Another evening I was enjoying some dialog at the hotel with the man at the front desk who is from North Africa. It seemed that the passersby were fairly seedy, and my wife pointed out that it appeared a couple of ladies on the corner were not window shopping, but apparently were prostitutes.
Along this road you found some hookers, some homeless, and lots of people addicted to drugs. A couple of streets up the economic conditions improved to more college students or young adults hanging out, then the business sector, the bridge, and over to the University.
During my visit, I couldn’t help but think that a lot of the people I came in contact with, and those Demetria and I spent a few minutes talking to were living in a different world than the people we were meeting at Seminary, and both groups are living in a different world than our crowd in Joplin. Along the strip of sickness and suffering was a little shop with a sign that read, The River Foursquare Gospel Church. Having served as a minister in the Foursquare Church for a decade before moving to Missouri, my heart was touched, as I recalled how Aimee Semple McPherson had a heart to reach the lost and minister to the hurting, using all of the resources and talents at her disposal to do so.
My next thought was more sobering. How many of the folks on the street, in the pub
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