MBC Tysons Campus Blog

The testimony of Joe Henriques
In 1948, two events occurred that would change the course of world history: Israel became a bona fide nation, and, ironically, at Mt. Sinai Hospital in New York, I entered the world as a bona fide member of the human race. In this same year, the Polaroid camera was also introduced. The Polaroid, as you will remember, was the first instant camera that developed photos on the spot. And thus, my entrance was documented.

I was the second-born son of poor immigrant parents. They lived in what was then called a cold-water flat, that is, an apartment with no hot water, located in a New York City neighborhood full of other immigrants with similar backgrounds. My father, Bento, had arrived in New York City on a ship as an illegal immigrant from Portugal. My mother, Mariana, had arrived on a seaplane from Puerto Rico, landing in the harbor and then ferried by boat to land. Bento was desperate to come to America, the land of freedom and opportunity, so that he could carve out a new life through the sweat of his brow and the work of his hands. Mariana, her mother and sisters, were desperate to leave a broken home back in Ponce. My father served in the United States Merchant Marines for seven years during World War II, becoming a naturalized citizen in the process. As you can imagine, growing up in an immigrant family is a story all of its own that has powerfully formed me into the person I am today. But the focus here is my spiritual journey, so I will save that story for later.

My parents were Catholics. My father had been an altar boy in Portugal, but he said that he saw so much corruption[1] behind the scenes that he decided not to go to church. As it is with many families, my mother was more spiritually sensitive. She made sure that my brother and I went to church and to catechism class, where we were taught Catholic doctrine. I actually owe a debt to the priests and nuns who taught us biblical truths of the Trinity, sin, heaven, hell, and prayers, like the Lord’s Prayer and the Apostle’s Creed. I understood that Jesus Christ was the Savior who died for the sins of the world. However, I never remember hearing or understanding that because of God’s grace, I was being offered a free gift of eternal life.

In 1957, we moved to Florida. A few years later my brother, Robert, began dating a Christian. She and her mother began to share the good news of God’s love through Christ with my brother. One day, he knelt by his bed and asked Jesus Christ to be his personal savior. He started talking to me right away about his decision. More interested in other pursuits, I was busy doing push-ups and saying, “yeah right,” as he talked about his faith. From that point, I tried to avoid being at home in our tiny three-room house, as it was impossible to get away from him. He spoke relentlessly about scriptures like the following:

• For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in him will never perish but has everlasting life.  (John 3:16)
• For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. (Romans 3:23)
• For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.  (Romans 6:23)
• But God showed his love toward us in that while we were sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8)
• There is therefore now no condemnation to those who are in Christ.  (Romans 8:1)
• And this is the record, that God has given to us eternal life and this life is in his son.  Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life.  (John 5:13)

In spite of my apparent indifference, the change in my brother caused me to begin thinking about what the Gospel meant. During this time, a young dentist moved from Indiana to our town of Venice. Providentially, Robert and Doc, as the dentist was known, came into contact with each other through a mutual Christian friend. Doc had begun a Bible study for teens in his home called the Monday Night Bible Study (how’s that for 60’s creativity?). I decided to attend one night, listening for two hours straight as Doc taught the Bible. That night, he gave me a ride home and talked for another two hours in the car. This happened many times over the course of two years.

One day, my brother stood in front of our high school chorus class and invited everyone to sing in a Youth For Christ choir that was going to be performing at a rally. The only reason I agreed to participate was because my girlfriend, who was a singer, wanted to go. I was bummed, because the rehearsal was on Sunday afternoon, the most holy time of the week for me as I worshipped the sun on the beach. But something happened to me as we practiced singing an old hymn, “The Old Rugged Cross.” In a moment’s time, I seemed to understand that Jesus Christ went to the cross for me, to pay the penalty for my sins. I was deeply moved by the verse that said, “In that Old Rugged Cross stained with blood so divine has a wondrous beauty I see; for twas on that old cross, Jesus suffered and died to pardon and sanctify me.” Through that hymn, all the witnessing of two years culminated in the realization of all that Jesus had done for me. Tears came to my eyes. But, jocks don’t cry, so I held it back.

