Walking in the Footsteps of David Wilkerson

by Charles Simpson

  “Lord, what does that mean?” No explanation; just an awesome feeling that God was divinely ordering my steps. I finished reading the portion of the book where David Wilkerson described the original vision of Teen Challenge:

  The house I had dreamed of, we might call it Teen Challenge Center: an atmosphere of discipline and affection. Christians living together, working together; a family.6

  The very night Pete arrived in the Bronx, I told him of the subway incident. I asked him what he thought it might mean for me to follow in the footsteps of David Wilkerson. “That’s a no-brainer, Charles,” Pete remarked in his frank and friendly New York-Rican way. “Let’s see, you’re both from a small town. You’re both called to preach the Gospel. And you’re both sent by God on a mission to New York City. Duh!”

  “I guess I’m supposed to be preaching, huh?” Pete’s grin meant yes. “With Mike having all the connections, and he’s back in Tennessee now, where am I supposed to preach?” I asked.

  Pete replied, “I know I’m handsome—but do I look like Jesus to you? Get on your knees in prayer, man. Ask Him where He wants you to preach.”

  For the next few months, I prayed and prayed and prayed. No phone calls. No pastors knocking down my front door. No conference committees trying to get me as their keynote speaker! But as I waited on the Lord, a faint whisper began to rise from deep within, and it grew a little stronger each day. To my question of, “Lord, where do You want me to preach?” I could hear a faint answer: “The 2, the 4, or the 5.”

  Then one day I realized that the nearby subway stations had three train lines that came together: the 2, the 4, and the 5 trains. It took another few months before I mustered the courage to stand up in a subway train and say with a thick, slow, southern accent, “Hi y’all. My name is Charles, and I’m from Tennessee. Since y’all are trapped in this subway car with me for the next 120 seconds, you are forced to listen to my little sermonette.” However, an amazing thing happened. I chose the 5 train because of its inspirational screaming wheels. The third time I nervously stood up to speak, a dear old saint (an elderly, godly-looking African American woman) whom I had never seen before in my life literally ran over to me. She declared, “Young man, I’ve been preaching the Gospel on this train for decades. I’m gettin’ too old to leave my apartment nowadays. I’ve been prayin’, intercedin’, and beseechin’ the Lord Jesus to raise up someone to take my place. And you’re the one. Here, take my mantle, take my anointing, and boldly proclaim the Good News!”

  It looked like she threw her shawl over me, but whatever it was, it was invisible! I didn’t even believe in that type of Pentecostal weirdness, yet an unmistakable warmth and supernatural energy flowed down onto my shoulders and into my heart. The next time I stood to give a small sermonette, heavenly authority poured from my surprised lips. Everyone on the train turned their bulging eyes and listened attentively and quietly! That subway car came to a stop between stations for a number of minutes due to track signal problems. It was a sure indication to me that God wanted that group to hear a little more than a sermonette, so I gave them a full sermon!

  I soon graduated to subway platforms, where my audience could hear a ten- to twenty-minute sermon, depending on how frequently the trains were running. Pete and I went to Central Park in Manhattan, where I discovered if I stood near a certain lake, my voice bounced off the water and up to all the surrounding hills where multitudes of people were picnicking. One man angrily came down and told me that if I didn’t stop, he’d throw me into the lake. I felt the thrill of my first bout of real persecution for Christ. It wasn’t being thrown to hungry lions, but it was a start! Frequently, old ladies on the subway attacked me with their purses, often screaming something about being Jewish and not wanting to hear my speeches about Jesus. More often, people would come over to me when I finished, grab my arm, and say, “Please, pray for me.”

  One day, I finished preaching on the 138th Street subway platform. A man who had been listening for a while introduced himself as the youth pastor of a nearby church. I was thrilled when he asked if I could preach to his youth group the following Friday night. When the time came, Pete and I walked over to the Youth Center on Brook Avenue. Pete remarked, “Man, this is a bad neighborhood—as in really bad.”

