Born to Preach: Na

BORN TO PREACH

The Autobiography of

Lawrence S. Dorsey, Sr.

Edited by Benson Prigg, PhD

Copyright © 2013 Lawrence S. Dorsey, Sr..

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ISBN:978-1-4497-9889-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-9891-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-9890-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013911147

WestBow Press rev. date: 6/20/2013

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1   The Early Years

Chapter 2   The Turbulent Sixties

Chapter 3   Me and Ma Bell

Chapter 4   Far above Rubies

Chapter 5   My First Sabbath

Chapter 6   Getting to Know You

Chapter 7   Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 8   Divine Intervention

Chapter 9   The Invitation

Chapter 10   Oakwood: School of the Prophets

Chapter 11   My First Sermons

Chapter 12   Divine Favor and Appointment

Chapter 13   Ministry—Living the Dream

Chapter 14   Crash Landing

Chapter 15   Haiti

Chapter 16   Reality—You Reap What You Sow

Chapter 17   The Death of His Saint

Chapter 18   Reconciliation

Chapter 19   The Phoenix

Chapter 20   Finals

Chapter 21   California and All the World

Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee to be a prophet unto the nations.

—Jeremiah 1:5

This book is dedicated to the three women who gave me life: my cherished mother, the late Constance Mae Dorsey, whose prayers still follow me; my beloved mother-in-law, the late Blanche DeVore Abrams, who gave me my first Bible study on the Sabbath; and my loving wife, Beverly Christine Dorsey, who has stood by my side as companion and coworker all of these years. Without these three women, I would have never come to the wondrous knowledge of our wonderful Savior Jesus Christ and the three angels’ message of Revelation 14.

INTRODUCTION

Standing on the corner at Broadway-Nassau in downtown Manhattan, handing out Bible tracts (handheld pamphlets with messages) on the second coming of Jesus, I heard an acquaintance shout out, Dorsey, is that you? Man, whatcha doin’? Where have you been? You just dropped off the radar! No one can find you. I smiled to myself and thought, Yep, I did drop off their radar but not God’s. If I’d been in my friend’s shoes, it also would have taken me by surprise to see me, Lawrence S. Dorsey (know to my friends as LSD), passing out tracts on a busy corner at lunchtime. But the new born-again me lived for distributing literature. This is who I had become, a spokesperson for the Lord.

I remember the first time the Lord inspired me to try passing out pamphlets. I had purchased a few packages of HOUR WITH YOUR BIBLE tracts and taken them to the very same location on Broadway-Nassau. The first person who took one was a tall, sinister-looking man, who snatched it from me with his massive hand. He stopped in his tracks, looked at it, and then balled it up and threw it down on the ground. His black, piercing eyes gazed at me with hatred and contempt, sending a chill through my entire body. Fear seized me for a moment. I was about to pack it in and slip away silently, when out of nowhere, another individual—a pleasant-looking fellow—picked up the crumbled piece of literature. He glanced over it and then looked at me with tender, smiling eyes. He nodded his head as if to say thank you. He smiled and then walked away.

Immediately, I knew that the first person was there from the enemy of souls to discourage me, but the Lord sent the second one there to encourage me in faithfulness. I’ll bet he was an angel. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares (Hebrews 13:2).

I began to tell my shouting acquaintance about the new me. The words were flying out of my mouth, a million miles a minute. I told him things were well in my life—my marriage was happy and secure; I’d returned to church after two years away and had been rebaptized; and I’d stopped hanging out and drinking with the guys since the Lord miraculously saved me from a supernatural encounter three months earlier.

As I retold the story of my deliverance with all of the passion of that vivid, life-altering experience, I blurted out to the acquaintance, I just love the Lord so much for what He has done for me. I wish I could do this for Him full time. As those words spilled out of my mouth, it seemed like someone put downtown Manhattan on mute. All of the sounds, the voices, and the hustle and bustle of noontime traffic were silenced. Then I heard a voice say to me, You can, if you are willing to sacrifice. Go to Oakwood. Then the mute was taken off, and I understood the message completely. I stood there smiling, with a new joy in my heart; the King of Kings wanted me for His service. I was overwhelmed!

