We moved back to the United States, from Central America, the summer before my freshman year in High School. I recognize now that those next few years represented quite a bit of change and adjustment. The typical "normal" adjustments of high school and growing up plus learning to live in the United States. We had moved to Central America when I was five years old. These formative experiences spill over and directly influence my preaching in Spanish, which will be a later post in this series. I bring this all up to say I don’t remember much about any official delivery of sermons in English until my senior year in High School.
We lived in Victoria, Texas (located in South Texas) and a small country church in Fordtran (22 miles from Victoria) was looking for people to come and preach and so I was presented with my first official preaching gig. I would drive once a month to this church and preach a sermon that my dad would help me write.
I remember, vividly, the first sermon I delivered. I consider it my first "official" sermon because it was my first trip to to Fordtran and probably, although I don’t remember, was the gauge by which they would consider offering me an extended invitation to preach. I don’t actually remember delivering the sermon. I do remember working with my dad on writing the sermon. I can still see us sitting in his office and him showing me how to make an outline, how to establish an introduction, the three points, and a conclusion. I still have that sermon (in a file somewhere) and still remember the theme and the three main points. Fitting that my first sermon would be centered on the cross of Christ.
I have two memories seared into my brain from my time in Fordtran:
First, I was running a bit late one Sunday and was in the process of driving the 22 miles trying to get there on time. I knew they would start the service, at the appointed hour, and if the preacher wasn’t there by the time of the sermon then somebody else would get up and speak. I was running late and there was a car in front of me that didn’t understand that 55 on a rural Texas road was more of a guideline than a hard fast rule. So I "patiently" waited drove behind them as long as I could stand it and blew right by them. I pulled into the parking lot and as I hurried to get my stuff and get out of the car that same car pulled into the parking lot right behind me. Embarrassed? Yep! Good thing I was not preaching on obeying the law of the land that Sunday!
Second, I actually had hair back in those days and my hair was, according to the style of the day, (it was the 80’s after all) a bit long like those fine young men of the Beatles. One Sunday morning as I’m standing in the back shaking hands, as we all know the preacher is supposed to do, one elderly lady walked right up to me and without saying a word produced a bobby pin and pinned my hair back. I was paralyzed in horror! I had no idea what to do next. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity until the woman’s daughter ran up, pulled out the bobby pin and began to profusely apologize.
Bobbie pins aside, the people in Fordtran were very gracious and allowed me to learn and grow and develop as a speaker. It’s one thing to write and practice but combining writing and practice with a successful live delivery is the equivalent of hitting for the cycle. (It’s a baseball term) I’m convinced they keep having me back because in my youthful, inexperience I felt not compulsion to ramble on or fill time. I’d get up, preach through my text and 8 to 10 minutes later sit down. They loved me! I do remember the message I delivered on Psalm 23 lasting a total of 6 minutes.
I’m pretty sure I saw tears of joy.