  That evening, I preached on the Great White Throne Judgment, remarking that the word great is an adjective describing the word white, which in the Greek means “bright” or “shining.”7 The greatness of the brightness of His throne will expose and convince everyone of just how deserving we all are of eternal punishment. Oh, that we would allow God to convince us now so we can obtain His mercy and forgiveness instead! All the kids sitting in the rows in front of me seemed to be believers already so I felt like I was “preaching to the choir.” Halfway through the service, I noticed that the front entrance was filled with teenagers straining to hear what I was saying—ten, maybe fifteen of them. I knew it was the anointing of the Spirit that was drawing them so I passionately pleaded with them to come in and accept Christ. Some of the kids in the first few rows came to the altar that night (probably for the hundredth time), but none from the curious group from the outside. It was a bittersweet moment for me.

  I got together with this same youth pastor a few days later to talk things over. He said, “Hey, you mentioned you’re from Cleveland, Tennessee. Did you know that’s where the headquarters of our denomination is?”

  “No, I didn’t know that” (a statement I had used a lot since coming to that strange new world).

  “Yeah, Church of God, Iglesia de Dios,” he said. “It’s taken a long time to get my credentials with them. Are you licensed with the Church of God?”

  “No, I’m not licensed with anyone.”

  “That’s too bad,” he remarked. “If you had a Church of God license, I could get you all kinds of preaching engagements.”

  Pete came home from work one day with an exciting announcement. “Guess who’s preaching in Manhattan this Sunday? David Wilkerson! He’s doing an open-air meeting at Lincoln Center in the morning; then he’s preaching at Glad Tidings Tabernacle in the evening.”

  “Alright!” I replied. “Isn’t that the church that took up the offering that enabled Brother Dave to buy the Teen Challenge house in Brooklyn?”

  Pete’s startled look said, “How do you know that?”

  “I read the book a few months ago. Let’s see if we can go to both meetings.”

  Sunday arrived quickly, and the weather was perfect for outdoor preaching. The subway trains were running slow. By the time we arrived at the outdoor amphitheater right next to Lincoln Center, the singing was ending and Brother Dave was being introduced. I was so ready to hear stories about gangs and drug addicts. Instead, this thin, frail-looking man with dorky sunglasses got up and talked as if he was an uncle who lived on the Upper West Side! He spoke about Lincoln Center, Columbia University, the Planetarium, and Central Park (subjects of interest to Manhattanites but very boring to us Bronxites!). Then he spoke about the sins of cheating on your income taxes, stealing towels from fancy hotels, and watching pornography on television late at night when the family has gone to sleep. Pete yawned in deep boredom, but I turned around and looked at the audience. Wow, what a sight! Tons of middle-aged men, obviously under deep conviction, were fidgeting in their seats, not knowing where to hide.

  David Wilkerson then said, “You men are so proud and yet so cowardly that if I give an altar call, you’d all be too chicken to come up here. But the Lord still loves you anyway. When you get home, go to your bedroom, shut the door, get on your knees, and repent of your sins. He’ll meet you right there and forgive you. Good afternoon.” He shut his Bible with a loud thud and walked away!

  Not even those who sponsored the event were expecting such a blunt ending. They weren’t prepared to come up for a closing song. It took five awkward minutes for them to respond, and yet in those long minutes, conviction rose to such a level that I saw many people’s eyes tearing up. Some had their
heads bowed, not knowing where to hide.

  I turned back around and leaned back into my seat and simply said, “Wow!”

  Pete looked at me with anger and replied, “Wow is right! I am so disappointed. David Wilkerson is boring. That was the dumbest message I’ve ever heard.”

  “No, Pete, you’ve got it all wrong. It was actually brilliant. He didn’t come here to entertain these people. He came to preach to them what they needed to hear. Look at all the guys walking out of here without talking to anyone. There’s such deep conviction in the air. Brother Dave tailored his message to his audience. Can’t you see that? These people wouldn’t relate to gangs and switchblades.”

  Pete shrugged his shoulders and said, “I hope he’s more anointed tonight.”

