Confessions of a Chapel Pastor: The Morning I Never Got to My Message

Legacy Letters is a new weekly letter series where I’ll share personal stories and the lessons they left behind. My hope is that these reflections help us turn gratitude into action, one story at a time.

A chapel full of teenagers, and one nervous pastor

Put a nervous chapel pastor in front of a sanctuary full of junior high and high school students on a Friday morning, and you learn something about faith pretty quickly.

You also learn that teenagers can communicate an impressive amount of disappointment without saying a single word.

Serving as the chapel pastor for Liberty Christian School became one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life. But that first morning? I wasn’t thinking about fulfillment. I was watching the students come in, reading their faces, and quietly wondering what I had gotten myself into.

They didn’t appear particularly excited to be there. And I was about to become the man standing between them and whatever they would rather have been doing.

Until then, chapel worship had meant singing along with music from a CD, with teachers taking turns leading each week. I wanted to bring live music into those services, so I put together a small group of teenage boys on drums, guitar, and bass while I led the vocals.

We practiced for weeks, working through our song selections until we felt comfortable with them. By that first Friday, we knew our music.

Whether my nerves knew that was another matter entirely.

We weren’t just playing music

Long before we stood in front of their classmates, I wanted those boys to understand that we were doing more than playing music.

We were leading worship.

Knowing the songs mattered. But so did understanding the responsibility we were accepting. I told them it was our responsibility to take the listeners by the hand and lead them into the presence of God.

I wanted them to carry that thought into every practice and every song. These were their classmates, their friends. The people they saw in the hallways every day. Through our worship, we had an opportunity to help them open their hearts to God.

That meant something to me. I wanted it to mean something to the boys, too.

I had my message ready

I had also prepared my message carefully. I wanted to connect with the students, give them something meaningful, and help them discover that a relationship with God could be personal and real.

Of course, at that moment, I would have settled for getting through my opening remarks without forgetting my own name.

When I approached the pulpit, the room grew quiet. All those eyes turned toward me.

No pressure, right? Just a sanctuary full of teenagers waiting to find out whether this was going to be worth staying awake for.

So I prayed. I invited God to move freely among us, asked Him to fill that room with His presence, and prayed that His Spirit would rain down upon us. There were still a few whispers and giggles. They were teenagers, after all.

But even as I stood there feeling nervous and terribly human, I could sense the Holy Spirit working within me.

Then we began to worship, and something happened that I will never forget.

The moment the plan changed

The presence of God became so powerful that I found it difficult to remain standing. His anointing was upon me, and as I looked out across the sanctuary, I began seeing hands raised in worship.

These same students who had walked in looking as though chapel might qualify as cruel and unusual punishment were opening their hearts to God. Without anyone prompting them, they began coming to the altar.

It was an incredibly deep, emotional experience. After weeks of practicing with those boys and talking about what it meant to lead worship, we were witnessing the very thing we had prepared and prayed for. Their classmates were responding to God.

The responsibility I had described, to take people by the hand and lead them into His presence, had become something we were experiencing together, right there in that sanctuary.

I had come prepared to speak to those students. Now I was watching them respond to God, and there was nothing in my carefully prepared notes that could have produced what was happening in front of me.

We never even got to my message.

All that preparation, and I didn’t preach a word of it. Ordinarily, I might have been disappointed. That morning, I was grateful beyond anything I could say.

When you have prayed for God to move and then see those young people gathering at the altar, you don’t interrupt to announce, “Excuse me, Lord, but I have three points and a closing illustration.”

You let Him work.

What I learned by setting my notes aside

What stayed with me was the sight of those students worshiping freely.

I had been so concerned about whether I could reach them that I needed reminding of who had called me there in the first place. I loved those young people. I wanted them to know God, to trust Him, and to understand that He cared about their lives: their struggles, their questions, and everything they were carrying into that sanctuary.

That morning, I got to watch them experience something I could never have talked them into.

Chapel became something they looked forward to and talked about. Think about that: teenagers eagerly anticipating chapel! If you have ever tried to hold the attention of a room full of adolescents, you understand why that alone deserves a moment of appreciation.

But the lesson reached well beyond Liberty Christian School.

God can use more than a microphone

God’s anointing isn’t reserved for the person behind the pulpit, the gifted worship leader, or the speaker whose name appears on a conference banner. You don’t need a microphone, a title, or an audience to be used by Him.

Acts 10:38 tells us that God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and power. The same Holy Spirit is at work in those of us who belong to Christ, equipping us to resist temptation, turn away from sin, love people, and share His message.

That includes you. It includes me, even when my knees are shaking and my sermon never makes it out of my notes. And it includes a small group of teenage boys who were willing to practice for weeks, stand before their peers, and help lead them in worship.

I think we sometimes spend so much time measuring our limitations that we hesitate to offer God what we have. We know our weaknesses. We remember our mistakes. We can produce a fairly convincing list of reasons He ought to choose somebody else.

I certainly had my doubts that Friday morning. Yet God allowed me to be part of something I still treasure all these years later.

Bring the plan. Hold it loosely.

So prepare. Show up. Pray with an open heart. And leave room for God to do something you didn’t put on the agenda.

What might you accomplish today through the power of His Holy Spirit? Whose life might you touch? Who needs the encouragement, kindness, or prayer you can offer?

You may feel unqualified. You may be nervous. You may even have a beautifully prepared plan.

Take it from an old chapel pastor: bring the plan.

Just hold it loosely.

If this story encouraged you, share it with someone who might need it. And come back next Sunday for the next Legacy Letters.

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Brett Stacy
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