The message that I had not fully understood when I was delivered by the Lord on May 21, 1976, in the Bronx, New York, three months prior to that day, I now completely understood. Everything that was hidden in my heart was now crystal-clear. Jesus had said to me through His word, as He said to the cured demoniac, Go home to thy friends and tell what great things the Lord has done unto thee, and he went his way, and published throughout the whole city how great things Jesus had done unto him. And it came to pass that when Jesus was returned, the people gladly received him, for they were all waiting for him (Luke 8:39–40).

I knew from that moment on what I had to do; I knew what I wanted to do; I knew what I was born to do. I was born to preach! I was so happy that God wanted me to be a preacher—a preacher to share the good news of salvation, a minister to spread the everlasting gospel, a servant to uplift our loving King of Kings and Lord of Lords. I could see my future in Him, my destiny, my purpose, and my life, but I had no idea where Oakwood College existed! This is my story of the journey.

CHAPTER 1

The Early Years

I t never occurred to me that one day, Lawrence Steven Dorsey—the first son of John Samson and Constance May Dorsey; the one and only husband to the former Beverly Christine Abrams; the father of Lawrence Steven II and Alison Christine; the grandpa to Steven Christopher, Selena Christine, Lawrence Steven III, and Nicolas Christopher; oldest brother to Lamont Cedric, Denise Estelle, Michelle Suzette, and Brandt Wayne; would be called and chosen to preach the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ. The reality of it has changed my life dramatically. Before this calling, I was a communication worker for the New York Telephone Company, who’d never traveled farther than Washington, DC, to the south, Toronto to the north, the Poconos to the west, and Long Island to the east.

When I accepted the call, I became an international evangelist and pastor who preached the gospel of Jesus to thousands of individuals in numerous countries and cities across the globe. I reached millions on satellite television via 3ABN, a Seventh-day Adventist network.

After my call to ministry, I first read the great gospel commission: Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen (Matthew 28:19–20). My heart was filled with joy, thanksgiving, and anticipation. These feelings emerged from deep within my heart when I realized that Jesus had saved me, called me, and chosen me to share the life-altering knowledge of heaven’s unconditional love. I contemplated places I had never visited; I envisioned myself filled with His spirit and power, preaching the Word of God and watching people surrendering their lives to Him. For this, I am forever blessed and thankful, for I know how unworthy I was. He chose me, and I was delighted!

I was born in New York—the city that never sleeps—on a rainy Sunday morning in May. I was the first of five children. We were a happy, loving, close-knit family. We believed in God and the Bible, but we did not attend church. Over the years, my parents had seen so much hypocrisy in organized religion that they decided to teach us about God at home. When we were older, we chose our own churches and religions.

We were taught that God is love, that God is caring, and that God is available. We were taught how to pray, and we prayed at all the appropriate times: before eating meals, before going to bed, after experiencing problems, and after receiving blessings. My brother Lamont and I even prayed for the New York Giants, my dad’s favorite football team, even though at times those prayers were not answered as we had hoped.

Our formal religious instruction came from my mother reading the Bible and other books to us from time to time. During the holiday season, from Christmas to Easter, she read a few chapters from the book called The Greatest Story Ever Told every night. She occasionally read to us from the ten-volume set of the Bible Story, a famous collection of books by Seventh-day Adventists. Those Bible stories were our favorite bedtime stories. They were inspirational and entertaining. My brother and I acted out the stories as soon as Mom turned off the lights and left our room.

Then there were the Hollywood versions of the Bible stories that contributed to my early religious beliefs: King of Kings, The Ten Commandments, The Robe, Ben-Hur, and Quo Vadis. Now, I know the Hollywood versions of biblical events were often inaccurate, but there were plenty of details for the Holy Spirit to use to encourage my faith. Those movies helped me forge a strong relationship with God. They built up my faith, gave me hope, taught me that God answers prayers, and made me realize anything was possible with Him. They provided glimpses of God’s power as well as His nearness and availability. They taught me to be faithful to the end and to be unafraid of death; they taught me to trust God.

