I was sixteen years old when I met Brian. He was one of three brothers in the church I remember distinctly. Him and Rudy were part of a rap group that turned popular rap songs into music that encouraged people to give their lives to Jesus. I loved seeing them on the street corner sharing their testimonies and using rap music to witness and draw crowds. Their fire for God was contagious. It made me want to get up and preach the gospel.
I was hesitant the first time I did it. I don't remember what I said. I was good at imitating people, so I likely did better than I thought. The point was that I share my testimony. Do a work for God. Twenty-three years later, I find myself now having to be that inspiration to a group of guys who were about my age when I first got saved.
But here's what I've had to deal with: street preaching and sharing my testimony isn't just about me. It's about a need I recognize in my local church and perhaps in the world at large. The need for leaders. The need for men others can follow.
That's what Brian was for me. He wasn't polished. He wasn't a theologian. He was just on fire.
I thought about that in 2023 when I came back to church and wanted this time to be different. I bought a bullhorn. I put out a call to the guys, saying I was going to be on the corner of Stafford Market Place and Garrisonville Road if anyone wanted to join me. I pulled into the Applebee's parking lot and waited. My palms were sweating. My heart was racing. I didn't tarry long. No one had communicated to me in time. My pastor texted to say he and a couple guys were on their way. They had just wrapped up a Bible study at Mary Washington. I didn't know. I got cold feet and bounced.
He was ten minutes away.
There's a moment in Jeremiah 1 where God calls a young priest's son from a small town named Anathoth and tells him he has been set apart as a prophet to the nations. Jeremiah's response is immediate and honest:
"I can't speak for you! I'm too young" (v. 6)!
God doesn't argue with him. He just says:
"Don't say, ‘I'm too young,’ for you must go wherever I send you and say whatever I tell you. And don't be afraid of the people, for I will be with you and protect you" (v.v. 7-8).
The call doesn't wait for confidence. It doesn't wait for a team to show up. It doesn't wait for the anxiety to pass.
“Get up,” God says, “and prepare for action” (v. 17).
I'm still working on preparing for action. We tried street preaching again not long after in a larger intersection, but the team didn't understand the strategy. You pass out fliers when the cars stop at the light. That's also when you preach. Otherwise, you're not preaching to anyone. One sister said it was dangerous. Maybe. But I'd seen it done in Texas. I'd seen what it does, not just to the people hearing it, but to the men delivering it. There's something that happens to a man when he opens his mouth for God on a street corner. It changes him. We just haven't figured out how to do it here yet.
The same sister who complained it was dangerous told me something else that stuck with me. She said the reason she was able to preach so well was because she had a lot of practice. She was right. You don't get ready and then go. You go and get ready.
The bullhorn is still in my closet. I’ve kept it because I’m hoping I’ll use it one day. At sixteen, I showed up because Brian did. But Brian had to go first. Somebody always has to go first.
Maybe that’s us.