Thick black Bible in hand, he stood in the middle of the crowd and shouted. Students bustled by, some on skateboards, some on bicycles, others weaving between their wheeled fellows in an intricate dance that always seemed to border on a collision. No one looked at the man with the Bible, even as he thundered about the remission of sins that Christ had provided for all of their sorry souls in words painfully familiar, words that had lost their unearthly glow from overuse. Never mind that no one was listening, never mind that not even those who agreed with his theology would stop to talk shop, he would stay and shout (or, as he likely thought of it, proclaim) the truth unto the sinful masses until his lungs gave out or Christ returned, whichever came first. This man was ministering.
The sign read "Free Hugs". Scrawled in thick black marker, it leaned against the hug-giver's leg, as his arms were too busy following up on his offer. As students rushed by on their way to class, they took a moment to receive a quick squeeze from the easy-smiling stranger. Never mind that he didn't claim to represent anything save a simple affirmation and a grin, never mind that he likely had little in common with those he hugged save a momentary intersection in place and a time, this man was sharing love unconditionally, one sinful soul at a time. This man was ministering.