I remember crying on one occasion after watching the crucifixion of Jesus in the film King of Kings. I couldn’t be comforted, so my mom explained to me that His death was the essence of the gospel. I was proof of both the Father’s and the Son’s unconditional love, as described in John 3:16, For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. I never forgot that message, and the Easter season was always different for me after she shared that message. I appreciate Good Friday and Easter Sunday because they remind me of the foundation of divine forgiveness, given by a loving Savior.

One day, as I was playing outside in my yard, I heard the sound of a marching band. I begged my mother to let me go see what that was; she granted my desire immediately. I took off in a flash and made my way up the street at full speed. The music was coming from a small but lively band, marching in a parade. A large crowd followed it, and I joined in. The people in the street marched over to Baisley Park, which was just a few blocks away from our house. We marched in step with the drums and trumpets; I was having a grand time. When we got to the park, the band marched up onto the stage that had been erected on the baseball diamond (where I played many softball games). There were no chairs, so the crowd stood in front of the stage. The music stopped, and a preacher—a mighty, powerful man of God—began to tell us about Jesus. Oh, my goodness! I had never heard anything like that before. He preached about the cross, about forgiveness, about repentance, about confession, about heaven, and about hell. He said we were all sinners and needed Jesus. He warned that Jesus was coming soon, and we had to be ready. I was spellbound; I was afraid; I was convinced! I knew I needed Jesus for my Savior. It’s funny how I don’t remember anything else after that—how I got home or what I said to my mom. However, I do remember that for the next few weeks, I just stared out into the sky, looking for Jesus to come. I prayed more, and I became a lot nicer to my younger brother and sisters. The seed had been planted.

Over the years I developed a habit of just casually talking to the Lord, not fully understanding that what I was doing was also called praying. In the book by Ellen G. White, Steps to Christ, she defines prayer as the opening of the heart to God as to a friend (93). Jesus was my friend, and I was doing what came naturally: talking to Him. I didn’t have to use King James English; I could use my own words. I could speak from my heart. I didn’t have to stand up on my feet, kneel on my knees, lift up my hands, or even close my eyes. I could just talk to my God and be confident that He heard me. I could do this anywhere.

There was one place I passed by every day that inspired me to pray. It was a huge, beautiful church I saw while riding on the Q-6 bus route. Just the sight of that building caused me to formally pray every time I passed it. It was located in the center of a large, well-landscaped lot—a genuine cathedral. It had big, colorful stained-glass windows, a tall steeple, and a wide staircase across the entire width of the building that led up to two huge, oversized engraved wooden doors. It was a masterpiece. I sometimes gave thanks for some heaven-sent blessing or for a good grade on a test at that building. Other times, I asked the Lord to forgive me for some wickedness I had done or was doing. On Christmas, I said happy birthday; on Good Friday, I said I was sorry for causing His death; and on Easter Sunday, I thanked the Lord for dying for me. It’s ironic that I never stepped inside that building, but I sure did a lot of praying to God just because of passing by it. When I think about it now, I have to praise Him. The very sight of that church was instrumental in drawing me into a wonderful and closer relationship with my Jesus. I sensed that He knew me, He saw me, and He drew me closer to Him. He was watching over me, and He heard my prayers.

The value of prayer is expounded in Steps to Christ with the following words, which I have held on to since I read them:

Our heavenly Father waits to bestow upon us the fullness of His blessing. It is our privilege to drink largely at the fountain of boundless love. What a wonder it is that we pray so little! God is ready and willing to hear the sincere prayer of the humblest of His children, and yet there is much manifest reluctance on our part to make known our wants to God. What can the angels of heaven think of poor helpless human beings, who are subject to temptation, when God’s heart of infinite love yearns toward them, ready to give them more than they can ask or think, yet they pray so little and have so little faith?

As mentioned earlier, my family was and still is very close-knit. My dad was a strong, tall, handsome, powerfully built, articulate man. As a teenager, he and his brother Karl worked alongside their father on the weekends, building their home from the foundation up and adding a ramp. Weekend after weekend, pushing that full wheelbarrow up and down that ramp and carrying