The Barber on 47th Street

For twenty-three years, James Macon has opened the doors of his shop on 47th Street in Chicago's Bronzeville neighborhood at seven in the morning. He has watched three liquor stores open across the block and two churches close. He has swept broken glass off his sidewalk more times than he can count. Other businesses left. James stayed.

His shop smells like Barbicide and coffee. On the walls hang photos of every young man who earned a diploma while sitting in his chair, studying between haircuts. There are sixty-seven photos now. James quizzes them on vocabulary words while he edges their fades. He prays over each one before they leave, whether they ask for it or not.

A city councilwoman once asked him why he never relocated to a safer part of town. James told her, "Salt does no good sitting in the shaker."

Jesus told His followers that they were the salt of the earth and the light of the world. Not that they should try to become salt and light — they already were. The question was whether they would stay potent or lose their flavor. Whether they would sit on a visible stand or hide under a basket.

James Macon is not hiding. His little shop glows on that block like a city set on a hill, and every young man who walks through his door tastes something the street cannot offer — the unmistakable flavor of a life that takes the Almighty at His word.