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The day I saw Jesus
by Jack Corcoran My buddy, Johnny Bynum, and I took a trip to New Orleans for Mardis Gras. This was back in 1990, while we were still Seminary students. We arrived in New Orleans about midday and set ourselves up in church. The second floor of the church was set up with several dozen sets of bunkbeds. Men were coming in from all over the USA. We were right in the heart of the French Quarter. During the day, it didn't seem too bad. It was mostly families. I suppose most of the people who had spent the night partying were grabbing some shuteye so they could come back out when the sun went down. And boy, I mean to tell you; by about ten o'clock that night the streets were filled with people of all color, shapes and attitudes. By midnight, Johnny and I had passed out hundreds of Gospel tracts but it was a party atmosphere and hardly anyone wanted to talk to us. By now, they were getting drunk and ugly, so Johnny suggested we go back to the church, get something to eat and pray. Sometime after 1 AM we were back on the streets. We were walking along talking and passing out tracts when some guy yelled to us from a passing pickup truck. We noticed the large cross in back of the truck and we went over to see what they wanted. They told us that they had been walking the streets with the cross but now they had to leave and asked us if we would take the cross. I have to admit that the idea made me extremely nervous but good old Johnny Bynum jumped right in. "Yea, sure, we'll do it." Just a word about Johnny Bynum before I go on seems appropriate here. He is, without a doubt, the most godly man I have ever had the good fortune to be associated with. I always told him that he was my Paul while I was his Timothy. That's how I felt. I learned so much more about the heart of God from Johnny Bynum than I ever did at seminary. The last I heard from him was several years ago when he and his wife left to do mission work in Pakistan or Ubekistan, or one of those places that ends with stan. So, on with my story. Johnny asked the guys in the truck if they would drop the cross off at the Vieux Carre Baptist Church, where we were staying. When we got back to the church, the huge cross was propped up in the doorway. By huge I mean it was 7-8 feet tall and the cross beam was at least 5 feet. It had a small rubber wheel on the bottom that made it easier to move along the streets. Johnny looked at me with his funny grin and said, "You want to carry it?" I looked at him with what I'm sure was fear and said, "No, I don't think so, why don't you carry it and I'll hand out tracts." He suggested we go inside and pray about it. He hoisted the cross up onto his shoulder and carried it inside. He propped it up in a corner and we walked up to the front of the church, where we both knelt and prayed. While Johnny was praying, I raised my head and looked toward the back of the church. I could almost swear that cross was glowing. And suddenly, without even thinking about it, I said, "OK, I'll carry it. It wasn't heavy at all. We walked along the streets of the French Quarter; me carrying the cross on my right shoulder and Johnny handing out gospel tracts. The many people on the streets seemed indifferent to us like maybe we weren't even there. Very few would even look our way. The streets and sidewalks were crowded with partiers screaming, cussing, and drinking. They would stop right there on the sidewalk and urinate against the wall. I felt like I was walking through hell. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, this man, maybe in his twenties, jumped in front of me. As he began screaming at me, spittle was flying everywhere. His eyes were bloodshot and full of fear. Nothing he was screaming was making any sense. Most of it was four letter words that I wouldnt dare repeat here. I was trying to talk to him; trying to calm him down when, sudddenly, I realized that he wasn't cussing at me; he was cursing God and Jesus. I became agitated with him and wanted him out of my face. I looked away from him and noticed a large crowd coming toward us from about a hundred yards behind this madman. The man in the center of the crowd looked familiar to me and, as they drew nearer I screamed. Or at least I think I screamed. Johnny said later that he never heard a thing. It was Jesus. He was walking right toward me, although he never got any closer than maybe fifty yards from me. He was looking straight at me and He was crying. And I remember I began crying also. But I wasn't just crying, I was bawling like a newborn baby. It's been many years since that day, and many things have happened, good and bad, so I don't recall any more than that. But I will never forget His eyes and the tears. There was sorrow in His eyes and His face was wracked with pain, but I think I remember that He looked at me and smiled. And then the vision, or whatever it was, was gone. The next thing I remember is Johnny putting his arm around me. The guy who had been screaming at me was gone. In fact, all the people were gone except one guy crumpled up on the sidwalk and he was stoned out of his mind. We tried talking to him but got no response except a few grunts. I finally told Johnny that I was tired and we went back to the church for some much needed rest.
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