Part One
I was scared. We all were, or at least I thought we were. But one thing was for sure, I was terrified. He stood there, a striking figure. His shirt was a glaring white, nearly blinding, with a jet-black tie wrapped tightly around his neck. The electric blue suit he wore was something else—funky and bold, with wide lapels and trousers that flared out at the bottom. He was an imposing sight. The sweat was seeping through his suit jacket. I could see it gleaming on his scalp, his hair buzzed so short the sweat had nothing to cling to.
I don’t remember every word he said that hot, humid Sunday afternoon, but I can still feel exactly how I felt. I was paralyzed with fear. The way he rhythmically gyrated across the stage at the front of our tiny church, commanded the attention of the entire congregation. He gripped that microphone with such authority as he delivered the word of God. How could I not be scared? He was speaking on behalf of God as God…
His booming voice, his authoritative strides, his movements were fluid, almost liquid, rhythmic, perfectly matching the rise and fall of his voice. Hypnotic. Fear-inducing.
I was terrified because through the fear, I could feel myself slowly submitting to his message of salvation if only I did as he said. I was just 11 years old. How could I not submit? He was speaking for God, something, someone bigger than me. Than all of us.
He said that if we didn’t get baptized today, hell would be our destination. If we died today without giving our lives to Christ, hell would be our eternal home. He described hell with such clarity. His knowledge of the extreme temperature, the demons, the brimstone raining down, the burning flesh. How could I, an 11-year-old, not be freaking out internally?!
By the time he finished his sermon, I and many others were transfixed by the fear of actually dying and going to hell. We were weeping in sheer desperation, suffocating beneath the weight of his words and the pressure of the heat on our skin. It was the heavy expectation of accepting salvation that brought us to the altar.
He passed the microphone to the pastor, another charismatic preacher, who then proceeded to thank the man in the electric blue suit. It was all so much, too much to process. The host preacher began singing a “Come to Jesus” song, and the choir joined in, lifting the atmosphere to a sombre electrically charged crescendo. It was an altar call, a moment for sinners and the unbaptized to come forward for prayer and in my mind, to be told that salvation starts here.
I don’t know how I ended up at the altar, but there I was, scared, crying, numb, and terrified of burning in hell for the rest of my life. In my ear, I could hear a woman’s voice, continuing the message of salvation, urging me to accept Christ as my Saviour. I was commanded to turn away from sin, and to agree to be baptized, to wash away all the sins from my 11-year-old life. But how much sin could I possibly have at 11 that needed washing away?
Do I remember if I was standing or kneeling at the altar? No. But I was probably standing because I don’t think the woman speaking into my ear would have stooped so low to speak to a child. But however I was positioned, she was speaking shouting, really. Maybe to impress upon my soul that it needed saving, and it needed saving today.
Part Two Coming March 23, 2026