My Romany preacher father was born in a caravan.

That’s how this story begins, not only because it’s true, but because stories matter in my community. We are a people of stories, oral, colourful, alive and layered with memories. My father came to faith in Christ at nine years old, after an encounter with God that changed his life and that of his family forever. It happened in a Black majority Pentecostal church which became for them a place of healing and welcome where hands and voices were raised and where the miraculous was expected.

None of my father’s family could read or write at that time and, in fact, he never did learn to read or write well. Like many from the Gypsy, Roma and Traveller (GRT) community, school was something to be avoided and education unimportant and like all places of authority, a place of fear. What my family could do, oddly and amazingly, was to recite Scriptures, sometimes in great sweeping chunks. Scripture lived in them. It was as if the Word of God leapt over the barriers of literacy and landed in their hearts and on their tongues.

This is where my understanding of preaching begins, with a community of people who couldn’t read the newspaper, but who could quote whole chapters of Romans or Luke and do it with the authority of experience and conviction. My father would later become a pastor, a man of God who travelled the world preaching and praying for healing. Like many travellers, he believed what he preached and his expectations of God were high. He preached to the academics, to church leaders, to the rich and the poor and preached the same message of healing to everyone. My father believed what he preached. His message was that Jesus Christ was the same yesterday, today and forever and that the same things that happened in Scripture could happen today. He mostly preached without notes, occasionally changing his sermon during the hymn before the sermon. To some, that might raise eyebrows about preparation and integrity, but for Romany Christians, life is lived on the move, literally and spiritually. We’re taught to expect that God will speak daily, and for us to be ready to testify at a moment’s notice. And when you feel God’s prompting, you follow, no matter your plan.

A RESPONSIVE GOSPEL

Preaching in a GRT context is never a solo activity. It’s quite noisy! If you walk into a service expecting silence or a tight order of service, you might feel uncomfortable. ‘Amens’ abound, ‘Yes, Lords’ echo around the room. The congregation is listening with their whole bodies. Preaching isn’t a performance to be observed; it’s an invitation to participation, it’s the ongoing story of salvation. If you’re preaching truth, deep, soul-changing truth, you’ll be met with a wave of response. We believe that when the Word goes out, it demands a response from the listener.

I’ve sat in services where the entire atmosphere seemed to shift as someone testified to God’s goodness. I’ve heard Scripture quoted with fire and clarity by people who had never written an essay in their life. I’ve been moved during the prayers of intercession, often offered by the women who have wept their way through and who pray with fierce faith. I’ve seen preaching done simply, and powerfully, without polish or pomp, but with a raw authenticity that left no heart untouched.

STORYTELLING AS THEOLOGY

GRT culture is deeply oral. Stories are passed down through generations. At family gatherings our family regularly retell experiences of emotional healings, salvation stories, miracles, and prophetic words shared. Theology, in this context, isn’t always found in books; it’s woven into testimony, into song, into shared memory. Preaching must speak into that framework. It should honour the story without distorting the truth. That’s a challenge and it is a gift for preachers.

What does it mean to preach to a people who expect to be changed? That’s the question. The Gypsy church expects a good preach: one that uses simple, direct language and speaks clearly to everyday life. But don’t mistake ‘simple’ for ‘shallow.’ It must be Spirit-filled, rich in Scripture, and challenging. It must call people to repentance and hope, to holiness and healing. We don’t come to church for a lecture; we come to meet God.

THE JUSTICE OF THE WORD

Preaching, at its heart, is a justice act. When we proclaim the Gospel, we are making a claim about what is true, what is good, what is just. And that matters in a world that often treats GRT people as less than human. In the UK today, hostility towards the GRT community still remains one of the most acceptable forms of racism. We’re often stereotyped, criminalised, and marginalised in policymaking, media, and public perception. So, when a preacher stands in a pulpit and says that all are made in the image of God, that Christ died for all, that the Holy Spirit empowers all who believe, those words hit different in a GRT context. They are not just theological truths; they are radical declarations of worth and dignity.

My father’s and his family’s conversion in a Black Pentecostal church wasn’t just a spiritual moment, it was an intersection of racial justice and Christian welcome. That church didn’t turn him and his family away. They didn’t sneer at the caravan or judge the clothes or question the culture. They loved them, laid hands on them and prayed for healing. And God healed them. That’s the Gospel.

In a world marked by divisions, racial, cultural, economic, the church should be a place of radical hospitality. But too often, we reproduce the very injustices Christ came to undo. GRT believers, despite our deep faith and long Christian heritage, are rarely seen in theological colleges or church leadership. Why? Because our way of doing church, our preaching styles, our cultural expressions don’t always fit the mould. We are deemed too loud, too emotional, too informal, oddly enough, too conservative and too ‘Pentecostal’ for those who are not. Too different to be included. And that’s a loss for the whole church and for the GRT community.

WHAT CAN PREACHERS LEARN?

What can the wider church learn from GRT preaching traditions? Let me offer a few thoughts:

1. Preach with conviction. In GRT churches, there is little patience for vague sermons or moralistic platitudes. People want the Word, sharp, clear, transformative.
2. Expect a response. Preaching isn’t a monologue. It is more like a drama than a lecture. It’s a dialogue with the Spirit and the people. Invite response. Expect it. Make space for it.
3. Use simple, powerful language. The best sermons are the ones that everyone can understand whether you have a theology degree or not. Jesus told stories. So should we.
4. Honour the emotional and physical. Preaching isn’t just for the head. In GRT services, people pray with their bodies, sing with their hearts, and weep with their souls. That’s not weakness; that’s worship.
5. Make space for testimony. The testimonies I’ve heard from my community are some of the most faith-building sermons I’ve ever encountered. God is still working. Let the people speak.

THE FRAGILE AND THE FIERCE

GRT life is marked by fragility. Homes that can be moved overnight, lives that must navigate legal hostility and public misunderstanding. But within that fragility is a fierce faith. When you’ve lived on the margins, you know that Jesus really meant it when He said, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit.’ You know what it means to depend on God daily. You know how to trust God when tomorrow is uncertain.

That’s how my father preached, not from a place of status or security, but from a heart that knew God personally. His sermons weren’t academic essays; they were love songs, battle cries, and healing prayers. He was prepared to preach at the drop of a hat, because the Spirit might move, and if the Spirit moved, he needed to be ready. A readiness I long to see more of in our pulpits.

A FINAL WORD

Preaching on racial justice isn’t just about pointing out inequality. It’s about proclaiming the Kingdom, where every tribe and tongue and people and nation are gathered around the throne. It’s about naming the injustice, but also about telling the better story. The Gospel doesn’t remove our cultures; it dignifies them. It welcomes them into the grand narrative of redemption.

When I think of my father preaching in a large tent meeting, or a little mission hall or at a large Christan event with well-known preachers, I see a man shaped by Scripture, led by the Spirit, and grounded in community. I see a preacher who knew what it was to be an outsider, but who also knew that in Christ, there are no outsiders. I see a man who understood that preaching is not a performance but a testimony.

And that, perhaps, is the message for all of us: Preach as though your life depends on it. Preach like someone might be healed today. Preach like the Spirit is present. Preach with tears if you have to. Preach with hope, and fury, and love.

And above all, preach in a way that expects a response, because the Word of God when preached in the power of the Holy Spirit never returns empty.