Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given - Duane Dog Chapman [70]
“Have you ever heard of Huntsville, Duane?” Tim asked. I had to laugh at first. I thought he was joking because I thought he knew my connection there.
“Have I ever heard of Huntsville? That’s where I served my time, Pastor,” I answered.
When Tim called, it had been almost thirty years to the day since the warden handed me two hundred dollars and wished me luck. The pastor told me the church was interested in having me come along and preach with him. I have dreamt of spreading the gospel since I was a little boy. My mother gave me a book by Nicky Cruz when I was thirteen years old, hoping I would read his message and embrace his relationship with the Lord. Despite her many attempts to get me to read it, I refused because as a teenager I never felt I needed a Bible to connect with God. I’ve always had my own special one-on-one relationship with the Lord. However, my first week in prison, I went to the library to see if they had a Bible I could study. Being inside the joint changed my mind about wanting to learn and follow the words of the Bible. Unfortunately, there were no Bibles to check out, so the librarian gave me a copy of the next best thing. The same book by Nicky Cruz that my mother had given me. It was a sign. I hadn’t seen that book for a decade. Once I cracked it open, I was mesmerized by his testimony and style. I often wondered what it would be like to share the gospel in front of millions of people like Nicky Cruz. His book truly inspired me to follow my dream to someday preach. So when the pastor asked me to join him in Huntsville, I jumped at the opportunity for two reasons. First, I could share my life lessons through my own experiences with God, and second, I was going to have the chance to speak in Huntsville, a place I’d reluctantly called home for eighteen months.
After I hung up the phone, I immediately began preparing for the big day. I thought back to the first time I heard a preacher speak, at Bethel Temple, the church I attended with my mother when I was just a young boy. His name was Sidney Jones. When I heard him preach, I thought he was the greatest speaker I ever heard. When he ended his sermon that Sunday morning he said he was scheduled to be in Lyman, Colorado, the following week. I turned to my mom and said, “I’ve got to go hear him again. Will you take me?” Mom agreed.
When I went to watch Pastor Jones for the second time, I was extremely disappointed when he gave the exact same sermon he’d spoken at Bethel Temple the week before. Not one word was changed, even though the congregation was decidedly different. When I asked my mom why he repeated himself two weeks in a row, her best explanation was that it was because the material was so moving and powerful. Even so, I didn’t like the way his repetitiveness made me feel. While I was deeply touched by his message the first week, it lost all of its impact the second time around. Somehow, it felt lazy not to change up the sermon. I figured if I could turn my life over to the Lord, the least this guy could do was tell me a different story week after week. I never forgot how his sermon made me feel and vowed I’d never make that mistake if I ever someday found myself speaking in front of a crowd.
Today when I give speeches, I don’t write them out in advance and I rarely prepare more than an outline. I know there are people out there who may attend my events three nights in a row, so I want to make sure they get their money’s worth every single time. That’s why I usually say what’s in my heart—I know the Lord will always fill my mouth with the right words to say. I’ll alter my speech based on the reactions I’m getting from the crowd. You have to know who you’re talking to if you want to have the biggest impact. I pay close attention to the looks on the faces staring back at me from the audience. If they’re laughing at the right moments, I know they get my humor. If they’re crying, I know I’ve touched their souls. When I see a mother swing her arm around her