Thread by @rhyneputman

The time I preached from the wrong translation at a rural KJV-only church: a bedtime story.

In was the fall of 2004, and I was an undergraduate in Christian ministries at Williams Baptist College in Walnut Ridge, AR.

I had preaching engagements nearly every week in rural churches across northeast Arkansas. I thought I was hot stuff.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I listened to so many Piper and Driscoll sermons (it was 2004) that I unwittingly went back and forth between imitating their respective styles and mannerisms. Piper when I felt smart, Driscoll when I felt “edgy.”

My Hebrew professor landed me a gig to speak at a small church within about 45 minutes from the school.

This pastor had requested ministry students for a “college night” service on Sunday night. He wanted “a young preacher, a musician, and an upstanding college boy giving a testimony.”

That should have been my first sign not to take the invite.

I asked my buddy Christian, a talented worship leader, to join
me.

Christian would go on to become the Justin Bieber of LifeWay camps worship leaders.

I also asked Harley, a recent convert from a local Hell’s Angels biker’s gang, to give his testimony. Harley (his real name) had the whole look: big goatee, buzzed hair, and tats.

That Sunday, we loaded up and went to the church. They asked for us to be there early for Training Union class.

(For those of you who don’t remember Training Union, it was like night Sunday School. Most SBC churches dropped it in the 80s).

So at 4:45 that Sunday afternoon, we show up at this rustic church that could have been in “Deliverance.” It was the perfect setting for a rural horror movie.

We went in and met the pastor, a short, stocky bald man in his late 60s or early 70s with a stern expression across his face. He kept staring at Christian’s guitar case, then he ushered us toward the “college kids’ class.”

We went into this dimly lit classroom with dark-wood-paneled walls where the teacher and the one (!) college-aged student in the church were sitting there, waiting on us.

Instead of doing a Bible study, the teacher said “Let’s play a game.” Even my former biker gang friend was getting nervous.

The teacher pulls out an ancient looking box that said “Biblical Trivia” or something like that. Apparently, we were doing this. Maybe they wanted to test the religion majors, I don’t know. But it was on like Donkey Kong.

This went on for a few minutes and the teacher read a card that asked, “Which King of Israel had an affair with Bathsheba?”

That answer is easy enough, right? Not so fast. As soon as we could say “David,” the teacher looked at us, as serious as he could be and said, “No, I’m afraid that’s wrong. The correct answer is Solomon.”

“Come on,” we replied. But we grabbed the card from his hand, and sure enough, Solomon was the answer written on the card. Seriously.

And it wasn’t up for debate. This teacher apparently believed in the verbal inspiration and inerrancy of the biblical trivia card deck, even if it would have made Solomon one sick dude.

It was a real-life “Bubble Boy” situation. If you don’t get that reference, watch this clip. ()

Eventually that hour of torture ended, and it was about time to lead the worship service. About 40 people filed into the sanctuary for this “college night” service, but the 3 of us (4 if you count our new friend) were the only ones under 50.

My worship leader friend was anxious because the pastor kept giving him looks. So, my friend called an audible. He trashed his more contemporary set and pulled a hymnal from the pew to lead worship from. He got through the service sort of winging it that way.

Harley got up and shared an incredible story of how God had reached down into his life and pulled him from this violent world in which he was raised and called him to the ministry.

Then it was my time to preach. I was calm and confident. I preached Phil. 1:19-20. I thought I had some great stories, great zingers, and emotional points. But the crowd was unusually cool to me. I didn’t even get the normal “ain’t-he-cute” looks and smiles from the grandmas.

The service was over, and when we were leaving, the pastor grabbed my hand and whispered in my ear, “I’ll have a full report for your professor tomorrow.” I smiled, thinking he was joking, but no, he was serious as a heart attack.

The next day after Hebrew class, my prof called me aside to tell me about the unusual phone he received from the Deliverance pastor.

The pastor apparently said, “The worship leader was just fine. But I have a few complaints about the rest of the service.

“That young man who gave the testimony—he had revealed tattoos and A BEARD! Can you believe it? Brother, I thought we got rid of beards in churches when those hippy-dippy Jesus Movement kids went away in the ‘70s.”

He told my professor to tell his students to shave before going out to preach—you know, like Jesus.

If the hippy-dippy beards weren’t bad enough, he said, “But the worst part was that young man preaching.” Gulp.

“It was obvious he loved the Lord, so he is probably a Christian. But two things against him. First, he quoted that ‘Purpose-Driven Church’ book, and we are not one of those ‘seeker-friendly’ churches.” (I didn’t quote that book, & the latter was obvious to anyone who walked in.)

“But that’s not the worst of it. He had the audacity to preach from the New International Perversion in our church. We are a King James-only congregation!” (I actually preached from the ESV, but he surely didn’t know the difference.)

Not to my surprise, I never was never invited back to the church, but I did see that pastor a few months later at the office supply store where I worked in college.

He was being a total jerk to one of my co-workers, and I walked over to him and tried to calm him down. I asked him how everything was at his church, and even though only a few months had passed, he told me he was already at another church.

Later on when I served as an interim for another local church, I discovered that pastor had a short tenure there but left angry because the deacon joked with him about driving a Dodge Ram when the other men drove Ford
Trucks. He quit because they joked about his pick-up truck.

Obviously, this pastor man had some issues, but I did learn several valuable lessons on this occasion.

1. Love the people of God where they are, no matter how weird they may be.

2. Some men shouldn’t be pastors.

3. Speak truth in love, always.

4. They thought we got rid of beards in the 1960s. (If that man is still alive, he must be going crazy now.)

5. Learn to be sensitive to the cultural distinctiveness of every ministry setting.

6. Never quote Rick Warren books in sermons. Especially in churches without a purpose.

7. Finally, always ask if the church has a translation preference when preaching. And keep a KJV in your trunk in case you end up at a church like this one.

The End.