I grew up in a dysfunctional family of church-goers, through which the seeds of the gospel were planted in my heart from an early age. My biological father has been on death row since I was five, and was largely absent from my life even before then. In a way, I only truly met him when I was 27; I visited him in prison two weeks before starting seminary. My only two memories of him before that were from early childhood. I remember him buying me a gold necklace that had a depiction of a crucified Jesus. I treasured that necklace and was saddened when it eventually broke.
Then, maybe a few years after that, I watched on my living-room TV screen as the local news displayed him in the courtroom during his trial for the double homicide that landed him on death row.
I think I was around two years old when my mom met the man who would become my stepfather. He moved us out of our South Florida housing project to a suburban neighborhood in another part of the city. He was addicted to alcohol and crack cocaine, and I would regularly witness him verbally and physically abuse my mother. Yet, that same stepfather taught me from an early age that there is a God, that Jesus is God’s Son who died for my sins, and that the Bible is God’s word. He taught me that I have three fathers: my biological father, my stepfather, and my heavenly Father. He told me that my heavenly Father is the perfect Father who will always be there for me and will never fail me.
My mother and stepfather divorced when I was 10, and I spent my youth looking for meaning, purpose, and acceptance in living the street life. I engaged in gang violence, drug dealing, and objectifying women. I tried to establish my identity as fearless and willing to do anything to demonstrate my loyalty to my homies. At one point I was being interrogated by police for shooting at a rival gang member who jumped one of my friends.
My run-ins with the police continued, and one night I found myself handcuffed after assaulting a rival gang member with a baseball bat. Sitting in the back of the police car, I realized I was about to enter the criminal justice system, and I prayed and promised God that if He rescued me from that situation, I would change my ways. The officers ended up letting me go home free that night. God had answered my prayer, but I did not keep my vow.
God had answered my prayer, but I did not keep my vow.
A few months later, at the age of 17, I was caught with a fully loaded pistol, a scale for weighing illegal drugs, and $700 in cash. I was arrested for possession of a firearm by a minor, among other charges, and I spent that night in the St. Lucie (Florida) Regional Juvenile Detention Center. I will never forget the shame of walking into the courtroom the next morning with shackled hands and feet and seeing my mother sobbing over all of the pain that my decisions had caused her.
I was released on three weeks of home detention, and I spent those three weeks alone in my bedroom. During that time, I began reading my Bible. I figured that I should just start from the beginning like I would any other book, and by the time I got to Deuteronomy, I realized the Bible was like no other book I had ever read. God’s fingerprints were all over it.
Alongside the Bible, I was reading a short autobiography of a man who had come and preached at my church the week before. This book detailed his history as a gang member, and how Christ saved him and was now using him to share the gospel with other young men and women who were caught up in that lifestyle. The last page of his book contained a prayer inviting readers to ask Christ into their lives. I reflected on my life and realized I was headed down a path of destruction. I would either end up on death row like my father or in an early grave. That night, I got on my knees and asked Christ to save me, to take my life and have His way with it.
From that night my life began to change. I had an insatiable hunger for God’s word and would take my Bible everywhere. A Christian classmate noticed and invited me to a lunchtime Bible study. I later met my future wife through that same friend. It was clear to all my friends and family that I had become a new person and that my life was now on a different trajectory. I began rapping in a local Christian hip-hop group where my wife, also a singer and songwriter, was a member. We traveled to churches throughout Florida, sharing the gospel through our music. During that time, several close friends encouraged me in my ability to teach and communicate the gospel and suggested that I explore the idea of pastoral ministry.
I ran from the idea of pastoral ministry for years due to feelings of inadequacy and fear of leading others in their spiritual journeys. Years later, the internal call grew louder. I felt a strong sense of conviction that if God was indeed calling me to serve as a pastor, I would one day have to answer to Him for burying those “talents” out of fear. My pastor encouraged me to apply to seminary, and after graduation, my wife and I answered a call to reach and equip college students with the gospel at Lehman College in the Bronx, NYC through Reformed University Fellowship (RUF).
We are humbled to be working alongside one another, sharing the same gospel that saved us with the students we serve.
If you’d like to learn how you can support the work of CJ and Angel’s ministry at Lehman College, you can visit: https://ruf.org/ministry/lehman-college/. You can also read more of Angel’s story here.
