When De-escalation Doesn’t Work

I have to admit, even as I am typing this out, I’m still a little shaken up, but warmer anyway. I can still smell the alcohol from his breath in my nostrils, even penetrating my clothes. My chest feels tight. But even as I’m trying to process what happened, I wonder if I could have made the situation any better.

It started out as a great night. I met Tim down at Pint’s on Court Avenue to share the gospel outside the bar, and he brought James and Ezra as well. I really like these guys; we are a motley crew, and glad that I have them on my side. One of the first tracts James handed out, he gave to a guy by the name of Stephen, wearing a hoodie with Mary, the mother of Jesus, on it. James is really great with his delivery and opening up the conversation. It’s nothing he says or does per-se, I think people are just really comfortable talking to him because he’s so laid back. We were having a great conversation with Stephen, and you can tell he was really being convicted by what we were saying. Even one point in the conversation he said that it wasn’t an accident he ran into us, because God has been putting people in his path to talk to about Jesus.

Spirit of Distraction

Then…along came Satan with the spirit of distraction. We’ll just call him–Hank.

Hank walks up and instantly interjects himself in the conversation. A homeless man in his early sixties, disheveled, who reeked of alcohol, slurring his words complaining about the government and how horrible the world has become. He was mad that Pint’s wouldn’t let him in, or these other two women which were nowhere to be found. Since James was the one who initiated the chat with Stephen, I took liberty to pull Hank away from what they were talking about.

At first, I politely said to him that we were in a private conversation and we would talk to him later if he was around. That didn’t fly with him. He knew what we were talking about, and wanted to explain how much of a great person he was and going to heaven–despite the smell of alcohol on his breath and the naked-lady necklace he was wearing. I allowed him to speak, maybe too much, but tried several times to end the conversation so that I could rejoin my friends. He wasn’t having that either. So, I broke a personal rule of mine to not share the gospel to drunk people. I should have stuck to it.

Things God Ugly–Fast

Before I knew it, the conversation got out of control. He started yelling, I was raising my voice, and it was completely unfruitful. I tried to remedy the situation, and no matter what I tried, it wasn’t working. The damage was already done. So, I said good night to him, and walked across the street. He then verbally attacked my friends, yelling at them, and followed us as we tried to just remove ourselves from the situation; the whole time I’m praying for the Lord to intervene. Things were getting dangerous as he was now making threats. Tim decided to call the police and was glad he did.

A gentleman named Manny, with whom we have conversed previously and who expressed gratitude for our efforts in sharing the gospel, walked up and positioned himself between Hank and me, bearing a genuinely concerned expression and attempting to soothe Hank multiple times. Hank walked away several times, and then came back harder than before after catching his breath. It seemed like the more we prayed, the more venomous Hank became.

Finally, the Police Showed Up

Wherever we went, Hank was all over us, yelling at me and taking it out on my buddies. Honestly, he was in full-on rage mode by the time the cops arrived. They told him to leave, especially since we did all we could to get away. I was shaking, not just from the stress but also because I was freezing. I just wanted to write the night off and head home. Tim was trying to boost my morale, and I just couldn’t get into a groove after that. As Danny Glover’s character–Roger Murtaugh says in Lethal Weapon, “I’m too old for this sh**.”

Take-away’s from the Night?

First, I suppose I need to stick to my so-called rule of not sharing the gospel to drunk people. It really gets out of hand, and honestly, do they even get anything from it? I just end up feeling stressed out. Maybe I should reconsider going to places with drunk people at all. It’s frustrating because there are a few who seem to appreciate our presence, like Manny; but I can’t help but wonder, for me anyway, if the juice is worth the squeeze.

Second, I honestly don’t know what I could have done differently. Maybe I pushed too hard. But how can you politely tell a drunk person, ‘Go away–no one invited you!’

Lastly, I can’t help but think this fishing hole might be better suited for the younger fishermen. For the kids at Pint’s, I probably remind them of their parents—when they’re trying to be mischievous! Perhaps the best solution is for me to find a spot that’s more my speed, maybe one with fish that appreciate the gospel with dad jokes mixed in.

Sorry I don’t have answers for you; not my typical blog post. Yes, I’m being vulnerable, and right now I don’t have it altogether. I understand that it comes with the territory. Any ideas or thoughts you can add are much appreciated.