GREENSBORO — The signs have bothered the Rev. F. Willis Johnson Jr. since he came to Shiloh Baptist nearly two years ago.
Whenever he’d see those six big signs, with big black letters, he’d wince at the big warning you can read from across the street: “No Trespassing At Any Time. Violators Will Be Prosecuted.’’
So on Friday, Johnson covered the signs with big plastic trash bags. By Sunday, the trash bags were gone. By Monday, Johnson was back at it, in the snow, covering at least four of the six signs with any plastic he could find.
He wants them covered until he replaces the signs with the goodwill message of “Welcome To Shiloh” in BIG letters with the “No Trespassing’’ in fine print just beneath.
Or something like that.
To Johnson, it’s not just about the signs. It’s about responsibility.
Shiloh Baptist, one of Greensboro’s oldest black Baptist congregations, is perched within eyesight of one of our city’s most visible signs of the needy, the recovering, the lost.
Johnson calls it the “Corner of Concern,’’ South Eugene and West Lee. A crowd hugs the curb there almost every day.
They’re the homeless, the hungry, the jobless, the weary. They’re our city’s forgotten folks, the people who frequent Greensboro Urban Ministry, Salvation Army Thrift Store and the community clinic known as HealthServe.
Less than a block away, sitting on a hill, is Shiloh Baptist — and its big “No Trespassing’’ signs.
The church erected the signs at least five years ago, according to Johnson, because the grassy park beside Shiloh had turned into a place of drinking, loitering and drug-peddling.
Shiloh is right. It is the church’s property. But is it righteous?
Let’s look at history.
Shiloh Baptist started nearly 117 years ago. Its working-class congregation evolved into a congregation of educators, doctors, lawyers and ministers who molded the black consciousness of Greensboro.
They raised money to build their church — one pie, one fried-chicken dinner at a time — and became a powerful congregation where generations of families attended and a minister’s voice carried weight.
Now, let’s look at the pulpit.
Johnson, 34, a native of Kansas City, a married father of two, is Shiloh’s fourth minister in a decade. He came in July 2007. Last year, some members of the church tried to get rid of him. He persevered. And today, he preaches.
He slams his hand on the podium for emphasis and talks about Jesus as a revolutionary. He ministers in his new city and serves on boards and task forces that help the homeless and the needy.
He writes a guest editorial for the Carolina Peacemaker, a storied weekly newspaper, and provokes his new city to think.
So, when he looks toward the crowd at the “Corner of Concern,’’ he wants to embrace them, not turn them away.
“Maybe I’m naïve,’’ Johnson says, “but the Bible says treat people the way you want to be treated.’’
Four Sundays ago, Johnson started a program he calls “Bread & Fish.” Every Sunday at 8:15 a.m., he and his parishioners serve breakfast — grits, eggs and sausage — to anyone who comes.
A woman in her 20s came this past Sunday. After eating, she hugged and thanked him. Johnson didn’t know who she was.
So, is this just about signs?
Not by a long shot.
Contact Jeri Rowe at 373-7374 or jeri.rowe@news-record.com
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