Call Me "Preacher"

Outwardly, I may not deserve the designation.

As I said in my last post, though I attend church I have no congregation of my own. I rarely ever speak in public. I am quiet and solemn with my faith, but I do not deny it and will not hide it.

Inwardly, however, I am a Preacher.

Some three years ago I had begun work in a low-paying job with little respect -- it was the second such job since quitting the Pulpit -- when a supervisor by the name of Bertha stopped me one slow afternoon.

"They say you are a Minister of the Gospel. Is that true?"

"Well . . . I used to be," I replied, "I gave it up."

"Oooh nooo, honey . . . that's wrong. You either are or you aren't. Real preachers, they don't decide to preach -- they's called. A real preacher can't decide to quit, its in his bones, in his blood. Truth is, honey, if you a preacher -- well, you always be a preacher."

I didn't argue with her; I believe she was probably right. I just thought perhaps I was never meant to be a preacher to begin.

But, no, its there. Just like Bertha said. It is like an ache in my bones, a fire in my blood. Shut up, closed in, locked away. Yearning to get out.

Let me tell you up-front: I am not an evangelist.

A true evangelist, one with that gift, can make friends with anyone and instantly know how to broach the subject of Christ and where in His story to begin. An evangelist takes each as he comes, one-by-one, and leads each to where he/she needs to be. That is indeed a gift, and one I greatly admire.

But I am not an evangelist.

I am a Preacher. Maybe a counselor, but definitely a Preacher.

When I feel it, when I am doing it for Him, when I am being led . . .

I can pull my handkerchief out, roll my sleeves up, and really get to preaching. And I promise you there will be no dozing while I am firing away, the passion is infective.

You can think of me as you like, but I will call myself Preacher.