  At Pete’s insistence, we spent most of the afternoon standing in front of Glad Tidings in the hopes of meeting Brother Dave face to face. Finally, five minutes before the meeting was to start, Brother Dave and Don Wilkerson came walking up the street. Pete boldly jumped right in front of them and announced, “Brother Dave! My name’s Pete, and this is Charles. We’re part of an evangelistic ministry, and we’re called to minister in the Bronx. Charles is from Tennessee, and I’m from Spanish Harlem. We’ve been so blessed by your ministry and movie. We’ve shown it all over the Bronx and all over Tennessee!”

  “Nice to meet you guys,” Brother Dave said. He politely shook our hands and then walked into the church. Pete kept talking as though he was still standing there. I nudged him with my elbow and said, “Let’s go find some seats. The music has started.”

  The place was crowded, yet the entire front row was empty—a common occurrence when bigwigs speak in churches in case they bring their whole team with them. Pete marched to the front and plopped himself down on the front row as though he was with the speaker. I sat down next to him. Brother Dave’s message was fiery, Pentecostal, and great! Nothing mild about the sermon or its delivery!

  Pete leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Is this the same guy we saw earlier today?”

  “No, it’s his twin brother, who even dresses exactly like him.”

  Brother Dave looked down at us, and I wondered if he was about to rebuke us for talking while he was preaching. Instead, he used us as an illustration to drive home a sermon point. “See these two young men on the front row? That’s Pete from Harlem and Charles from Tennessee. They both have been called by God to preach the Gospel in this great city. I’m so glad God is still calling and raising up young believers to carry on His work in this place and to follow in our footsteps.”

  We could hear many hearty “amens” rising from the lips of those in the audience, many of whom were clearly senior citizens, people who had labored in this city even before Brother Dave was born. All I could think was, “Oh my, there are those words again, ‘Walking in the footsteps of David Wilkerson,’ and this time, they’re coming from the horse’s mouth!”

  4

  “Get things right privately, or God will have to do it publicly.”

  THE NEED TO GO THROUGH MINISTERIAL LICENSING WITH A DENOMINAtion soon became even more apparent to me. Reality of Life Ministries crumbled after the leader’s marriage tragically disintegrated. Although its members were the vessels the Lord used to save and disciple me, the thought of being a part of a stable denomination became quite appealing. The bitter pain of disappointment from my spiritual leaders was magnified by a long and hard season that I personally went through, which would take another book even to summarize. That’s another story for another time. Besides, family members involved still need healing. I know they would prefer me to wait before I share our story. (No man is an island unto himself.)

  I spoke with one of the leaders of the Church of God in charge of credentialing in Cleveland, Tennessee, and was quite frank; the good influences of New York City’s culture were finally rubbing off on me.

  “Pastor, there’s one thing in your doctrinal statement that I have problems with.” He smiled and slowly nodded his head up and down as if he knew where I was heading. “I’ve enjoyed the feet washing services in which I’ve participated, but I don’t think it’s a church ordinance like water baptism and communion are.”

  He leaned back in his large leather chair and slowly said, “I know. Actually, there are not that many of us who would disagree with you on this.”

  “But I have to say on the ordination application that I agree with it?”

  “I’m afraid so, young man. Maybe one day our denomination will change that part of its doctrinal statement. Maybe.”

  Again I was quite frank, responding, “So for me to be ordained with the Church of God, I would have to begin the process by lying? I can’t do that.” I rose up and walked out of his office, immediately wondering if I had been too blunt. The Assemblies of God’s doctrinal statement was very similar to the Church of God’s, except they don’t teach feet washing as an ordinance. Therefore, I decided to go that route. Their credentialing process required a Bible college degree. I prayerfully decided to move to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and attend Jimmy Swaggart Bible College, the most on-fire AG school in the nation at the time. Despite problems that would affect the ministry later, in my opinion it was the most amazing place on the planet in 1987. I speak as a student who lived on campus and an employee who worked in the administrative building (as a night custodian). If you thought the telecasts were good, in person the awesome presence of God was overwhelming! And I’ll tell you why.

