by Gary Fuller
Pastor, Gentle Shepherd Baptist Church, Lincoln, NE
A few weeks ago, a man was found brutally murdered in a neighborhood park. He was a young man of just 27 years, and late Wednesday night or Thursday morning he entered eternity from a dark and shadowy little baseball diamond in Peter Pan Park, in the middle of a rough neighborhood.
I learned about the murder from his cousin, a lady I had led to the Lord many years ago.
She and I had met in a hospital corridor. She was crying as I passed her on the way to the elevator. The Holy Spirit prompted me to return from the elevator, and I asked her if we could pray for her. Her mother was dying in ICU. Later, in her apartment, this young single mom trusted Jesus as her personal Savior. She attended our church off and on for several years. We watched her kids grow up and move on in life.
Now, she was calling on me as her pastor to be there for her and her family. She asked if we could meet with them at the scene of the crime and have prayer with the family. I believed I could offer some comfort and hope and thought I would be ministering to about 18 people.
My wife and I drove close to the park — there was nowhere to park the car. The parking lot was full; there were no spots to park on the streets for blocks around; cars were trolling for a spot. So we parked in the next neighborhood over and walked to the unlit park.
The only lights were vigil candles held by several of the attendees. The temp was hovering around 32 degrees. The crowd numbered between 250 and 300. I spotted some gang members right off (I am a police chaplain), but a majority of the group were American Indian, Omaha, and Sioux. There were several African-Americans, a couple of people I took as local news people, and a smattering of others.
They had made a circle around the crime scene, between pitcher’s mound and home plate of a baseball diamond. The same diamond I had played on dozens of times when I was in Little Chiefs Baseball. The thought crossed my mind that I had struck out many times on this spot.
There was nothing organized, just people placing memorial items behind home plate and near the backstop. But there was this empty spot in the middle of the circle a few feet in front of home plate, and I decided that would be my pulpit. These people were looking for something, and I supposed that God was what they needed more than anything.
So, I cleared my throat, introduced myself as a pastor and a chaplain for the police and fire departments, and said I was there to try to offer them some comfort from the Lord.
I led them in the first verse of “Amazing Grace.” Some of the folks started praising Jesus, and I knew there would be some spiritual support for what we were trying to do. Before singing the next verse, we mentioned how special it was because it spoke of eternity. As we sang, “When we’ve been there ten thousand years …” folks with some “churchin’” realized this was about to turn into something special, and they began to “get their praise on.” A prayer was offered up for comfort, grace, strength, understanding, justice, love, and forgiveness, followed by some loud “Amens.”
And then, the power of Spirit of the Lord came upon this preacher. Seldom have I felt the liberty and power that God gave on this occasion. There were no interruptions, no one stirring. All eyes, as far as I could tell in that darkness punctuated by candlelight, were on the preacher. Tattooed gangsters were nodding their heads, women with children on their hips were weeping, children were wide-eyed with interest. If only Sunday morning Christians could be so enthralled with God’s message! But, death can do that. Sudden death is a real attention-getter. Murder … well, God was speaking to them and they were tuned in.
The message was about the reality of eternity, the certainty of death for all of us, the uncertainty of life, the value of living for Christ and the need of Christ as Savior if a person is ever going to have hope for eternity.
As I ended, I led the crowd in a prayer, which they repeated — a prayer of sorrow for sins, the belief in the death burial and resurrection of Christ, and opening the heart and life and inviting Jesus to be Savior and Lord.
At the close of the prayer, I reminded them that if we were ashamed of Jesus, He would be ashamed of us before His Father. With this in mind, I asked all who prayed to make Jesus Lord and Savior to publicly lift their hands high so all could witness their trust in Jesus. Every hand shot up, I mean, as if they were trying to touch heaven, and stayed up. Shouts began to ring out.
I will still remember my experiences on that little old ball diamond of my childhood, but those strike-outs will hardly matter after this night. Thank God for an opportunity that started in a hospital hallway several years ago. I trust the recording angel was burning up some pens writing new names down in glory that night.