Changin’ was a street ministry where in my early 20’s I would spend one evening a week engaged in bizarre dialogues with anyone willing to stop in for free caffeine (a diluted placebo, really) and discuss the gospel.

If you had a strong aversion to hearing expletives at the end or beginning or in the middle of virtually every sentence, then Changin’ was not the place for you.

The conversations were anything but normal, mostly paranormal with a hint of paranoia. The leaping off point might be the Bible, but soon we’d be discussing the Tao of Star Trek or the dark secrets of the Illuminati. I remember one encounter that was fairly typical, with a guy named Eddie.

“How’s it goin’?” I winsomely began.

“I got no interest in Jesus.”

The one thing I could always bank on was that there would never be much interest in the Son of God, unless we wanted to discuss His influence, say, on the Illuminati.

“What do you think about the Bible?” I had to get to the point with these folks. Their patience was, like their attention span, short, and they knew it was coming anyway, so off I’d go.

“Never read it,” he said with a shrug. “But I like what that apostle Nostradamus had to say, with all those prophecies and stuff,” (stuff was not his word of choice, but this column adheres to G-rating standards).

“He wasn’t an apostle.”

“No? Well, he predicted JFK’s assassination like, a thousand years before it happened, so, you know, pretty weird stuff.”

If you had a strong aversion to hearing expletives at the end or beginning or in the middle of virtually every sentence, then Changin’ was not the place for you. This took a little getting used to, and Tom, the guy who ran the place, wouldn’t let people hang around for long if the language got too abusive. Eddie didn’t go that far, so I forged ahead.

“Yeah, well, a lot of people read into events after they happen and then claim to find it in Nostradamus’ prophecies,” I smartly countered. “But Scripture has thousands of prophecies that validate its truth. The birth of Christ, for instance, was ...”

“Hey Billy,” he interrupted, yelling to an acquaintance he noticed walking through the door, “what’s up, man? Thompson here is preachin’ to me.” He turned to me. “You oughta talk to that turkey (again, not the word he used). He really needs religion.”

“It’s Thomas. You know, I’m not talking about religion, really. I’m talking about a relationship with ...”

“Thomas. Thomas was the dude who doubted.”

“No, you said ‘Thompson’ but my name is ‘Thomas.’ But yes. That’s right. Thomas in the Bible wouldn’t believe until he saw the scars in ...”

“Hang on. I need more coffee.” Tom watered the coffee down so much that it took gallons to feel any caffeine effect. Which created the problem of numerous trips to the coffee counter, and ...

“I gotta hit the little boy’s room,” Eddie yelled across the metal folding chairs scattered about. I silently prayed for God’s help and that Eddie wouldn’t crawl out the bathroom window. It had happened before whenever people were trying to give the slip to whatever unfriendly faces might be waiting for them outside. Street life is full of unpleasantness, not the least of which is debt collection.

Eddie must have been paid up or not worried about it because he didn’t crawl out the bathroom window. He came back and sat down, his right leg bobbing up and down anxiously, his hands holding the cup up close to his face so the steam could provide warmth to the nose. He sniffed the vapors and took a slurp.

“How’s your back?”

“Huh? My back is fine,” I said. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

“Like, 80 percent of the adult population has back pain. So, odds are you got back pain. That’s how guys like Kreskin and David Blaine do what they do. They play the odds and freak people out by telling them stuff about themselves that Kreskin and David Blaine shouldn’t know.”

“Huh. That’s interesting. A lot of that stuff (I really said ‘stuff’), as you just pointed out, can be easily explained as simple tricks. Those shouldn’t be confused with the real miracles performed by ...”

“Kreskin offers a, like, $50,000 reward for anyone who can prove that his stuff isn’t real. You people oughta take him up on that and get some money so you can get some decent coffee in this place because this stuff tastes like stuff.” Eddie was on a roll. “What do you think about the Masons? Don’t they have some sort of secret papers from the City of Atlanta?” That's what Billy said.

“Atlantis. I don’t know. Billy might be right. But I do know that the most important book ever written is the Bible. And here’s what’s amazing about it,” I said, creating frenzied anticipation, “it was written over 1,600 years with over 40 authors and yet there are no discrepancies and it fits together beautifully with one message all pointing toward …”

“Let me ask you something, Thompson. Have you ever heard of Area 51?”

“Numerous times since I started coming here.”

“Well, a lot of people who know the truth about that place have ‘mysteriously’ disappeared — as well as many people who were involved with our alleged moonwalks. I’ve seen the pictures of those aliens; dude, it is some scary stuff. D’you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“Look, Eddie,” I had to head him off before he could get to crop circles. “I don’t know what to think about all that, but you mentioned truth, and here’s the truth. If you need a friend, if you need peace in your life, if you need someone who can help you with what you’re going through in life, I know where you can get it — Jesus Christ.”

“That dude up there?” He pointed to a velvet painting of a laughing Jesus hanging on the wall.

“Well, that’s one painter’s guess,” I said. “But I picture Him right after He’s banged His thumb with a hammer. That’s more like something I would do. And Jesus was a carpenter, so I figure He did that a few times.”

“Oh heck yes, man.”

“That’s what I mean when I say He knows what you’re going through. He’s been there. He was even homeless for a few years.”

“No stuff?”

“So if anyone can relate to what your life is like, He can. And He can help. Here, these are a couple of stories about Him that paint a picture that’s a lot better than that one on the wall.” I handed him a modern paraphrase of a few passages of the book of John. “Once you start, you won’t be able to put it down.”

He took the pamphlet and stared at it, then stared at me.

“I’ll take a look. I gotta run, Thomason.”

He headed for the door, tucking the pamphlet into the front pocket of his cammo Army jacket. I was exhausted, worn out from the mental gymnastics. How could God possibly use that conversation to reach someone’s heart? Tom pulled up beside me and said, “You did your part, and God will do His.” He patted me on the back and went to make another pot of coffee. My eyes drifted up to the picture of Jesus. We laughed together for a minute, and I prayed, thanking God for the privilege of sharing His gospel. I grabbed my Styrofoam cup, gave it a re-fill, and looked for Billy.