Tony Campolo, Baptist pastor and professor emeritus of sociology at Eastern College in Philadelphia, is one of America’s celebrated storytellers.
One of his signature stories concerns a visit he made years ago to Hawaii.
Tony, whose body was still on Eastern Time, wandered into a diner at 3 am. The only other customers were some prostitutes, finished for the night. One of them, named Agnes, mentioned that tomorrow was her birthday, and that she had never had a birthday party in her life.
After the prostitutes left, Tony found out from Harry, the guy behind the counter, that they came to the diner every morning at 3:00.
Campolo asked if he could come back the next night and throw a party for Agnes. Harry agreed, on the condition that he make the cake.
Here’s Campolo’s account of what happened:
At 2:30 the next morning, I was back at the diner. I had picked up some crepe-paper decorations at the store and had made a sign out of big pieces of cardboard that read, “Happy Birthday Agnes!”
The word must have gotten out on the street, because at 3:15 every prostitute in Honolulu was [there]. Wall to wall prostitutes … and me!
At 3:30 the door to the diner swung open and in came Agnes and her friend. I had everybody ready, and when they came in we all screamed, “Happy Birthday!” Never have I seen a person so flabbergasted. Her mouth fell open, and her legs buckled. When we finished singing, her eyes moistened. When the cake was carried out, she started to cry.
Harry gruffly mumbled, “Blow out the candles, Agnes. Come on! If you don’t blow out the candles, I’m gonna hafta blow out the candles.”
Finally, he did. The cutting of the cake took even longer. “Cut the cake, Agnes. We all want some cake.”
“Look, Harry, is it OK if I keep the cake for a little while; if we don’t eat it right away?” “Sure. If you want to keep it, keep it. Take the cake home if you want.” “Can I?” Then, looking at me: “I just live down the street. I want to take the cake home, OK? I’ll be right back.”
She carried that cake out the door like it was the Holy Grail. We stood there motionless, a stunned silence in the place. Not knowing what else to do, I broke the silence by saying, “What do you say we pray?”
Looking back on it now, it seems more than strange for a sociologist to be leading a prayer meeting with a bunch of prostitutes at a diner in Honolulu at 3:30 in the morning. But then it just felt like the right thing to do.
I prayed for Agnes. For her salvation. That her life would be changed. That God would be good to her.
When I finished, Harry leaned over the counter and said with a trace of irritation: “Hey, you never told me you were a preacher. What kind of church do you belong to?”
In one of those moments when just the right words come, I answered, “I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for prostitutes at 3:30 in the morning.”
Harry waited a moment, and almost sneered as he answered, “No, you don’t. There’s no church like that. If there was, I would join it.”
Isn’t that the truth?
Wouldn’t we all join a church that overflows with grace for people who for one reason or another have made a mess of their lives?
Here’s the good news: That’s the kind of church Jesus came to create.
And it’s not too late to help make it happen.
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