The First and Worst and Best Sermon I Ever Preached

The first sermon I ever preached was to a bunch of Melanesian inmates serving time for murder.

Uncle Mike, a missionary friend from a charismatic evangelical background, had a ministry at a nearby prison, the one the provincial government designated for hardened killers. Although, you’d never know this from visiting these prisoners and worshipping alongside them at the services that Uncle Mike conducted. On the contrary, in spite of their hardened muscles and cut jawlines, the inmates seemed kind and respectful and even humble. Yet each person there who wore the faded blue and red uniform had murdered other human beings – crimes that were most often carried out with machetes, homemade shotguns, or more powerful weapons smuggled in from neighboring countries.

However, I learned from Uncle Mike that a small group of these prisoners had professed faith and a new church of sorts was forming within the prison. In addition, many others were also willing to gather for a service. This was prison in Melanesia, after all, so there wasn’t that much to do anyway.

I visited this prison with Uncle Mike and his family several times during my senior year of high school. I was glad to tag along, to observe the ministry, and to try to get into gospel conversations with the inmates who were willing to talk. But I never expected to preach. So Uncle Mike’s request came as quite a surprise.

“Hey, A.W.! Would you like to preach when we visit the prison on Easter Sunday?”

“Um… preach?”

“Yes! Preach. Preach a short sermon. I think you’d do great.”

“Uh… okay. But I’ve never preached before.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s Easter! Just preach the gospel.”

And just like that, I had accepted my very first preaching engagement. I decided on 1st Corinthians 15, verses 12-28 if I remember correctly. Uncle Mike had told me to preach the gospel, and it was Easter Sunday, so I thought a straightforward text on the reality and importance of Jesus’ resurrection would be a good way to go.

I remember very little about the content of the sermon itself. I know that at that point I hadn’t received any training yet on how to study for, organize, and then actually preach a sermon. But I took to my task with all the gusto of a confident 18-year-old who has been filling his head with Passion sermons and missionary biographies.

I do remember including a bizarre illustration that I had recently read in the local newspaper. Some farmer in our region had successfully performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a chicken (so, technically mouth-to-beak?) and the chicken had – amazingly – come back to life. I included this illustration in an attempt to contrast near-death experiences and resuscitations with the resurrection of Jesus. “The resurrection of Jesus is categorically different from what happened to this chicken!”

Needless to say, the lackluster response from my audience of convicts did leave me wondering if perhaps they didn’t find the story about the chicken CPR quite as funny as I did.

As I wrapped up my sermon in the local trade language, I leaned on my Baptist upbringing to transition to an altar call of sorts.

“With every head bowed and every eye closed, I want you to think about the good news you heard today about the death and resurrection of Jesus. And if anyone here wants to believe and be born again (literally “to turn your soul/stomach” in the local language), then just raise your hand. No one is watching you, every head bowed and every eye closed, just raise your hand.”

At this point, Uncle Mike thought it best to intervene. With all the fire of a veteran charismatic preacher, he cued the worship leader to begin banging the guitar, strode up next to me, and proceeded to bellow to the crowd,

“Jesus didn’t suffer and die in private! Jesus suffered and died in public! So, if you want to repent and follow Jesus, you need to do so publicly! Don’t be ashamed of Jesus! No! You stand up in front of everyone and give your life to Jesus! Open your eyes and come up here and follow Jesus!”

As the believers began singing and Uncle Mike kept hollering, I just stood there, a bit taken aback, though not at all upset that Uncle Mike had deemed it best to take over the invitation part of the service. In fact, at that point a full dozen men suddenly stood up, came to the front, and were now being prayed for by Uncle Mike as he laid hands on their heads, shouting out his confident prayers. He motioned for me to do something similar with a couple of the other men who were now kneeling on the packed dirt floor in front of me. I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but if these men wanted to pray to follow Jesus, then I was all in to try and help them do so. I kneeled down next to them, walked them through a basic gospel outline, and prayed with them.

Afterward, the inmate who was the leader of the prison believers came up and thanked me publicly for preaching.

“And I think,” he continued, “this was maybe the first time Brother A.W. has ever preached.” He said this last part with a hint of a smile, just enough for me to pick up on the fact that it was probably a pretty rough sermon to listen to, all things considered.

I left the prison that day very encouraged. Not necessarily that my sermon had been good or powerful, but that God had used it in spite of it all. How had it happened that after a haltering, first-time, chicken-CPR, second-language sermon from a scrawny white kid, twelve hardened murderers had wanted to give their lives to Jesus? The answer, I realized, must be in the gospel itself, in the power of the Word of God.

After lunch at Uncle Mike’s that day, I picked up a missions magazine from his coffee table. There was an advertisement inside it for Christians to spend six months to a year in an Islamic Central Asian country, sharing the gospel.

“Huh,” I thought to myself, “Now that sounds really radical. Maybe someday I could share the gospel somewhere like that. Although, Muslims kind of freak me out.”

Little did I know that two years after that sermon, I would be in that very Central Asian country, taking part in the same program I saw advertised in the magazine that day. And just like in the prison, I would see God take some very imperfect evangelism and do something with it that was downright astonishing.

I’m so thankful Uncle Mike gave me a chance to preach in the prison that Easter. That first sermon may have been the worst one I’ve ever preached. But it’s the only one where I’ve seen a dozen men stand up and want to give their lives to Jesus.

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