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Sunday School 9:00 am
Worship Service 10:00 am

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1624 Broadway Avenue
Sheboygan, WI 53083
920.451.0991

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June 2009

Close Encounters

If I remember correctly either Milwaukee or Fond du Lac would have been the city where we had put the ‘big tent’ up in a desolate and depressing part of the town. The team of ‘Christ is the Answer’ - what had been barely left of the team - had moved from the H.Q. in Weldon, Illinois, to Wisconsin, for a short evangelistic campaign. There were so few of us at that time, as many had left the team in disagreement with various issues; while those that stayed went on with the evangelistic activity which CITA so adamantly promoted. I believe we came to Milwaukee first and then moved to Fond du Lac. Quite a few years have gone by, but those memories periodically come to mind and are a part of my ‘vissuto quotidiano’ or ‘life memorials’. It is worthwhile to recollect those thoughts and repaint the images of that morning when I was alone guarding the camp. It was my turn to walk around the camp making sure that everything was OK and no intruders were trying to steal things. I had done this job many times, mostly in Italy though, and at night. There, our duty was to walk among the different tents, making sure that no one would disturb the sleep of the brothers and sisters, making sure all of the electronics and instruments were safe, empty the portable latrines and wait anxiously for the dawn, where life would start again in the camp. The most dedicated ones were already up before the break of dawn; they would pick a corner in the big tent or the laundry tent and isolate themselves for personal prayer and devotions.

Here, though, in this desolate part of the city everything was so different: only a few of us in the tent, no specific structure for our daily ‘work’, nor personal spiritual initiative. The team in Italy and this team – or what was left of it – in the USA, seemed so different! Everything in the group in Milwaukee seemed a complete rebuttal of all the sincere effort of true spirituality in CITA in Italy. Bill, the Director of the group was never present, but overseas; Sarah, his wife, was in serious denial of any kind of devotion and loyalty to the team, let alone spiritual advice and friendship. There was no sign of any spiritual affinity of what we had experienced in Europe. Two of our own ‘disciples’ were mentally ill, Bill’s son was dying of cancer…and here I was, guarding the tent and walking a short distance back and forth.
You know, there is a kind of pleasure and satisfaction in watching over something you value and cherish. It is all worth while, even when you lose a night of sleep. Enjoyment and humor could even be found in doing the nightly chores during this time, when the latrines need to be emptied and the ‘contents’ squirts and spills all over, mainly in the sewer, but also onto your face. It is honoring to give a little bit of yourself, freely, knowing that what you do is valued and considered a service for the brotherhood. There in Milwaukee or Fond du Lac, this virtuous quasi-romantic view of Christian service was completely misplaced…I was there guarding what I didn’t consider to be a treasure, but a momentary experience. I was asked to be the custodian for the day; I felt I had to kill the day, hoping that something would change.

That morning, pacing back and forth from a kind of elevated location from which I could see the big tent and the main entrance with one glance, I saw a long white Cadillac type car. It was circling around the big tent and then pulling gently into the camp in an evasive cloud of dust. The familiar noise of the crackling gravel and pebbles under the weight of the tires caught my attention and when it slowly stopped, the dust came to rest too. The white car stopped near one of the two or three entrances of the tent. It was just an opening, typical of a big tent, like that of a Circus. The ropes were well stretched all around the tent; it could fit around 600 people. Behind the tent, was a big Semi truck, which was transformed into a stage for the band to play on. We would let down the lateral sizes of the truck, cover then with red carpets, embellishments of flowers in the corners and the heavy instruments. Upon entering the tent, you would see rows of long benches facing the stage ready to sit the public during the evangelistic campaign held every night.
As I was approaching the car, two black men elegantly dressed in white, got out of the car and went straight to the one of the opening of the tent. It was a timid opening, barely recognizable from a distance, just a crack in the side of the big tent. The two black men, all dressed in white, steadily went to the opening, folded back one side of it and half stepped in, looking to find someone. Evidently, they hadn’t seen me. I was almost there to ask whether they were looking for someone, or if they had spoken to someone earlier. The tent was empty, so they turned back just a few seconds later. As they stepped out to get into the white car, they paused for a short moment. They were looking at the big tent as though taking a picture looking through the eye of a camera with a wide angle-lens. I stopped my inquisitive walking and didn’t approach them because they had decided to leave, so I kept my eye on them and watched them calmly, but intently. After that short pause, looking at the tent almost as if they were framing it for a moment in their minds, I saw them raise their hands in a devotional manner. They were blessing it! A few seconds later, they opened the doors of the white Cadillac and slowly disappeared crackling the little pebbles in the dusty camp.