The Fifth-Grade Evangelist

Sometimes the courage to share the gospel doesn’t come from a pulpit.

Sometimes it comes from a playground.

Mark told us this story during one of our prayer gatherings. A single mom in his church reached out to him and a few other pastors because of something that had happened to her son, John.

John is a quiet fifth-grader. He doesn’t always fit in with the other kids. While many of his classmates spend recess running around the field or glued to their phones, John had started using that time to read his Bible. He’d sit alone on a bench, flipping through the pages while the noise of the playground swirled around him.

At first, nobody paid much attention. Then one day a classmate walked over and asked, “What are you reading?”

“The Bible,” John said simply.

“What’s in there?”

That question changed everything.

John began reading small parts aloud—stories about Jesus, verses that caught his attention. One by one, other kids came closer to listen. Soon a little cluster of fifth-graders was gathering around him every recess, hearing Scripture, asking questions, and talking about what it meant.

And then, as often happens when the gospel starts to move, resistance came.

A teacher noticed what was happening and told John he couldn’t do that. He could read by himself if he wanted, but not to others. The school had rules, she said. The line between church and state had to be kept.

For John’s mom, Cara, the news hit hard. Her son had finally found a way to connect with his peers—and it was through Scripture. She could see how it was building his confidence, how it was helping him find purpose. She was heartbroken at the thought of him being silenced for sharing what he loved most.

So she reached out to her pastors for help. Mark and the team listened and then pointed her to the Department of Education’s own guidelines—the policies that explain that students do have the right to express their faith at school. They can read the Bible, pray, or talk about God with classmates, as long as it’s not during class instruction and doesn’t disrupt learning.

Armed with that information, Cara went back to the school. She spoke respectfully but firmly, referencing the policy, and kept coming back until administrators reviewed it for themselves. Gradually, the tone shifted. What began as a flat “no” turned into, “Well, he can read his Bible privately,” and eventually, “Yes, he can share with other students—as long as it’s on his own time.”

It was a quiet victory.

Cara could read again. His mom felt relief. His pastors rejoiced. But more than that, John learned something profound—that the freedom to share God’s Word isn’t just a right; it’s a responsibility.

Since then, he’s been praying and thinking about what to do next. His mom says he’s more confident now, more aware that God can use him right where he is. For a ten-year-old, that’s a world-shaping realization: that the playground can be a mission field, and a fifth-grader can be a missionary.

Reflections on a Recess Revival

When I first heard Mark tell this story, I couldn’t help but smile. It’s easy for us to talk about disciple-making movements in far-off places, but here was a child modeling it on the blacktop of a public school.

He wasn’t trained. He didn’t have a strategy. He just had a Bible and a willingness to read it. And that was enough.

In a culture that often pressures believers to keep their faith private, John reminds us what happens when simple obedience meets opportunity. He wasn’t trying to build a platform or lead a movement; he was being faithful during recess.

That’s how movements start—small acts of faith that ripple outward.

So maybe our prayer today should be that God would raise up more fifth-grade evangelists—kids, parents, teachers, and ordinary believers who carry the Word into everyday spaces. Schools, workplaces, dance halls, prisons, coffee shops—each one is a place where the gospel can take root.

John’s story reminds us that the same Holy Spirit who empowers missionaries across oceans empowers children on playgrounds.

And if that’s true, then maybe the next great awakening won’t begin in a church building at all.

Maybe it’ll start at recess.