Fried Catfish, Beignets, Bourbon Street & Lostness

As the airport shuttle made its way through the French Quarter on Saturday night, one passenger asked the driver if this was a “typical” night in the Quarter. He paused and then told us that five out of seven nights were crowded, with the other two nights only about half as full with tourists and locals. No one asked him which were the two nights that saw less action, although I could have guessed that Sunday night was one of them. I was right.

Having traversed Bourbon Street on a Saturday night and then again following the first night of the SBC Pastor’s Conference on Sunday night, there were far less people out on the town. Saturday night was shoulder-to-shoulder, with revelers up and down this most famous of streets in the most famous of neighborhoods in New Orleans. Saturday night reminded me of my fraternity days, although not in a good way.

What struck me not only about Saturday night on Bourbon Street and Sunday night as well, was the vast lostness of people. The truly sad part is that the overwhelming majority of the partiers on Bourbon Street do not even have a clue that they are lost and would spend an eternity in hell separated from a loving and Holy God.

It’s not that there weren’t folks who were trying to share the Gospel in the midst of the degradation and debauchery. Bourbon Street is not for the faint-of-heart or the easily offended. In the midst of the spiritual darkness were some folks from Raven Street Church,  proclaiming the Gospel at one of the busiest places on Bourbon Street Saturday night. Most folks ignored the message of Jesus’ love and grace, while a few stopped to chat with some of the church members.  A handful of passersby mocked those who were trying to share the Gospel with one man, shirtless, mockingly posing in front of the cross that was in the middle of the street.

As I walked up and down Bourbon Street, I couldn’t help but think of how Southern Baptists, regardless of our general or particular theological convictions, should unite around taking the Gospel message to those on Bourbon Street or Any Street USA or around the world. When you witness such lostness — the kind that a former pastor I served under used to say was like “a goose lost in a hailstorm,” you suddenly realize that some of our family squabbles are not nearly as important as partnering together to fulfill the Great Commission.

As Dr. Tony Evans reminded us at Sunday night’s Pastor’s Conference,if we are to have an impact upon the lostness in our neighborhoods, communities, counties, states, nation, and the world, it must start with us. And by us, he was speaking to men and fathers and how we demonstrate the Gospel in our marriages and families. If we are to have churches (and a Convention) which makes a kingdom impact, it must begin with us as individuals, most especially men.

As Southern Baptists, if we are to continue to penetrate the lostness all around us, we need to   embrace the cooperative spirit that says we can do far more together than we can separately. Even as we may disagree on some of the finer points of theology — including soteriology, ecclesiology, and eschatology — we can remember that we are all in the same boat together, called to be “fishers of men.”

Over the next few days, I’ll have the pleasure of meeting some folks who I have dialogued with  online. Some I have agreed with and others not so much. However, there’s nothing like eating together — can anyone say fried catfish — that clarifies, as Dr. Ronnie Floyd preached Sunday, “to do whatever it takes to reach our communities with the Gospel.”

One of those “whatevers” is to build relationship and trust with those we might not see eye-to-eye with so that we might fulfill God’s purpose for us and for His Church. Here’s to eating fried catfish and beignets, and doing whatever it takes to  impact the lostness on Bourbon Street and on streets throughout America and the world!