The Youth For Christ rally was held on the following Thursday. At the last minute, I refused to go because my girlfriend wasn’t going. My father, though not a Christian, was a man of his word, and he told me, “You promised that you would go; you’re going.” “But, I am not going,” I replied. “If you don’t go, you won’t go anywhere for many months.” Knowing that was no empty threat, and knowing that being confined to our air condition-less, three-room house without my friends was frightening to even think about, I decided I had better go. Since my ride with the group had already left, I went out to the highway and started hitchhiking. After several cars had gone by, I heard a station wagon (SUVs were a creation of the future) slow down and stop. I ran to it and discovered it was Doc with a carload of kids on their way to the rally. Bev, his wife, said that they were running late because her hair got messed up the first time she fixed it and had to do it all over again. I think the angel assigned to mess it up had a great time!

During the rally, I found my heart strangely and uncomfortably moved. I know now that the Holy Spirit was convicting me of my sin before God, of my need for God’s righteousness, and of the certainty that if I did not believe on Christ I would be accountable to God at the Day of Judgment for rejecting his offer of eternal life. At the end of the meeting, an invitation was given for anyone who wanted to believe on Christ. They were encouraged to come to the front, and someone would help them to make that decision. No one moved. So neither did I, although my heart was pounding within me to do so. My brother told me later that when he saw me walk in late, he was thinking to himself, “Lord, Joe will never get saved.” He then opened his Bible to Jesus’ words, “Why do you doubt, o you of little faith?”

At the close of the meeting, I went up to my brother and said, “Where do I go to get saved?”  I went to a back room with Doc who explained again how I could believe in Jesus Christ, and what he had done for me to become a part of his family. It was time to make a decision.  I remember saying this prayer, “Lord, I have sinned against you. Please forgive me. I believe on you to be my Savior. Be the Coach of my life, and I will live for you.” We went out afterwards and had ice cream at a restaurant as a celebration.

That was on Thursday, March 12, 1964. The next day was Friday the 13th. While hanging out by a water fountain with some friends, out of nowhere the head cheerleader, who was also the President of the National Honor Society, walked up to me and said, “Joe, congratulations!” I was stunned. For one thing, she was pretty; for another thing, I knew that I surely did not make the National Honor Society, so what was she talking about? I asked, “Congratulations about what, Diane?” “Joe, you became a Christian last night. Isn’t that wonderful!” Now I was speechless. I have no idea what I murmured in response, but I just turned to the water fountain and consumed huge quantities of water until she walked away. Believing in Christ was one thing, but letting others know was quite another.

Later that day, I was in Mr. Fanning’s math class, a class that I immensely enjoyed because we conspired to get Mr. Fanning to talk about anything but math, a trap into which he fell quite often (especially when the topic was the low salaries that teachers made in Florida).  This particular day someone got Mr. Fanning talking about religion. Whatever they were saying, I knew that it was wrong. So I raised my hand and proclaimed, “All you guys are wrong!” The entire class turned towards me. I continued, “I don’t know much . . . ” (to which everyone clapped), “but I do know this: I believed in Jesus Christ last night, and I know that I’m going to heaven.” The ensuing barrage of questions was endless. For someone who thought that a person must be an incredible scholar just to know John 3:16, I didn’t know what to say, except to appeal to the decision of the night before and the one promise of God’s Word of which I was sure. That experience was a turning point for me. I determined to tell a different classmate every day how he or she could know Jesus Christ.

In summary, a lot has happened over the 48 years that I’ve known Jesus Christ personally. I’ve helped many others to know him. I’ve praised a lot, sinned too much, been to the mountaintops, and sank into the lowest of valleys. Through all of this, I never stop talking to Jesus, no matter the condition or place in which I find myself. He is my best friend, the only one capable of understanding completely and giving unconditional acceptance.

To the Lord I sing this song, “How can I say thanks for the things you have done for me? Things so undeserved, yet you gave to prove your love for me. The voices of a million angels could not express my gratitude. All that I am and ever hope to be, I owe it all to you. To God be the glory for the things he has done.”

This is my story and my song.