  I arrived on a Saturday to begin classes the following week. I was told there would be a prayer meeting in the main sanctuary that evening. Brother Swaggart was having a meeting in one of the largest stadiums in South America the next day. We (students and employees) were encouraged to come and pray for it. I expected forty, fifty people, maybe even a hundred. When I walked through the doors of the large church, my mouth dropped open as I witnessed hundreds of people around the altar. Perhaps over a thousand people were there. Some were in their seats, but everyone was praying as though their own unsaved moms were going to be in that stadium tomorrow. Many of those intercessors were white- and silver-haired senior citizens. I’d never seen anything like it, before or since. Throughout the course of the school year, every time a prayer meeting was called on campus, if you didn’t get there early, you couldn’t even get in. I don’t know how it came about, but by the time I arrived in Baton Rouge, Brother Swaggart had an actual army of intercessors who covered every aspect of his ministry with fervent prayer. Is it any wonder the presence of God was so thick there? It felt like you could slice it.

  During one chapel service, a missionary shared about the garbage people in Mexico City. They literally live on top of a garbage dump. For the first time in my life, I heard about people who were even needier than the homeless and destitute who wander the lonely streets of New York City. “Lord, maybe I should go there instead.” No. Deep inside, I knew that as soon as I was done with Bible college, I’d be back in New York City.

  I went to the singles’ meeting one Friday night. During the singing part of the service, I sensed the Lord giving me a prophetic word to share. In the Pentecostal circles in which I was trained, prophecy rises from within the heart of a believer much like lava flows out of an erupting volcano: powerful, spontaneous, and intense! I knew from previous meetings they allowed such things, so at the end of the last song, I stood up and spoke.8

  The singles’ pastor was so excited. In a ninety-second utterance, I touched on every single point of the message he was about to teach. He actually had his outline printed on a transparency, so when he showed it to the group by way of the overhead projector, gasps filled the room and everyone knew God was clearly speaking through both the prophetic word and the sermon. He shook my hand at the end of the meeting and thanked me for my obedience and boldness in bringing forth such a confirming word. The next Sunday, someone brought forth one of those “volcanic” words in the main service. Over five thousand people were in attendance. However, it was fleshly, man exalting
, and clearly not from God. It included words like, “This is the greatest ministry the world has ever known.” The Holy Spirit exalts Christ, not men or ministries.

  I was so grieved that on my walk across campus afterward, I prayed about it. “Lord, let the gifts of the Holy Spirit come forth in this church with purity and clarity.”

  He spoke to my heart saying, “Let Me use you.”

  “No way, Lord. I could never stand in front of thousands of people and bring forth a prophetic word.”

  “If you’re not willing to be part of the solution, then stop praying about it,” He said.

  A few weeks later, another confusing, crazy, so-called prophetic word was spoken. “OK, Lord. If You want to use me in this area, I’m available.”

  The following Sunday, Brother Swaggart was away in another Central American city. There was a guest speaker that morning, and the assistant pastor was officiating. The place was packed. Toward the end of what seemed to be the last song, I sensed the rumbling of that volcano in my spirit.

  “Charles, stand up at the end of this song and bring forth a word,” I heard the Lord say.

  “What do I say, Lord?” (Sometimes I get bits and pieces, or the opening statement ahead of time.)

  “Stand up now and say, ‘Thus says the Lord,’ and I’ll then give you the rest,” He answered.

  “Oh, Lord,” I sighed as the song ended and nobody moved. Nobody moved for an entire two minutes, an eternity in a church service.

  Again I heard, “Stand up now and say, ‘Thus says the Lord,’ and I’ll give you the rest.”

  “OK.” I closed my eyes, stood to my feet, and bellowed out, “Thus says the Lord…because iniquity abounds in this ministry, I am about to remove My anointing. I am the Lord of My Church, and I am the One who walks among the seven golden candlesticks. This has been a candlestick church, but that shall change, for I see everything…”