I was fifteen years old when I felt called to preach. My home church pastor said that I should get as much experience as possible. Obviously, there was not a great demand for fifteen-year-old novices who were long on enthusiasm but short on skill. So, my pastor sent me to preach at a place that would take me—the rescue mission in Miami, Florida.

Each night the men flocked into the rescue mission. I wish I could tell you they were flocking to hear me. That wasn’t the case! After the worship service, these men from the streets would be given something to eat and a place to sleep. They had to listen to the preacher in order to get the sandwich, soup, and a place to lay their heads.

I look back at those first stammering sermons with some embarrassment. I was far too cocky. I had no understanding of the world of my hearers. My dad would drive me in from the suburbs; I would deliver what were usually words of judgment; and then I would go back home feeling that God was surely pleased with me. If there is a special judgment for those of us who preach, I have a multitude of sermons for which I will need forgiveness.

The experiences that I had at the Miami Rescue Mission, however, have left an indelible impression on me. I will never forget them. One night…

from A Faith to Meet Our Fears