Against The Cuban Assassin,
Fidel Sierra—One of the few
times I worked without a mask.
Me and
WWE
superstar,
Ron
Simmons.
Chris and Verna, his
bride of over 44 years.
1978–1988 The Masked Saint was definitely not my calling, and the pastor and I
didn’t mesh at all. I’d rather be body slammed in
a wrestling ring than go through that experience
again! After only a year, I was fired. Verna and I
looked for a new church to attend, and I sought
a new job. It took 6 years for my hurt and bitter
heart to be healed from this painful experience.
I avoided church leadership positions and sat
sulking in a pew.
During this time, however, my wrestling career
flourished. I made lots of money and owned
a beautiful house. I was living the dream. But
I was running from God’s call on my life. I was
hiding in a pew and under a wrestling hood,
when God wanted me leading His people. And I
was miserable. Eventually, I surrendered again to
God’s call and realigned my priorities.
In 1985, Verna and I moved to Texas, where
I attended Southwestern Seminary to better
prepare for my calling. I continued to wrestle
professionally; it was a great way to provide for
my family, and I enjoyed it. When I graduated
from Southwestern in 1988, I accepted a position
at Westside Baptist Church in Lake Wales. We
moved back to Florida, and I stepped away from
professional wrestling to devote myself to being a
full-time pastor.
It had been more than 10 years since I had first
sensed God’s call on my life, but I was finally there.
I’m so thankful for His patience with me. It amazes
me how He didn’t waste any of my experiences
from those 10 years. Instead, God has used my
past in ways I would never have imagined. It
began one Sunday after the service at Westside.
A woman wearing sunglasses had come in
that morning. I’d seen her many times before.
She always slipped into a pew with her two kids
well after the service had started, and she’d slip
out before it ended. But this Sunday, she stayed
until the end. She walked over to me, lowered
her head, and grabbed both of my hands. Tears
streamed down her cheeks.
She took off her sunglasses, and I saw two black
eyes. I knew immediately what had happened and
was furious. I had little tolerance for any man who
would hit a woman. I told her I was going to see
her husband.
I went to their house and called him outside.
I said, “You know, God has entrusted you with a
wonderful wife and children. How dare you hurt
one of these precious gifts of God? If you are so
anxious to hurt people, then hurt me. Give it your
best shot.”
He got belligerent, and we had a few words,
but he never hit her again. This incident was the
beginning of my “Masked Saint” adventures.
From that moment on, I found myself in the
most unusual situations, helping people in ways
pastors didn’t normally help. When I saw an act of
injustice, something would go off inside me, and
I would feel an urgent need to go to the injured
person’s rescue.
It could be a prostitute being abused by her
pimp or an old man being pushed around by
teens in an airport. The sin of injustice would stir
me, and I’d find myself putting on my wrestling
mask to engage those bullies. I wasn’t looking for
a fight, but I was ready for one if need be. I always
pointed out that what they were doing was wrong.
They’d usually come after me, but because of my
skill as a professional wrestler, they’d drop pretty
fast. Some may not agree with my methods, but I
just had to do something.
I’d been taught as a child that “the only thing
necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men
to do nothing.” It was a quote by Edmund Burke.
Doing nothing has never been an option for me.
The Masked Saint became a mystery around
town. Who was this vigilante that would stop an
assailant and then tip off police so they could be
arrested? My actions attracted a lot of attention,
even from local detectives. (A production company
recently made a movie based on my adventures,
called The Masked Saint. I’ve also written a book
under the same title.)
With every victorious encounter, however,
pride rose in my heart. I was conquering evil on
the streets, and I felt invincible. Beyond that, the
church I was pastoring was thriving. My estimation
of myself grew higher than it ought, and I took
credit for what God alone had done. I took my
eyes off Him and temporarily lost my way. How
thankful I am for a loving God, wife, and church
family, who helped me get back to where I was
supposed to be.
It’s been over 30 years since all this happened. I
wish I could say I’ve walked perfectly with the Lord
since, but I haven’t. I have, however, tried to serve
Him to the best of my ability and stay true to my
calling. God is a God of so many chances. He’s
shown himself so faithful to me, despite my failures.
I want you to know that, regardless of your
failures, God can still make something of your life,
too, and help you be who He created you to be.
He is always ready to help you fulfill the call He has
placed on your life. It’s never too late, not even now.
All you have to do is come to God and put your
life in His hands. He is ready to do a marvelous
work in your life—all you have to do is let Him.
Photo courtesy of First Baptist Orlando kojministries.org Issue 3 2017 25
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