West Port Experiment

One day several years back, I was making my way door-to-door on a short dead end street in my South Providence district. It could very well have been an unremarkable day – no one answering the door, or just short interchanges. Thanks, but no thanks.

Then I knocked on the door at the end of the block, a typical three level, three household rental home in urban New England. A short, dark fellow answered. When he spoke, it was clear he ‘weren’t from these parts.’ Of course, then again, neither was I! Henry (not real name) was originally from Liberia. After we spoke some, I invited him to church. He was very interested. Now, I’ve heard that before. But sure enough, he was there at church the following Lord’s day – only, we had to make arrangements to get him there since he didn’t have his own vehicle.

His family soon began coming as well. A sweet, quiet wife, and two special children. Eventually, he got his own car and came without our help. They worshipped very consistently with us for about six months and were a joy to have. It did my heart good to see our congregation reflect something of the multi-colored army of the Church Triumphant. And I admired their willingness to be different in a very different kind of church.

Sadly, they fell off for whatever reason. I eventually lost track of him, when at one point his number went out of service. And when I went to his apartment, I realized they had moved.

But after perhaps a couple of years, I thought I’d try to find Henry again. It was probably futile, like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. But I had a contact with connections with many different African communities, so I called her up and told her my story. She said she’d see what she could do. Later that evening (!), she called back. “I have found him, and I have his number.” “What? That fast?” I exclaimed. She explained that she knew a leader of the Liberian community – and refugee communities are tighter-knit than others. Of course he knew Henry and had his new number. So I called. When he answered and realized who it was, I could hear the big smile on his face. “Ohhh! Hey, Revreh!” (=Revrend)

Since then I have invited him back to church, and he has come a couple of times. I’ve also gone to visit him in his home, sometimes with my family and sometimes on my own. We’ll visit, then read the Scriptures and pray. For a while, he was getting mixed up with the Mormons. Now I’m not sure he’s attending anywhere. He professes Christianity, but as I see it, his profession is shaky at best. But we’ve forged a connection. And I still have his phone number.

Liberians are beautiful people. Ever since I went there some years back, it has had a special place in my heart. I’m glad I’ve got a little Liberia to visit back here.

Please pray for Henry, that he will develop a deep hunger for the Word of God and its faithful preaching. Pray for his wife, who has dealt with difficult health issues, and for his children, that they may become children of the Most High.

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