The Gospel of gibberish

This is my writing assignment for school this week. I would love some feedback. And yes, it is a true story.

I was going to be the next Billy Graham. It was a warm August afternoon when I pulled the U-Haul into the seminary dorm parking lot. The culmination of calling and planning had led me to Chicago to become a minister. Years of lay ministry and being a youth pastor had prepared my soul for what lay before me, college. I was coming to be taught the Word of God and to learn what it meant to be a servant of the Lord most high. I was as scared as I was honored.

Having just barely gotten out of high school I was quite nervous about how I would do academically. I had a friend fail out of the same seminary that I was beginning, and he was truly gifted. Walking through the campus I was reminded of the history that graced these halls. Brilliant men and women of God who had studied and trained to become the heroes of the faith I had known and heard about. If I was going to leave my mark in history I would need to study hard and dedicate my whole being. “And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.”

The newness of college wore off as I began attending classes. Orientations and syllabi made the unknown become familiar and the reassuring words of teachers helped put my mind at ease. I was going to be fine. Classes were more advanced than what I remembered of high school, but then again I hadn’t really paid attention back then. The reading assignments were interesting and the classroom discussion was exactly what I needed. I was finding my place and I was confident that I would become a great orator.

Every morning began with humility and submission. First, before anything happened in the day, we had details. A time of cleaning and maintenance that sustained the college and our souls. We all loathed details. Smelling of lemon Pledge and Windex I would return to my dorm to get ready for the day. Before we would take to class we had chapel. A time every morning that the student body and teaching staff were equals before God. In the beginning of the year the staff and upper class set the pace for what these services would consist of and what they would look like.

By February the freshmen knew everything and couldn’t be told otherwise. It was right about that time that we were given the reigns of morning service and it was our time to shine. The first person from my class was brilliant and well spoken. He stood a head above most of us both physically and spiritually. The twenty minute service flew by as he waxed eloquently. From welcome to amen he set the standard by which we all felt we needed to achieve. From that point on my friends would make valiant attempts at their services but none would leave a lasting impression.

I had about six weeks notice before it was my turn to step up to the pulpit. The scripture was given to me and my mission was clear. I put off most of the other assignments in my scholastic calendar to focus on my chance to impress my peers. Morning, noon and night I thought about my scripture and how it applied to the people. I would consider many different ways of delivering the message. This wasn’t just my chance to impress, but it was my first realization of who I was as a preacher. Was I going to be serious and stoic or would I be bold and dynamic? The one thing I knew was, I was going to be awesome.

The night before my “message that would change the world” I was cloistered away in the school library. I was consorting with the likes of John Wesley and Matthew Henry in an attempt to glean as much as I could before my presentation. After hours of studying, there was nothing more I could do to prepare. My sermon was written, my mind was alert and I only needed sleep. The next morning I woke up to go to details and perform my cleaning ritual. I left early to get ready and be the first to chapel. After all, on this morning, I was the pastor and this was my church. I needed to welcome the staff and students and prepare their hearts for this momentous occasion.

After a song and the scripture reading I took the stage. From the moment I rose to my feet the world slowed down. Ascending the stairs that led to the pulpit I could hear my heart beating. I set my papers down and rested my hands on the sides of the pulpit. The wood was rough from nervous students before me grabbing in sweaty desperation. I peered out as I took a deep breath. They were all waiting for me to speak the words that would change the world. I opened my mouth and said, “Ticen arere wime of pers pant ederedvee co?”

With a confident smile on my face I looked at the congregation to absorb their awe at my genius. Instead what I saw was a sea of perplexed looks and hidden smirks. It was then that I realized I hadn’t said anything coherent. Gibberish! My heart was now beating so hard the microphone could pick it up. My vision tunneled and I was about to lose consciousness. It was under this extreme pressure and duress that I had my most brilliant idea to date. I needed to be myself.

“Well” I said with a sigh. “I am not sure what just happened, but I think this message will sound better in English” said with a sheepish grin. My classmates chuckled loudly and the staff even joined in for a second. It was just what my sermon needed, levity. I had concentrated so heavily on being one of the greats that I forgot to be Chris. I delivered the rest of my message; which I don’t remember, but was probably average at best. I stepped down from the platform and a final song was sung. My blood pressure returned to normal and my body went limp. I had given everything I had up there and it wasn’t even close to good. However, I learned a great lesson that day that I would carry throughout my seminary years and my career as a pastor. I wasn’t going to be the next Billy Graham. I was going to be the next Chris DiMaso, precisely who God needed me to be.