Having collected three years of reward points on my credit card, I recently decided it was time to redeem those points for a weekend trip to New Orleans to with my best girl friends. Our aim was to visit various Catholic cathedrals, see some attractions, eat wonderful local food, and of course, shop. Because I decided to fly, I chose a hotel that memory suggested was in a good location and in walking distance to most of our destinations. What I had not considered, however, was that the main entrance of the hotel opened onto Bourbon Street.
Now, I would not classify myself as a stick in the mud, but I would say I am the type of person who is pretty comfortable with the over-sixty crowd. And my old, little Italian woman within usually wants a Rosary to cling to whenever she runs into a breeding ground for sin. I therefore figured it would be wise to avoid Bourbon street and its debauchery. So for the first two days, I kept my head down around its path and successfully avoided too much confrontation. When it came time to leave on Monday morning and I had to wait to be picked up outside the hotel, however, I found myself face to face with Bourbon street. And strangely, it offered me a moment of reflection.
Aside from the street cleaners pouring a clorox concoction on the sidewalks to rid the street of the previous evening’s festivities, not too much activity occurs on Bourbon street at 9 o’clock on an average Monday morning. But the unusual quiet only illuminated the one spectacle I did witness. It was a stripper outside one of the local gentleman’s clubs, attempting to solicit any tourist who happened to walk her way. I admit that I was appalled at first and began with the usual litany of questions that run through my head when people engage in activities I, as a Christian, simply don’t understand. Who is she? Where is her family? What would they think? Does she know she is valuable, that her body is more than an object of lust? Does she know she is guilty of turning men to sin? Do the men she talks to care? Does she know there is still a chance for change in Christ? What would she do if I ran over and shared with her the gospel?
As I continued to wonder, however, I also noticed that she didn’t really look like what one would expect of a stripper. Sure, her clothes fit the part. She had on a bikini with a fishnet coverup and black boots, afterall. But above the neck line, she wore round glasses, straight and slightly limp blond hair, and little makeup. In another context and in a different outfit, I might even describe her as pretty. But now, she was here in front of the world, exposing herself–and her sin–for all to see.
Then it occurred to me how this stripper is not that different from many of us Christians. Of course, we often keep our sins covered up or even pretend they simply don’t exist. We go to great lengths to look the part of a Christian, to dress it properly. We love God, and we want the world to know it. What we don’t want the world to know is that we still struggle with our sins. We therefore keep our lust, envy, desire, greed, lies, or laziness in hiding rather than expose them for what they are–rather than lay them before God and ask for His redemptive and merciful power.
It is true that Bourbon Street rattles me, but perhaps at least a small part of the reason is that it forces me to look within myself and also expose my own sins, my own filth, within. And for that, I am grateful to it.
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