Deeply Formed Preaching (Part 2)

Part 2 - My First Year as a Preacher

(Check out part 1 here)

~ 1000 words - 7-8 minute read

Preaching in Brooklyn

I became a follower of Jesus at the age of 19. After a period of anxiety and despair, I visited the church of my childhood and heard a message of God’s resurrection power. I was so compelled by the message of hope and redemption that I responded to the altar call. Along with fifteen other family members, I was set on a new trajectory of life in Christ.

Soon after this encounter, I would visit youth rallies organized by other small Pentecostal churches in Brooklyn. Our youth group of twenty would cram into an old, dusty church van that had the faded words Arca de Salvacion (Ark of Salvation) on the side of it.

For the first year of my Christian journey, our youth group attended about seven of these rallies. There would be anywhere between fifty to two hundred teens passionately singing, dancing, crying and praying during the service. An evangelist would stand and preach, followed by a time of prophetic ministry. In this context, prophetic ministry meant that the preacher would scan the congregation, looking for someone to speak a particular word from God to. The messages given by the preacher were usually about calling and encouragement. (Thankfully, I was exposed to a healthy and affirming charismatic experience.)

As the preacher walked up and down the aisle, he would identify people by the color of their outfit.

“You in the white shirt, stand up.”

“You in the brown dress, come forward.”

“You with the blue tie, God has a word for you.”

To be called out in this way was terrifying and exhilarating. Astonishingly, I was called out in this way about five times over the course of my first year as a Christian. Different preachers in different churches would point me out, often as I sat towards the back of the church. And the message was usually the same:

“Young man,” they would say. “God has called you to preach the gospel… Brother, God is preparing you right now for a ministry of the word...God has anointed you to carry his word to others.”

At many of these youth rallies, I would stand at this point of the service after being called out, nervously shaking, but eager to hear what God would say. Over and over, these preachers would confirm in public what I sensed God speaking to me in private. After the first year, all of those prophetic messages ceased. I suppose it was time for me to start preaching. I thought I was up for the task.

The congregation I was part of would organize street services at the local shopping area, or in front of the public housing buildings for low-income families, not far from our church. We would set up 15-20 chairs, bring out our worship team who played salsa music like Tito Puente’s band. This always drew a crowd, and when enough people gathered, someone would preach. From time to time, it was me.

I would share my story of conversion. Truthfully, I wasn’t a bad kid. I didn’t have a dramatic testimony like the drug addicts or gang members I would hear about. I was tempted to lie about my upbringing to make my message more sensational, but my family was in the congregation. (Hard to do that when everyone knows your story.) I preached nonetheless in the street about God’s love and power to change lives.

Soon after these opportunities, my first pastor, Roberto Otero, would experience serious health complications. He spent many years preaching in churches around Brooklyn, but his frail condition kept him from this kind of ministry. So he sent me in his stead.

My first speaking engagement was at a small church in Brooklyn. Twenty-five people would fill the tiny church building. Due to the small confines, the room felt full— like a Billy Graham event in my mind. I would preach with passion, taking verses out of context, mistaking Paul from John, and confidently saying things like, “the Bible says, God helps those who help themselves.”

When it was time for the altar call, the congregation would stare at me, eyes glazed over––often because most of them hardly understood English, and my Spanish was terrible.

I would say, “If any of you want to come to Christ, come forward, I would like to pray for you.” Crickets.

When an invitation for salvation doesn’t work, the next best thing is to give people any reason to come up for prayer.

“If you’re sick.”

“If you’re tired.”

“If you’re bitter…if you’re broke.”

Inside I’m thinking, “C’mon somebody, anybody, please come forward. Help me out. You’re making me look bad.” No one moved. Except one person.

As I was about to hand the microphone back to the pastor, I saw a man walking down the aisle. It was my father. He had become a Christian the same day I had. He drove me to this speaking engagement and seemed to be touched by the message. He came forward. “Son, pray for me.” I gladly did so and then turned the service over to the pastor.

A month later or so, I would preach at another church. De-ja-vu. I preached on every verse in the David and Goliath story, making things up as I went. I’d close the service with an altar call. Not a soul moved—except my father, again. But as he walked down the aisle from the back of the tiny church (taking him a total of three seconds) something smelled fishy. I prayed for him and handed the service over to the pastor.

By the third speaking engagement, I knew what was happening. My father felt bad for me. He didn’t want his son go without someone to pray for, he’d respond to my invitation. Incredibly kind and loving of him, but when I saw him about to come down the aisle, I would hand over the microphone like it was burning coals. Not this time, dad.

After these humbling and mostly awkward preaching engagements, I would go to a Christian college and learn how to construct sermons. I would be trained to interpret scripture faithfully, equipped to tell stories and illustrate timeless truths with contemporary anecdotes. All of these things are integral to the call of preaching. But I would also have to learn how to be someone who allowed the truth of God’s word to form my life, out of which I preached.

This meant I had to unlearn some of the lessons I was taught along the way.

(To be continued)

If you’re interested in reading more from me, check out, The Deeply Formed Life, Good and Beautiful and Kind, and The Narrow Path.