A STORY OF CHRISTIAN MISSIONS IN AMERICA

I am a reporter for the Moody Student newspaper. I am standing on the eastern seaboard with hundreds and thousands of other journalists, waiting for him to arrive. He has been drawing nearer and nearer every day and we have been growing more and more excited every day, though we do not know why.

I am standing on the beach and I am barefoot. My toes are digging into the sand. Many of the other journalists are drinking liquor, but I am not because I am a Christian, a student of the Moody Bible Institute, and a person who does not drink liquor this early in the morning. I am one of the few journalists who represent the Christian community, and I must represent it well.

He is drawing nearer. I can hear and I can see the other journalists and reporters and newscasters and media personnel becoming excited. We are all excited because what we will soon experience is something that we have never before experienced. He is even closer now. He is only a hundred feet from shore. We can see his muscular black arms and shoulders as he swims toward us. He is ten feet from the shore now. (There has been a lot of speculation among us, the media, as to his actions when he reaches the shore. CNN dedicated a three-part historical series titled "From D-Day to Elian Gonzales and Beyond: A Historical Perspective on Historical Shore Landings". I didn't watch the show but I did my own speculating, much to the acclaim of the Christians who read my clear and precise Christian-themed commentaries.)

He stops swimming and stands. We, the audience, emit a collective gasp. We cannot believe our eyes-because he is standing and we do not expect him to be standing. He begins to walk toward us. Still cameras are flashing and videotape is rolling and my hand is racing and I am recording every detail. The morning sun is bright and it reflects off his wet black skin onto our faces and we squint our eyes. He is carrying nothing and he is wearing nothing. Someone tosses a beach towel to him and it hits him on the leg and falls to the ground.

He stops before us, towering high into the air, and he is serene and majestic and powerful and we are impressed. I vow to myself: self, you must capture every detail of his mightiness so the Christians who read your Christian articles will feel as though they were here themselves. And after I make that vow to myself I look up at him and I am silent and awed.

Suddenly the silence is pierced.

"Where are you from?" Asks Larry King.

"Africa." He says.

"Are you tired?" says Ted Koeppel.

"Not really." He says.

"What aren't you tired?" Asks Barbara Walters.

"Because I trained for this swim." He says.

"How did you train for this swim?" George Stephanopolous inquires.

"I prayed." He says.

The crowd is silent and they do not know how to respond until the silence is broken by the masculine voice of a well-trained Zen master.

"To whom did you pray?" Asks Phil Jackson, on leave from the L.A. Lakers.

"I pray to the One True God. The Creator." He says, forcefully.

Again, the crowd is silent and they do not know how to respond until he begins to walk forward toward the members of the media.

"Where are you going?" Asks an unnamed journalist.

"I am going inland. I am going inland to the cities and the towns and the roads and the gas stations and the rent-by-the-hour motels. I will walk with people and I will ride with people and I will talk to people. I am going inland, into this great country of yours."

"Why?" Asks the same unnamed journalist.

"Because." Says the mighty black man, from Africa, and he pauses. "Because this country of yours, once a moral beacon for the rest of the world, once a source of light and encouragement, has become a morally degenerate-a black hole, if I may. I am here to spread the Word of Jesus Christ and to tell of His love for all people."

"All people?" Asks Phil Jackson. "Even the Backstreet Boys and N'SYNC?"

The tall and mighty black man from Africa pauses for what seems like hours, but is really five or six seconds and he says, "Jesus loves all people regardless of their past."

"Are you a democrat or a republican?" Asks Bill Maher.

"I am a representative of my Master." He replies.

We are impressed with his command of the English Language. And I am silent and the journalists around me are silent and they look at him with awe and they know that he is important. They want to learn more about him and more about his Master and more about his mission, but they cannot find the courage to form a complete sentence. We stand there, for ten minutes, looking at him and saying nothing. He stands there, looking back at us and as he looks at us we are impressed with his stature.

A dog barks. People look at one another. The dog barks again. And we hear a small boy shout. Suddenly the small boy appears and when he sees the tall black man from Africa he smiles and he asks, "do you have a toothbrush?" and he hands the man an brand-new tooth brush with the plastic wrapping intact.

The man takes the toothbrush and be begins to walk inland. The crowd parts before him and we watch him until he disappears out of sight. When he is gone a man next to me offers me a drink from his bottle of vodka, but I decline because I am a Christian and a student of the Moody Bible Institute and accepting vodka this early in the morning would not be a good example to the many Christian who read my Christian prose.

My toes are cold and I am happy because I know that the tall and majestic black man who swam to the United States of America from the continent of Africa is the first of many who will come. They will come from Europe and China and Russia and Bulgaria and they will bring with them a passion for the lost souls in America. And it will be good. It will be good for America and it will be good for ratings.

LETTERS FROM READERS