Learning to Dance at the Altar - The Man Who Taught Me to Preach
Over my life there have been only a handful of sermons that I remember almost word for word. One of them was preached at a funeral.
Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic Church in Rocky Mount was overflowing. Every pew was filled. People lined the outer walls, and many stood quietly in the back of the church. We had gathered to mourn the death of a young man named Kevin. There was every reason to be overcome with grief.
Morning light poured through the stained-glass windows, filling the church with color. The only sounds were the muffled sobs of grieving family members and friends.
Then Fr. Javan Saxon stepped into the pulpit.
Something remarkable happened.
He reminded us that death does not have the final word.
The hope of every Christian rests in the Resurrection of Jesus Christ and His victory over death. That day, that message of hope came through a powerful preacher standing before us. Fr. Saxon was a large man with a commanding voice, yet as he preached, tears streamed down his face. With deep conviction he proclaimed that death does not hold us captive. Christ had conquered the grave.
Kevin had spent much of his life confined to a wheelchair. Even something as simple as putting on his own shoes required someone else's help. Yet Fr. Saxon did not dwell on Kevin's disabilities. Instead, he fixed our eyes on the new life Kevin now possessed through Jesus Christ.
With a gentle smile he began quoting an old Black spiritual:
I've got shoes, you've got shoes, all of God's children got shoes. When I get to heaven, goin' to put on my shoes.
Then he paused.
"That's what Kevin is doing," he said.
"He's bending down... putting on his new shoes."
"And now he's walking."
"He doesn't need anyone to help him anymore."
There was not a dry eye in the church.
His words brought to life the promise found in Revelation:
"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain any more, for the former things have passed away." (Revelation 21:4)
That day I learned something I have never forgotten.
A preacher's task is not simply to explain Scripture.
It is to proclaim it in such a way that people encounter the living Christ.
I was in my mid-twenties when I first met Fr. Saxon. After being away from the Church for several years, I finally found myself walking back through its doors.
I still remember walking into his office for my first confession.
Every wall seemed covered with icons. Crucifixes, religious artwork, books, and sacred images filled the room. There hardly seemed to be an empty space anywhere. It felt less like an office and more like the study of a man whose entire life revolved around God.
From that first meeting I knew there was something different about him.
As I listened to him preach week after week, I realized why.
Fr. Saxon never seemed interested in impressing people.
He wanted people to love Jesus.
He preached from his heart because his heart had first been captured by Christ.
He rarely spent his homilies explaining theological arguments or carefully defining the Church's teachings. Instead, he revealed how deeply he loved Jesus Christ, His Blessed Mother, and the Church. His faith wasn't something he merely talked about—it had shaped the man he had become. That love overflowed naturally into every homily he preached.
Watching Fr. Saxon celebrate Mass Sunday after Sunday taught me two lessons that have stayed with me ever since.
The first was that how we preach matters.
A homily should never be a performance. It should never become a collection of funny stories or an opportunity to talk about ourselves. It should flow from a heart that has first encountered Christ. People should hear not only our words, but our love for God.
The second lesson was his profound love for the liturgy.
You could tell simply by watching him that he believed every word he prayed and every gesture he made.
Nothing was hurried.
Nothing was casual.
Everything had a purpose.
As he often reminded those serving with him,
"Everything is for the glory of God and the salvation of souls."
That love of the liturgy has shaped my own ministry more than I can adequately express.
Whenever I serve as a deacon, whether at the Divine Liturgy or the Mass, I try never to rush through the sacred mysteries. My desire is to help bring the beauty of God's Word and the beauty of the Church's worship to His people.
When I served as Fr. Saxon's sacristan, he often described serving at the altar as dancing.
Not dancing to draw attention to yourself.
Dancing because every movement has meaning.
Every step serves the liturgy.
Every gesture points beyond the minister...
...to Christ.
He would describe the liturgy almost like a symphony. Every movement, every prayer, every moment of silence worked together toward one purpose: giving glory to God.
I never saw him rush through the liturgy.
I never saw him uncertain about what came next.
Everything seemed peaceful, deliberate, and reverent.
He was, in the truest sense of the phrase, dancing at the altar.
More than twenty years have passed since I first met Fr. Javan Saxon.
Since then I have preached many homilies.
Served hundreds of Divine Liturgies and Masses.
Read countless books on Scripture and theology.
Yet every time I step into the sanctuary, I still hear his voice.
Take your time.
Love the people.
Love the liturgy.
Love God's Word.
Everything is for the glory of God and the salvation of souls.
Those lessons have stayed with me far longer than any technique or method ever could.
Some people teach us through books.
Some teach us through words.
Fr. Javan Saxon taught me by the way he loved Christ.
Every time I step into the sanctuary, a small part of his legacy steps there with me.
For that, I will always be grateful.
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