Where Mercy Is Shown, Mercy Is Given - Duane Dog Chapman [71]
The day we got to the Family Faith Church, I was stunned when I was told that twenty-five hundred people were waiting to hear the preacher and me. They were lined up as far as I could see. Someone from the church explained that the people waiting were not part of the actual congregation. They were what he referred to as “overflows.” I had had no idea how huge this event would be. The crush of people called out my name:
“Dog, Dog, Dog.”
Now, over the years I’ve gotten used to large crowds, but this time I was really nervous. I had studied the story of Jonah and the Whale for two weeks so I’d have the basis for my sermon. I was ready to get up on the pulpit and lead the congregation with my own unique take on the classic tale of how Jonah was swallowed up by the whale. I was all set—at least I thought I was until moments before I was called up to the podium.
That’s when I heard a voice say, “You’re not preaching Jonah today.” I had to laugh because for once, I had actually planned out and memorized what I was going to say word for word. I figured it had to be the devil whispering in my ear because God would want me to tell His story even if it was in my own special way.
“You know it’s me, Duane,” the voice said. “You can’t use Jonah today. There are some people here who need more than scripture from you. Use what you know, son.” I was frozen with fear because I didn’t know what I was supposed to say or do.
It sounds absurd, but I couldn’t bring myself to veer off the path I had planned, for two reasons: first, Beth would freak out, since she and I worked on this speech together for weeks; and second, it was hugely important to me to get a positive reaction from the audience. I was worried they wouldn’t respond to my usual “from the hip” style, which was what I had become most comfortable doing.
My nerves got even worse as I peeked through the curtain from backstage and took a look at the huge crowd as they filled the church auditorium. I closed the curtain, turned around, and began pacing back and forth trying to figure out what I was supposed to do—stick with my planned sermon or obey the Lord’s request to speak from my heart.
Beth kept saying to me, “Do you have your notes? Are you prepared? You can’t get up there and say whatever you want this time!” Her constant nagging wasn’t helping matters. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized she was right. So when I hit the stage, I asked the congregation to open their Bibles to Jonah, the sixteenth chapter.
I began to read out loud. “I was in the belly of the whale. The weeds came around my neck and choked me to death. My spirit cried unto the Lord….”
And then I stopped.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a single beat, and then said, “How many of you have been to a place where your spirit is so broken that you have broken down and cried?”
The whole church raised their hands. I turned my eyes upward, like I was looking toward God. OK, big man. This must be what you wanted me to do, I thought.
And then I said, “Well, welcome to the ‘I barely made it’ club!” The congregation broke out in thunderous applause. I began to tell the story of John the Baptist and how he was beheaded for the words he used. I did something I had never done before: I gave my testimony with various quotes from scripture along the way. This time I really let my words and emotions flow. I spoke of Jesus in a way I didn’t always allow myself to, mostly because up until this moment, I had been told to keep my speeches fairly nonreligious. In the past, I was told not to include Jesus as much as I wanted to. This time, things were different because I was in a church. I allowed my