier's desk while one of our managers notified the police.  

I don't think the suspect was ever booked.  Since the slippers' value was far below the threshold of a major crime, and since simply being in possession of items related to a car burglary doesn't necessarily prove one's a burglar, I don't recall the police did much of anything with the suspect after discreetly escorting him from our store. 

The take-away for us was that my customer got her purchase back, her father got some slippers with a far more compelling provenance, and our store's reputation for exceptional customer service got some polishing.  For my bit of derring-do, I received some award at a company-sponsored breakfast banquet at a local hotel honoring employees across our company who had contributed to what the industry calls "loss prevention".

Speaking of loss prevention, I had three individual store managers who ended up being caught embezzling from the company.  Yes.  Literally.  Three.  That we knew of.  Just from our store.

And the police were never called on any of them, for crimes involving much more money than the cost of a pair of gentleman's slippers...

Minding the Store

Our retailing drama wasn't all negative.  Each quarter, a fancy sales meeting would be held at a Dallas country club or luxury hotel.  Corporate executives would present the upcoming season's signature fashions during those breakfast banquets.  Top salespeople were regularly fetted by corporate with trinkets, including silver award pins designed by Tiffany & Co (no, I never sold enough to receive one!).  There used to be formal training sessions at headquarters in Dallas.  Yes, like at Grace Brothers, there were occasionally far humbler and mundane store meetings, but at least the firm sprung for the boxes and boxes of donuts we'd devour.  

Like the staff at Grace Brothers, we were at least artificially exalted in our otherwise lowly positions.  We were salespeople, after all, and we were expected to sell - not to clean our store or water its live plants.  Custodians and porters did that, and we contracted with a niche company whose employees went around tending our lush broad-leafed foliage.  No plastic ficus trees for us!  We hired temps during the Christmas holidays just to wrap presents.  We had cashiers to prevent salespeople from being off the sales floor for too long.  After all, ringing up one sale means you're not making another one!  We had in-house tailors.  I remember one of our porters would carry customers' purchases out to their cars - which was almost unheard of at a suburban mall.

However, on the other end of the employee spectrum, our company management could sometimes be as clueless as the management at Grace Brothers.  One time, a corporate official who didn't think were were "pushing enough goods" tried to demonstrate to us some proper selling techniques one busy Saturday.  He left quietly around noontime, not having sold any more than any of the rest of us.

Indeed, I learned to value personal experience over book knowledge.  If you saw the amount of junk we were expected to sell that had been ordered by corporate buyers who'd never worked one day on a sales floor, you'd understand why I don't give a lot of credit to people just because they have an MBA after their name.  One of my managers used to describe them as being "educated beyond their intelligence".

When I began at Jas. K., an elderly gentleman named Coy worked there part-time.  Back then, we employees had sales books much like they had at Grace Brothers, and I imagine Coy's was about as empty as Mr. Lucas' was!  Coy never sold much because he was practically deaf, and almost as blind.  I remember watching him hold merchandise up against his face, and then extending his arm out as far as he could, squinting to ascertain something for an increasingly dubious customer.  Yet he lent a certain stateliness to the place, kind of like some of the characters on AYBS did.  He also had been in retail long enough to know a thing or two about it.

He used to like to encourage us younger salespeople with his philosophies of life.  He'd hold court in the middle of our enormous wall of dress shirts, or at one corner of our massive necktie counters near the front cash register, ignoring customers walking by as he shared his insights.  One of his favorites was that everybody should work at least one year in retail when they get out of school, before they go into whatever other career they might really want.  Retail, according to Coy, provided one of the best venues for learning about human nature in all of its quirky, goofy reality.

I learned that sometimes, you have to go along to get along.  I had one manager who tried to banish me to the stockroom every chance he got.  Eventually, I figured out that everybody in the store was aware of my situation, and my ability to tolerate it gave me a lot more credibility with them than it did my manager.  Maybe it didn't put money in my pocket, but people respected me, and to me, that was worth something.

And I also learned how hard people have to work sometimes for not a lot of money.  Our economic system pays workers based on how much our society values the work they do, rather than how much work they actually do.  That means people can labor exceptionally hard but earn far less than somebody who puts in far less physical or mental effort.  Again, however, if our personal integrity survives our workday, that is something, even if we can't immediately take it to the bank.

Maybe Coy was on to something after all.

So... when I learned today that the actor who brought Mr. Lucas to life had died, I felt compelled to spend a moment and commiserate over my own days in retail.  When I, too, was young and learning the ropes. And even still had a lot of hair, like Bannister did.

Instead of asking our customers, "are you being served?" however, we were coached to ask, "how may I help you?"

I suppose if I had asked the question with a British accent, I might have gotten more sales.

_____