Preaching to the misfits healed me

It would have to be like this. My first sermon in a pulpit on a Sunday morning would just have to go exactly as it went. I have written about this in my book but God binds up wounds you think are so small, you don’t even ask them to be healed. You’re like me and asking God about the glaring infections and gaping wounds. Not the tiny fissures and tears on the inside.

When I arrived a little early, I noticed some people on the back steps of the church smoking cigarettes. Laura had told me their church is unique in that it ministers to a lot of people who have fallen on hard times are ex addicts or current addicts, ex convicts, and the poor. I had just taught the VBS family camp lesson (yes, I was a super hero: Captain Fruito D’ Ispirito) and they were a squirrley and loud audience.

They would heckle me at times and I sort of loved it. It was like doing improv. I already work with my preferred audience of children and prisoners so this wasn’t out of my ballpark. On Sunday, I went in to the church and saw my husband and children in the front row and said a quick hi before I went to the audio guys. An older man with few teeth was laying in the back pew.

A friend from my church that I attend and her family were there. She has purple hair so I knew immediately who it was. Her daughter is in my Sunday School class and I talked to her new cat stuffy for a minute. As I walked down the side aisle, I saw my jail minister mate, Krysten and she was wearing a dress! I have only ever seen her in scrubs. She sat with my family. When I sat down I noticed 2 women from my old reformed church walk in and take the seats directly behind us. Neither of them can stomach going back to church and it’s been 4 years I think? I was so delighted to see them. It was so brave of them, but they wanted to support me even though it might have felt uncomfortable. Then my best friend (from that same church) walked in while the service had started. I bolted toward her and hugged her. I was kind of surrounded by love when I think about it.

It reminded of the time I went to an Anglican Church after leaving the baptist space and sat in the back row, so wounded, thinking I would just sneak in, but then I was surrounded by old friends. God knew I needed to be surrounded by love.

Announcements started and literally everyone just kept talking. It was loud and I was wondering if they would just keep talking while I was giving a sermon? OH LORD. Then an older gentlemen, noticing we were new, no clue I was the speaker, looked each of my children and husband in the eyes and said, “I just am so happy you’re here. We love to see new faces. I am Mark, let me know what you need.” He was just chatting it up, literally talking loudly while the announcer is talking. It made me giggle. The Pastor stood up and discussed the family VBS camp and asked if anyone wanted to say what they loved about the weekend and they passed the mic around to the filled pews of probably 200 people. This pastor wanted to hear his people’s voice? Every minute, was like a new brain adventure. What will happen next?

Then he said, “We do things a little differently here. Some of your burdens are so great, that you can’t even worship. You can’t hear what God has for you unless you unload them. And then 8 people came to the front to be the prayer people and people streamed out of their seats, forming lines. Some kneeling, some holding hands, some crying. It went on like this for a while until everyone who wanted to be prayed for was prayed for, including me. Listen, I am not one to turn away free prayer. The guy held my hands and his knuckles were tatted with red letters outlined in green. I started to wonder if there would be time for my sermon. I wouldn’t mind if I didn’t have to give it. This was good enough and I was a little nervous anyway. Penelope leaned over and said, “What are they doing?” I said, “Oh it’s just a little more pentecostal than you’re used to. It’s kind of how I grew up and another way to worship.”

We sang together. My friends voices were all I could hear. Putting wind in my sails through song. Their beautiful voices squelched for so long. It reminded me of Song of Songs, and Pastor Jake before: “Let me hear your voice!”. What a tragedy to squelch the half the face of God.

But sure enough it was my time to go up. I had to rework some of the sermon in my head, but I trusted that Holy Spirit would have me say what I need to say and forget what I don’t. Looking out, there were misfits everywhere. Toothless grins, ex drug users whose faces wore a hard life, one kiddo visibly slumped in the front row appeared to be actively high. Neck tatts, arm tatts. A lady was braless, still another in a short tight dress. Who needs to envision a crowd naked? Close enough!

