**We interrupt the current blog series (hey, I am only one post into “The Plague” so no big whoop) to bring you a nostalgiac reflection**

Things slip up on me as I have officially entered my mid-thirties (35 if you are curious). I was eating lunch with a friend today who had asked me how long I had been preaching. And as I began to answer that simple question by telling him the date of my first sermon, I asked myself out loud, “What is today’s date, anyway?” And when I glanced at my watch, I realized that it was exactly 21 years ago today that I preached my very first sermon at Crossroads Baptist Church in Simpsonville, SC. What a day that was.

I had only been saved a few months and I already felt like God had put a desire in my heart to preach the gospel and tell the world what Jesus had done to me, in me and for me. So when youth day began approaching and I realized another student in the youth group named Greg Miller was preaching the Sunday morning service, I asked my pastor if I could preach the Sunday night service. I don’t recall running the idea by anyone, I just figured if Pastor Skinner would let Greg preach, he would let me preach, too, though Greg was 2 years older than me.

So at age 14, I began preparing my first sermon. I made a few notes and read a few commentaries, but I mostly just read tons of scripture passages and memorized a slew of verses. And do you wanna know what the title of my first sermon was?

HELL.

Pretty simple and to the point. I practiced my sermon on our farm, and no kidding, I preached it at least 3 times in the barn staring at bales of hay pretending they were church members. I was a wee bit nervous, but no more than the pre-game jitters I had felt before a basketball game. And right before the service began, I remember feeling an incredible, tangible peace overwhelm me. I felt CONFIDENCE. And it was not confidence in myself, but in the sufficiency of the Word of God to speak and the Holy Spirit of God to translate the Word through my words to the people.

A few years ago my papa died. He was 78, a WWII veteran and a Cherokee Indian. My mother and I were cleaning out his house after his death and were going through his old country and bluegrass cassettes and records. Believe it or not, I found an original cassette copy of that first sermon that I preached 21 years ago today. I played it on the drive home and laughed a lot, and cried a little bit, when I realized that Jesus has only gotten better since that day, preaching has become even more fun, the Kingdom has advanced much in the past 2 decades, and in many ways I am still that slightly frightened little boy who has no idea on earth what he is doing.

The more I think about it, the more I realize the paradox. So much has changed, the world is a different place, we have iPods and the internet and Al Queda. But much has remained the same. People are still broken, the world needs Jesus, and God still uses willing vessels, no matter how green they are or how horrible their sermon titles might be.

Here’s to hoping I have at least 21 more in me.

This entry was posted on Thursday, March 27th, 2008 at 4:12 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.