At Gunpoint

We are counting down the top 40 articles from Leadership Journal’s 36 years, including this one first published in 2006.

"Mark, someone's at the door."

I rolled over. 1:00 a.m. "Are you sure you weren't dreaming?" I asked my wife. In response, she shoved me out of bed and told me to get going. I sighed, slipped on some pants and shoes, and made my way to the back door.

"Who's there?" I called out. Looking through the thick, wavy glass, I couldn't recognize the figure on the other side of the door.

"Sam,* town constable."

I opened the door and stepped outside. The humid Louisiana night made me feel like I was drowning. In truth, I'd been drowning for quite awhile. Six months earlier, seminary degree in hand, I had accepted a call to pastor a rural church. It was three "firsts." My first pastorate, my first time living in a rural setting, and the church's first seminary graduate. Everyone was still wary of the situation. People weren't too sure a "city boy" could cut it in a small town where everyone had grown up with everyone else. That pastor wasn't too sure, either.

"Preacher, I need you to come with me right now." No apology for waking me up in the middle of the night. No explanation of what we were doing. I tried to wake up a little more.

"Sam, let me take my car and follow you. It will put less pressure on you if you don't have to leave a situation to bring me home." Plus, I thought, maybe I could get away sooner and back to my bed. Sam nodded and started for his vehicle. After telling my wife I'd call her as soon as I knew something, I jumped in my car and headed down the dark road.

We traveled about a mile. Sam abruptly turned off the highway and parked in front of a mobile home. Several other neighbors stood a respectful distance from the trailer's front door, conversing in low voices.

"Here's the preacher," Sam announced to the small crowd. Everyone stepped aside, and even in the darkness, I felt as if a spotlight had just centered on me.

"Sam, what's going on?" I asked.

The constable nodded toward the mobile home. "A man by the name of Daniel is in there. He's drunk, has a shotgun, and is threatening to kill his wife and daughter. He's also threatening to kill himself."

"So, one of them asked for me?" I felt scared, but, in a crazy way, also a bit flattered. Someone thought I could do something helpful!

"Nah. This was my idea," Sam said. "Daniel told us he'd kill anyone who tried to come in and take his family away from him." Sam gestured toward the rest of the crowd. "We all figured you'd have a better idea of how to get the family out safely. I'm hoping he won't shoot a preacher."

You're hoping? I thought. My brain quickly shuffled through what I'd learned in seminary. I couldn't remember a course on how to keep from getting shot while calming down an armed drunk. Maybe they covered that in the DMin curriculum.

I lifted up a prayer for wisdom and protection, and not in that order. Then, approaching the trailer and stopping a couple of feet from the front door, I called out, "Daniel, it's the preacher (there were only two pastors and two churches in the whole area). I've come to see how you're doing."

Long silence. I could imagine the barrel of a gun tracking toward the sound of my voice. The thin walls of that trailer wouldn't stop a shotgun blast. I stepped back a couple of feet.

"Are you really a preacher?" a tipsy voice called out. "Prove it."

Prove it? My ordination certificate lay packed in a box in the storage room behind the carport. "Daniel," I said, "who else would come out to see you at 1:00 in the morning? I can promise you the bill collectors don't get up this early."

Muffled laughter came from somewhere behind me. I knew what they'd be talking about down at the local haunts tomorrow.

"Are you alone? I don't want this to be a trap," Daniel warned. "If anyone tries to rush this trailer, there might be trouble."

I eased back to Sam. "You stay well back," I whispered. "If I can get his wife and child free, I'll send them out to you."

Sam nodded and then turned to the small crowd of onlookers. "Let's move back a little more. Make Daniel as comfortable as possible."

I walked up to the front door. "Daniel, I'm alone. If you can't trust a preacher's word, whose can you trust?" Immediately I heard more laughter from the group behind me. I was surrounded by cynics.

Daniel, on the other hand, must have agreed with me. The door opened a crack. "Come on in, Preacher," he said.

My heart nearly pounding out of my chest, I climbed the three concrete steps and entered the mobile home. What blonde hair! I remember thinking. Both mother and daughter had fair complexions and hair so blonde it looked almost white. Patricia, the mother, sat on an old couch holding 5-year-old Linda in her lap. Both looked more worn-out than scared.

Negotiating With Terror

Daniel shifted the shotgun to his left hand, motioned for me to sit, and started to lock the door.

"Wait a minute, Daniel," I said. "Why don't you let your wife and daughter go?"

"Can't do that, Preacher," Daniel replied, turning the shotgun toward us.

"What does it help to keep them now?" I asked. "You have me as a bargaining chip. After all, it's way past your daughter's bed time. Look at her," I urged. "Can't you see how sleepy she is?"

Daniel turned toward Linda, as if really seeing her for the first time all evening. "Can you and Linda stay with your mom?" he asked his wife.

She nodded, her eyes round with fear. "But Daniel, we can only stay one night. Linda and I want to be here with you tomorrow night." I could hear what went unspoken. Don't kill yourself; we're still here for you.