They laughed at my jokes(uhthankyou). When I asked for participation, they fully threw themselves into the task. WITH GUSTO. They were so hungry and eager for God. When I asked for an Amen, male and female voices roared. But I could hear one man the most, he was closest to the stage and vehemently supporting me. At one point, he yelled “HYPOCRITE!” when I was describing the Pharisees. Like helllllll ya, brother! Some things I thought were funny were in fact, not. Lol. But they loved the story of my dad almost killing a man who tried to kidnap me when I was a child. My dad put his head by the tire and yelled, “Start the car!” Luckily the police came.

“This was the 80’s. Before gentle parenting.” Loud laughter. I’m not so humble that I don’t enjoy making the crowd laugh. Please.

And at the end, we talked about the prodigal son sitting in a mess he made, and then he has an idea to go home. I asked if anyone in the audience needed to come home. And if they would come up so I could pray for them. And 7 came up and shared their messes, vulnerable and brave. And the audience nodded in understanding in agreement. No judgement. The crowd extended their hands as we prayed that this was the turning point for these folks. Some cried, some held me in a long embrace. My stress BO surely would take them out if we hugged any longer! They didn’t seem to mind.

My friend who asked me to preach, showed me a text. Someone overheard a guy saying, “Papa, I think that service just changed my life.” Maybe it was one of the guys who openly wept on stage. His grandpa (he was the most vocal supporter from earlier!) stood up, bore witness to his weeping grandson. This kid was sad for all he had lost and made others lose. Grandpa and (I think sister) moved to the aisle, ready to embrace that boy when he left the stage. The father waiting at the gate eagerly to receive his boy back. (It’s in the screen grab of the YouTube video below.)

When I said amen at the end of praying for the last person, & by then it was noon, people just started getting up to leave. No closure! It made me laugh. They were like we do this for an hour then we go eat. 😂

I wish this for everyone. My husband said, this is such a great church. It feels like home. Lila, who mostly refuses to come to church said, I LOVE THIS CHURCH.

Jesus was there.

This church is not arguing about if women can preach, they’re not arguing about modesty and purity culture. Narry a word spoken about politics in those doors. They’re desperate for Jesus, eager, despite appearances and pride of having all the right answers. They just don’t. They have bigger fish to fry just trying to survive. But they love and serve each other with glad hearts. I was ministered to. My soul needed respite. I needed to be held by the Father, not the internet. The grief I feel sometimes about how men are taking God’s name in vain and platformed as religious leaders is overwhelming some days.

Anyway, many a disillusioned follow me here & I’ll say what I said Sunday morning: Just come home. Rich Villodas says all scripture is basically, I love you, I am with you, don’t be afraid, you can come home.

Return to the Father. He waits at the gate to make and undignified run to you.

And if you’re disillusioned by males treating women with such disdain, I found a bunch of men that Sunday who were championing my voice. Men came up after and told me how much my words meant to them. Big bear hugs! The men, so vocal in the crowd participating whole heartedly. Jake, the pastor who asks to be called coach, “Because we’re all a team here.” My husband who said, “Girl, when are you starting a church?! I’d be happy to learn from you all day,” in front of my children. He was taking videos like I was the star quarter back (haha). They’re not all Dale’s and Doug’s. I just needed to experience it in real life. And God showed up for me binding wounds I tucked away and pretended weren’t that big. It would have had to be exactly at this church, with a quirky audience, with the misfits, with a pastor named Jake (remember my Jake/Jesus dream?), with people from my past and present in an old baptist church.

It had to be just like this.

Thanks for reading,

Jami

P.S. Here’s the sermon. Go easy on me lol!

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P.S.S. We are starting our series on Luke + Acts this coming week. I thought I would need a longer break but I fear I will get bored so I wrote the introduction and context for Luke and will post that video in our classroom portal, Seminary Lite! If you can’t afford it just message me and I’ll give you a code to jump in for free. I have a section on most weaponized scriptures about women that might be helpful to stop the bleeding before you can learn Luke and Acts.