Part 2 of Honolulu, Whores, and a Hallowed Moment: Whatever Became of Agnes?

This is the conclusion to the story from my previous blog about Tony Campolo throwing a birthday party for a prostitute at a diner in Hawaii...

A lot of people want to know what happened to Agnes?

Tony became friends with Harry and Jan from that night forward, and keeps in touch with them and whenever he returns to Hawaii.

Campolo continues: “Agnes gave up the streetwalking life shortly after that time. She ended up going to work at that diner. And she, Harry and Jan have turned that diner into a place where people come for help day and night. The word is around town: if you’re in trouble, go to that little restaurant…the people there will listen to you, talk with you, and help you if they can.

After that event, I was at Linfield College, a conservative Baptist college that’s related to Jesus somehow in Oregon to speak at their spiritual emphasis week—you know…“Be Kind to God Week.” It was Feb. 25^th—easy to remember the date because it’s my birthday. The place was decorated with balloons, streamers, banners, and there was a sign that said:

“Happy Birthday, Tony!”

-Agnes (your friend from Honolulu)

She had somehow found out when my birthday was, where I would be on that date, and contacted some officials and students at the college and set this up for me.

This account says a lot of good things. First of all, it says something about prostitutes. It says you can’t judge people superficially. Agnes is one of the good people…kind, caring, and thoughtful. When all the other prostitutes show up it’s because she’s been so good and kind. And when I prayed I asked that God would deliver her from what dirty, filthy men had done to her…making another point that all sociologists knows: that generally every prostitute is somebody who got messed over at the age of ten, eleven, or twelve. When I share this story I always make it clear that Agnes was not an evil person, but she was a victim.

When I tell the story and I say, “I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for whores at 3:30 in the morning” and people laugh, it sets me up for the line: “that’s exactly the kind of church that Jesus came to create.” And I always add, “I don’t know where we got this other one that is half country club.” Down deep inside everybody knows that’s true.

The reason why this story clicks is very simple—it does what Jesus does. It takes Christianity outside of a religious institution—we’re outside of the church—outside of the stranglehold of the religious environment. Once you get the truth of God out of the church, and come up with its bare realities, its impact of loving care rings true to people.

I find that people don’t reject Jesus—they reject the religious institution that is presenting Jesus. If we can just get Jesus out of the institution and into the real world situations, if we can just get rid of the trappings, it comes alive for all of us. That’s what Jesus did in his day. He took the truths of the Torah, most everything that He taught was already in the Jewish Bible—but He takes all of that stuff out of the religious institution and puts it on the street where people live. When that happens, everyone says, “Yes!” Because they agree with the truth. They do not agree with these structures that have hidden the truth, or smothered the truth--that are into a lot of money-making on many occasions. They just don’t seem valid valid. But remove Jesus from “the church,” and people are drawn to Him.

I go to the book of First John—this cuts it down to the bottom line: “God is love.” We all know that verse. I don’t think many people know the verse that comes right after that. “And whoever loves is born of God.” And there is a sense in Agnes’s story that all those prostitutes who showed up that night, and Harry and Jan who ran the diner—that they all were expressing the love of God. Some will ask, “Well do they theologically agree and believe this doctrine, or live by these creeds, or confess in such and such way?” My response is to point to those verses: “God is love, and whoever loves is born of God,” and that’s what I want people to carry away from this story.

This true story was adapted into a short film called The Least of These, which won 27 film festival awards. The link on how to find out more about it is below.

http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/movies/reviews/2004/leastofthese.html

Honolulu, Whores, and a Hollowed Moment

Sociologist, author, speaker, and Christian activist Tony Campolo shares this from his book, Let Me Tell You a Story:

If you live on the East Coast and travel to Hawaii, you know that there is a time difference that makes three o’clock in the morning feel like 9:00 AM. With that in mind, you will understand that whenever I go out to our fiftieth state I find myself wide awake long before dawn. Not only do I find myself up and ready to go while everybody else is still asleep, but I find that I want breakfast when almost everything on the island is still closed—which is why I was wandering up and down the streets of Honolulu at 3:30 in the morning, looking for a place to get something to eat.

Up a side street I found a little place that was still open. I went in, took a seat on one of those stools at the counter, and waited to be served. This was one of those sleazy places that deserves the name “greasy spoon.” I mean, I did not even touch the menu. I was afraid that if I opened the thing something gruesome would crawl out. But it was the only place I could find.

The fat guy behind the counter came over and asked me, What d’ya want?”

I told him, “A cup of coffee and a donut.”

He poured a cup of joe, wiped his grimy hand on his smudged apron, then grabbed a pastry off the shelf behind him. Now, I’m a realist… I know that in the back room of that restaurant, donuts are probably dropped on the floor and kicked around. But when everything is out front where I can see it, I really would have appreciated it if he had used a pair of tongs and placed the donut on some wax paper.

As I sat there munching on my dry sinker and sipping my lukewarm brew about three hours before sunrise, the door of the diner swung open, and to my discomfort, in marched eight or nine provocative and boisterous prostitutes.

It was a small place and they sat on either side of me. Their talk was loud and crude. I felt completely out of place and was just about to make my getaway when I overheard the woman sitting beside me say, “Tomorrow’s my birthday. I’m going to be thirty-nine.”

