The City That Never Sleeps

The cab driver, Sieed, driving me into Manhattan while explaining his journey from Bangladesh to the United States in “hopes of a better life.”

The Hassidic Jew walking down Fifth Avenue in his long black robe and matching hat, ear-locks bobbing, and typing an email on his Blackberry.

The boy in Chinatown who speaks English as his second language just like his Vietnamese, immigrant parents.

The prostitute in the street, selling herself to survive and tragically dependent on the pimp that keeps her in slavery.

The homeless woman tredging down Broadway with all her belongings dragging in a box tied to her back, begging for help and relief.

The young professional sitting down on the subway to read his Gay Pride magazine as the shoddier teenager next to him reads his Bible.

The young congregation of believers meeting in a hotel on Sunday morning as they continue their adventure in loving on this global city and sharing the Light of Jesus Christ.

These were the things I saw that make New York what it is. These are the images that I fell in love with in my short stay.

New York represents the idolatry of so many, including myself. It symbolizes patriotism, materialism, globalization, individualism, greed, worldliness, humanism, debauchery, and the list goes on. In moderation, most of these would never be an issue, but it is New York. The biggest and the brightest; the loudest and the most astounding. In this the city embraces what’s fatal.

Bars, clubs, liquor stores, and pornography venues lurk below the upscale, flourishing businesses in floors above. Wall Street works hard and parties hard… all in the name of success. But cannot an overbearing patriotism be equally dangerous? I watched so many swell with more pride at the face of Lady Liberty than the face of Christ. Oh, Father, the Enemy blinds all men everywhere.

But that is why I love this place. It is so lost. For so much of my saved life, I saw it as “us verses them.” The Church against the world. Saved against sinners. How wrong I was. I am no better than the Lost. I have been saved by grace. I am not standing at the Cross looking down at people. I am kneeling before it begging them to come and join me. I am no less of a sinner. My sin has only been covered by Jesus’ blood.

These people are going to perish. Sieed, the Hassidic Jew, the young professional. Without Jesus, they are going to burn in the flames of Hell having committed nothing worse than I if something is not done about it. We are commissioned first to love people and then, in that love, to share the Good News with them. We are told to be Christ to them.

Oh how I would love to watch Jesus in the streets of New York.

I don’t think He would ignore all the homeless begging for aide.

I don’t think He would refuse to offer His seat to another on the subway.

I don’t think He would flee the chance to go with co-workers to the bar after work and love on them there.

I think He would fight to win the heart of the prostitute and offer her a way to freedom in both this life and the next.

I think He would defy the principles of success and shock people with His servant-based heart.

I think He would help as many in need as He could without ever asking anything in return.

I think He would share the Good News that can only be embraced through Him.

I loved New York and feel, somewhere deep down, that my time there is not yet over. Maybe I’ll return someday, by the grace of God alone, and help friends like Sieed discover a far “better life” than his Hindu origins imagine.