I was riding "The Deuce" That's what they call the double decker bus that takes one down "The Strip" in Las Vegas. I wasn't there for pleasure. I was in LV because I was taking training to work on steam and gas turbines in power generation plants across the country and LV is where the school is. However, while there I did a lot of Bible reading and in order to hold myself accountable in such a place, I flashed my Bible a lot. That way everyone knew I was a Christian.
That would keep me from messing up and possibly lead to some evangelistic opportunities. Both branches of my strategy worked and while on my way back from buying a Bible for a fellow trainee, I met Frank. He was passing out tracts on The Strip. Frank's real! After a brief conversation he agreed to allow me to witness with him and a number of his friends the next night on Fremont Street.
All of that was for this story:
On my way to Fremont Street and Frank and company, I was on The Deuce. And that's where I met the face of what's wrong with Evangelicalism. As usual, I had my Bible on the seat beside me. Behind me were two couples. One was young. The others were parents-in-law. Well, the young husband pointed to my Bible and asked if I attended a church locally in LV. "No, I don't live here." I told them I was in LV for training, not pleasure. He told me that he lead the youth group in his church and he was quite Evangelical as if that was really going to get brownie points. Just why he wanted to impress a middle aged bald guy with more wrinkles than that twenty you found in your 12-year-old couch I don't know, but religion functions quite well for such things, I'm told.
Here's where things get interesting. Whether or not you know this, Vegas is a chamber pot--Sodom for heterosexuals, as well as a huge gambling den. Going on The Strip will expose you to actual full-length, billboard-sized pictures of naked women. It's nothing to which a Christian man ought expose himself unless he is prayed up and has a really good reason to do so.
In just such a sewer this young youth pastor had purposely brought him, his wife, and his mother! Just what he and his father were thinking I don't know. As the conversation went, I told him I was going down to Fremont Street to hand out gospel tracts and evangelize. Here is roughly how the conversation went at that point:
Me: I'm going to meet some friends and pass out gospel tracts and evangelize down on Fremont Street.
Pastorboy: (Enthusiastically) Oh, you mean down there where all the dancers (read strippers here) are?
Me (thinking): Now how did he know just where to find strippers in a strange town? And why did he use the euphemistic "dancers" instead of calling them what they are--after all, Fred Astaire was a dancer.
Me (speaking): I don't know. I'm not from here. You're here on vacation?
Pastorboy: Yes.
Me (looking at his pretty young wife and his mother and reeling with the incongruity and blurting it out like a gag reflex): I would NEVER bring my family here!
My words trailed off as I realized I had just accused Pastorboy of the sin he was engaged in right in front of his own parents as well as what had to be his very young bride. That was the end of that conversation.
Meanwhile, a lost man sat next to me, immediately telling me the story of why he was running from the law and how many women in LV he had been with and their names as if I'd asked. I waited for an opening (you know--when he stopped to take a breath) and started to tell him about God's coming judgment.
Well, Pastorboy's stop was before mine. "Keep up the good work," he said as if in pain.
Yeah. He was still pretending we were on the same team or something.
Amazed,
Phil Perkins.
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