One of her friends responded in a nasty tone, “So what do you want from me? A birthday party? What do you want? Ya want me to get a cake and sing ‘Happy Birthday’?”

“Come on!” said the woman next to me. “Why do you have to be so mean? I was just telling you, that’s all. Why do you have to put me down? I was just telling you it’s my birthday. I don’t want anything from you. I mean, why should you give me a birthday party? I’ve never had a birthday party in my whole life. I should I have one now?”

When I heard that, I made a decision. I sat and waited until the women left. Then I called the fat guy behind the counter and I asked him, “Do they come in here every night?”

“Yeah,” he answered.

“The one who was right next to me, does she come here every night?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s Agnes. Yeah, she comes in here every night. Why d’ya wanna know?”

“Because I heard her say that tomorrow is her birthday,” I told him. “What do you think about us throwing a birthday party for her—right here—tomorrow night?”

A smile slowly crossed his chubby face and he answered with measured delight. “That’s great….I like it….that’s a great idea!” Calling to his wife, who did the cooking in the back room, he shouted, “Hey, come out here! This guy’s got a great idea. Tomorrow is Agnes’s birthday. This guy wants to go in with him and throw a birthday party for her—right here—tomorrow night!”

His wife comes out of the kitchen all bright and smiley. She said, “That’s wonderful! You know Agnes is one of those people who is really nice and kind, and nobody ever does anything nice and kind for her.”

“Look,” I told them, “if it’s OK with you, I’ll get back here tomorrow morning about 2:30 and decorate the place. I’ll even get a birthday cake!”

“No way,” said Harry (that was his name). “The birthday cake’s my thing. I’ll make the cake.”

At 2:30 the next morning I was back at the diner. I had picked up some crepe paper and other decorations at a store, got some balloons, and had made a sign out of big pieces of cardboard that read “Happy Birthday Agnes!” I decorated that diner from one end to the other. I had that joint looking good.

The woman who did the cooking, Jan, must have gotten the word out on the street, because by 3:15 every prostitute in Honolulu was in the place. It was wall-to-wall call girls…and me!

At 3:30 on the dot, the door of the diner swung open and in came Agnes and her friend. I had everyone ready (after all, I was kind of MC of the affair) and when they came in we all screamed “Happy Birthday!!”

Never have I seen a person so flabbergasted…so stunned…so shaken. Her mouth fell open. Her legs seemed to buckle a bit. Her friend grabbed her arm to steady her. As she was led to one of the stools along the counter we sang “Happy Birthday” to her. When we came to the end of our singing, “happy birthday, dear Agnes, happy birthday to you,” her eyes moistened. Then, when the birthday cake with all the candles on it was carried out, she lost it and just openly cried.

Harry gruffly mumbled, “Blow out the candles, Agnes! Come one! Blow out the candles!” She just kept staring at the cake. “If you don’t blow out the candles, I’m gonna have to blow them out.” And, after another long delay, he finally grew impatient and did blow them out. Then he handed her the knife and told her, “Cut the cake, Agnes. Yo, Agnes….we all want some cake.”

Agnes stared down at the cake. There was another pregnant pause. Then, without taking her eyes off it, she slowly and softly said, “Look, Harry, is it alright with you if I…I mean is it OK if I kind of…what I want to ask you is…is it OK if I keep the cake a little while? I mean is it alright if we don’t eat it right away?”

Harry shrugged and answered, “Sure…it’s OK. If ya want to keep the cake, then keep the cake. Take it home if ya want to.”

“Can I?” she responded. Then looking at me she said, “I live just down the street a couple of doors. I want to take the cake home and show it to my mother, okay? I’ll be right back…honest!”

She got off the stool, picked up the cake, and carrying it like it was the Holy Grail, walked slowly out the door. As we all stood there motionless, she left.

When the door closed there was a stunned silence in the packed diner. Not knowing what else to do, I broke the awkward quiet by saying “What do you say we pray for Agnes?”

Looking back on it now it seems more than strange for a sociologist to be leading a prayer meeting with a bunch of prostitutes in a greasy spoon in Honolulu at 3:30 in the morning. But it just felt like the right thing to do. I prayed for Agnes. I prayed for her salvation. I prayed that her life would be changed and that God would be good to her.

When I finished, Harry leaned over the counter and said “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 came, I answered, “I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for whores at 3:30 in the morning.”

Harry waited a moment, then he answered, “No you don’t…there’s no church like that. If there was, I’d join it. I would sure as Hell join a church like that!”

Wouldn’t we all? Wouldn’t we all love to join a church that throws birthday parties for whores at 3:30 in the morning? Well, that’s the kind of church Jesus came to create. I don’t know where we got the other one that’s so prim and proper. But anybody who reads the New Testament will discover a Jesus who loved to party with whores and with all kinds of left-out people…the publicans and the “sinners” loved Him because he partied with them. The lepers of society found in Him someone who would eat and drink with them. And while the solemnly pious could not relate to what He was about, those lonely people who usually didn’t get invited to parties took to Him with excitement.

Our Jesus was and is the Lord of the party. That’s what we as His followers should make blatantly clear. We should highlight an often-forgotten dimension of what Christianity is all about: The Kingdom of God is a party!

My next installment will tell the rest of the story—about what happened with Agnes.