They talked for a few more minutes, then Daniel handed me the gun! "Hold this for me," he said, "but don't get any ideas. I teach hand-to-hand combat at the base, and I can take that gun away from you and put you on the floor before you know it." I didn't doubt that one bit! Then he reached over and picked up his little girl. As he embraced her, Patricia got up and eased herself under one of his arms. Family hug.

Daniel put Linda down and got ready to open the door. Patricia looked back at me. "Take care of him, Preacher."

"My name is Mark," I said.

"Take care of him, Preacher Mark."

I shook my head. I wasn't ready for this, whatever "this" was.

I looked through the blinds and saw one of the neighbors offer a ride to the family. Sam leaned back on the hood of his car and lit a cigarette, showing Daniel he was relaxed, but not going anywhere. I closed the blinds, turned around and faced a situation a whole lot tougher than a church business meeting.

I put the gun on the floor and then sat down. "Like you said, Daniel, you don't need the gun to control me, so let's just leave it right there and talk." He started to protest, but I kept right on. "We're going to start with prayer. I want you to be respectful and bow your head while we talk to God."

This was Daniel's first big test with me, though he didn't know it. If I could get him to follow any instructions from me, I figured the situation might be salvageable.

"I don't know how to pray," Daniel said.

"No problem," I assured him. "I'll pray for both of us." And, pray I did! I asked God to give me wisdom. I asked him to take care of Daniel's family. But most of all, I prayed that God would let Daniel know just how much Jesus loved him.

When I finished, I raised my head just in time to see Daniel opening his eyes and raising his head. My ultimate mission had been to get the wife and daughter out safely. Now, I wanted to get Daniel—and me—safely through this night. The prayer had been a good beginning.

"Preacher, God can't love me."

I shook my head. "You're wrong Daniel. He loves everyone."

Daniel got up and swayed a bit as he went to the stove. "Let me make us some coffee. It will help me think straighter. Then I want to show you a few things. After that, we'll see if you still think God can love me."

The Place of the Skulls

The night actually seemed to fly by from that point on. The gun still lay within reach, and Daniel could snap me like a stick if he wanted, but I felt the power of God come down and envelop us with his love and protection. Daniel must have gone through a gallon of coffee. As he drank his second cup, I called my wife to let her know everything was okay. At some point, without even asking Daniel, I went to the front door, opened it and told Sam he could go home if he wanted to. Sam simply nodded and called out to Daniel that he'd be back in the morning to "interview" him.

As the hours passed, Daniel pulled shoeboxes filled with pictures and mementos from his time in Vietnam. He'd served with Special Forces.

"Preacher, I'm warning you, this is pretty hard to stomach," he said. And he was right. Daniel sitting on a pile of skulls. Daniel standing next to a Viet Cong he'd killed. The pictures went on and on, and so did the stories. Friends who had died. Villages they had been forced to destroy because of the inhabitants' helping the enemy. And, again, the killing.

By dawn, Daniel was sober and spent. He'd talked literally all night. I, by contrast, had hardly said a word. "Okay, Preacher, you know the absolute worst about me. Now," he said, looking at me intently, "do you still believe God loves me?"

"Daniel," I replied, "in the Bible, God loved a man who stole another man's wife. In effect, David raped her because he was the king and she couldn't stop him. He also murdered the husband, and then lied about it. God loved another man name Paul. This man beat, imprisoned, and killed Christians." Daniel looked incredulous. "Both David and Paul, however, did the same thing. They admitted they'd sinned and asked God's forgiveness. Then they let God turn their lives around."

I watched as Daniel began to quietly cry.

"You've told me the worst things you've ever done, and I'm still sitting here talking with you," I continued. "If I can do that, you can be sure your Heavenly Father, who loves you more than anyone else, wants a relationship with you as well."

Darkness to Dawning

In the weeks that followed, Daniel, Patricia, and their daughter started attending our church. The two adults eventually gave their lives to Christ, were baptized, and became active members. Daniel told everyone in the small town how much I had taught him that night.

In reality, I was the one who learned a great lesson. Though I didn't know it at the time, those hours with Daniel defined much of my ministry. I discovered the power of simply listening and loving.

After that midnight encounter, I began visiting the homes of my members. I asked questions about how they grew up, where they worked, what they liked to do. I asked about family members and prayer needs. They talked, I listened, and we all prayed.

When people tell you their stories, they let you into their hearts. When you listen sincerely, they realize you truly care about them. After these visits, I felt closer to my people. I knew better how to preach and teach so that needs were met.

Others heard about the "city boy" who had finally learned something! They came out of curiosity, I'm sure, but they found a warm fellowship, and the church experienced significant growth.

Those years my family and I spent there proved a great foundation for my ministry. Larger cities and churches awaited me, but some of my greatest, warmest memories are centered in my first pastorate. God used a depressed man, a terrified family, and a shotgun to teach me that listening, caring, and sharing Christ's love can be powerful in the life of anyone—even a city-born, wet-behind-the-ears preacher.

Mark Sutton is founder of Mark Sutton Ministries and has worked as a full-time minister for more than 40 years.

*Names of those in this story have been changed.