Sharing the Faith When You're Afraid of Public Speaking

We are called to witness.

Every baptized Christian must go out and share the Gospel message with others.

Yes, even those who are afraid of public speaking are called to give public witness to the joy that comes to all who live in Christ.

Before you dismiss the Great Commission, before you tell yourself that the mandate to give witness to the faith is only for those who like to stand up in public and hold a microphone, you need to know something.

We are all afraid of public speaking.

This morning, I was a lector. As I stepped up to the Ambo, I felt the familiar fear. It always comes. It has a voice. It tells me that I am going to lose my place or trip or get a frog in my throat that won't go away or have a clothing malfunction. I'll sit down in a few minutes and realize that the tag is sticking out of my shirt or I forgot to zip up my pants or my shirt is tucked in on one side and not the other or...

You get the idea.

I am afraid.

Every time I get up to speak, I bow before the Altar and I give it all to Jesus. My weakness. My horrible insecurities. My mind games. What I might do. What they might think. I give it all to Him.

He does wonders with our broken, little gifts.

I hesitated to admit that I have these fears, but then I changed my mind. Here's why:

If there is any chance that you have exempted yourself from sharing the Good News because you

don't feel comfortable speaking up in a crowd or talking about the faith to others, then you need to know that you are exactly like the ones who do it. The only difference is that you don't do it, and they do.

The fear is exactly the same.

You know that parable of the Talents? How the first two guys invested their gifts from God and turned a profit, but the third guy buried his gift (probably because he was afraid of what might happen if he put it out there and messed up the little transaction).

It's okay to be the guy who has the least-- if that is given back to God.

What isn't okay is hiding it because it is so small or so easily lost or so pitiful compared to the gift God has given to another guy.

So be a witness.

Let your knees wobble.

Let your words get all jumbled up.

Fumble for your glasses.

Trip on the first step.

But offer all of it to the Lamb Who Was Slain, the One who comes to us on that very Altar.

We are all a little insecure, but that must never eclipse the message.

Sharing the Faith When You're Afraid of Public Speaking

Reclaiming Childhood

I was in fourth grade when I stopped being a little child and started thinking more like an adult. And it is not easy to find my way back to the child within.


It happened during the year my father was a farmer. It was a transition year for Dad as well. He had been a Wesleyan minister until my grandfather’s tragic death in a farming accident. So Dad stepped away from pastoral ministry for a season (later to become a Presbyterian minister) and tried farming for awhile.


We attended Sunday worship at my grandmother’s church. It was United Methodist, and they had a moment for children during the service. One Sunday, the pastor asked all of the children to write a poem and bring it along the following week. I don’t remember anything else about the assignment. I simply remember being excited to share my poem as the following Sunday rolled around.


And then I overheard Mom talking to Grandma. She told Grandma that I didn’t seem self-conscious at all. No fear in me. I overheard her say that I had that poem ready, and Sunday couldn’t come fast enough for me to read it – in front of all those people.


Immediately, self-doubt replaced my childlike oblivion. I went from being unaware of self to being completely aware of self.


When Sunday morning came, I looked at my poem. I still liked it, but I felt terrible dread at the thought of the attention it would cause me. Everyone would be looking at me. Everyone would be listening to me. It felt like I would never be blissfully unaware again.


I picked up that poem and considered my next move carefully. Then, I set the poem back down and walked out the door of my bedroom.


After church that Sunday, my mother asked me why I hadn’t shared the poem that I had so proudly shown her a few days earlier. “I forgot it at home,” I lied. And that was that.


While the incident faded into the fabric of my memory, the fear remained. And I struggle with it even today.


But I know that perfect love casts out fear. The love of God is that perfect love. And I know that He can take fear – even the fear of attention and the fear of rejection – and completely snuff it out . . . when He so wills.


And so, I keep the part I enjoy . . . the writing part . . . even as I open myself up to the difficult part . . . the public witness. In those moments, I still stand vulnerable and afraid, and I trust that God’s perfect love will come, and cast out fear, and use my weakness to advance the Kingdom.


I would prefer to hide behind the pen. Let me tell you why I’m Catholic, by writing it down and then hiding behind closed doors . . . but there are times when I must speak one-on-one . . . there are times when I must speak to the crowds. In those moments, I remember what it was like to be a little child. One unashamed of shining brightly. Where joy eclipses fear. And God walks freely.


And I say, even so, Lord send me.

Reclaiming Childhood