Meadowlark Moves People With Message
July 28, 2016 at 4:25 p.m.
SYRACUSE - The 63-year-old man walks onto the basketball court, a red, white and blue basketball - like the kind the ABA used - tucked under one arm.
The people cheer and clap. And yes, when he wraps his hand around the microphone, he owns their undivided attention.
That's because he is Meadowlark Lemon, and the former Harlem Globetrotter still works a crowd like no other.
Meadowlark made at stop at Wawasee High School on Saturday. He played basketball, told jokes, picked on little kids and talked to crying babies. But the real reason he was here was to talk about God.
That's what the man known as the "Clown Prince of Basketball" does these days. Meadowlark, who makes his home in Scottsdale, Ariz., talks about God whenever and wherever he can. He's been an ordained minister since 1986. He's spoken about God in more than 100 countries, from Algeria to Zimbabwe. He's traveled more than four million miles to win people over to God.
He still plays organized basketball when he can. He's hoping to play in his 10,000th basketball game this year.
The first thing Meadowlark does here is thank the Syracuse community for "producing the best wife in the world" - his wife, Cynthia, is from this area. The second thing he does is look at his sweater, then down at his feet.
"I'm usually in a suit and tie," he tells his audience, "but if Jesus walked around in sandals, so can I."
Then, because this is a Saturday night, and he's preaching, entertaining and shooting baskets in a gym, Meadowlark declares this "fun night in the church."
The way Meadowlark figures it, God has given him two things. He's given him a ministry of joy. He's annointed him to pray for young athletes.
Then he does what he often does when he preaches. He asks all of the kids to come down to the front and line up. They do. Probably 70 kids stand in front of Meadowlark.
He asks how many of them have ever seen him play. Four raise their hands. Then he asks how many have seen Larry Bird, Magic Johnson or Michael Jordan play.
Everyone raises their hands.
"Michael and I are from the same hometown (Wilmington, N.C.)," Meadowlark says. "If you've seen him and those other guys play, you've seen me play. They got it from me."
When the laughs subside, Meadowlark gets serious again. He talks to the kids in front of him. Then he goes down the line and blesses them all.
He sends them all back to their seats, except one. He points to one boy, makes him stay. His name is Jonathon.
Meadowlark plucks his basketball off the nearby piano. He passes the ball to Jonathon, a normal two-handed pass.
Then the passes start coming behind his back, off his head, off the back of one leg and off the small of his back. Meadowlark asks Jonathan to try the tricks. Jonathon tries, but he can't do them.
Jonathon's attempts draw good-natured laughs from the crowd. Meadowlark rescues a somewhat bewildered Jonathon. He signs the basketball and hands it to him.
Meadowlark gets another basketball and goes to work shooting his infamous hook shots. They don't all fall in right away.
He has an explanation.
"After you get over 12," he says, "your body starts acting stupid. The last month, I did nothing but stretching exercises."
He starts out shooting underneath the basket. Every time he makes one, he moves further out. He gets to halfcourt, where he airballs one. After a few more misses, he asks the audience to give him some handclapping. They oblige. Swish.
He isn't done. He moves over to the baseline. He doesn't stop there. He climbs halfway up the bleachers, standing in the middle of the crowd. People clap. After only four tries, somehow he hits nothing but net from where he stands in the crowd in the middle of the bleachers.
After he makes that shot, Meadowlark takes a deserved break. He returns 10 minutes later and offers his testimony.
When Meadowlark was 11, he saw the Globetrotters on a movie newsreel in Wilmington. He knew then he wanted to be a Globetrotter.
He watched the newsreel, then went home. He opened the closet, pulled out a coathanger. He bent it into a circle.
He had a rim.
He found an onion sack. He cut the bottom out of it.
He had a net.
Meadowlark didn't have a basketball. He made one out of a Carnation milk can.
He took his rim, net and ball and went across the street. Using rope and some nails, he made a goal.
"I did not let adversity stop me," he says. "I made my own basket. I made my basket the size of the whole world when I was 11 in Wilmington. You can make yours."
His dream of playing with the Globetrotters came true. Soon after, looking and walking cool became a pretty big issue with Meadowlark.
He practiced and got the arm swing down. Meadowlark swang his arm when he walked. He got the bent knees look going. Meadowlark swang his arm and bent his knees when he took steps.
Meadowlark walked cool.
"I oozed through doors," he says. "I had platform shoes and boots back then. But I had a problem. I couldn't walk cool because they made my knees hurt."
Looking cool was one thing. Meadowlark knew something was missing.
"Heidi" showed him what he was missing.
Heidi - Meadowlark never mentioned her last name - made uniforms for a living. Heidi was no taller than 5 feet, but her passion for the Lord could not be measured.
Meadowlark felt God prompting him to call her. He did. They prayed together.
"It took only 60 seconds," Meadowlark said. "There were no bells, no lights flashing."
No, but there was most definitely a change. Since that day, Meadowlark has been ministering. Meadowlark Ministries ministers to athletes, to Native Americans, to gangs. Those are only a few. You name it, they probably minister to it.
He preaches in Algeria. He preaches in Zimbabwe. He entertains while delivering a message.
"God," Meadowlark says, "used athletics as a tool for me to get the good news out."
Afterward, Meadowlark walked into a commons area, where he signed basketballs. Judging by the number of people in this small area, it almost seemed if everyone left their seats in the gym and moved in here. A father asked if Meadowlark would take a picture holding his little boy.
Meadowlark scooped the boy up, the grin spreading wider and wider across his face.
Yes, God has given Meadowlark a ministry of joy. [[In-content Ad]]
SYRACUSE - The 63-year-old man walks onto the basketball court, a red, white and blue basketball - like the kind the ABA used - tucked under one arm.
The people cheer and clap. And yes, when he wraps his hand around the microphone, he owns their undivided attention.
That's because he is Meadowlark Lemon, and the former Harlem Globetrotter still works a crowd like no other.
Meadowlark made at stop at Wawasee High School on Saturday. He played basketball, told jokes, picked on little kids and talked to crying babies. But the real reason he was here was to talk about God.
That's what the man known as the "Clown Prince of Basketball" does these days. Meadowlark, who makes his home in Scottsdale, Ariz., talks about God whenever and wherever he can. He's been an ordained minister since 1986. He's spoken about God in more than 100 countries, from Algeria to Zimbabwe. He's traveled more than four million miles to win people over to God.
He still plays organized basketball when he can. He's hoping to play in his 10,000th basketball game this year.
The first thing Meadowlark does here is thank the Syracuse community for "producing the best wife in the world" - his wife, Cynthia, is from this area. The second thing he does is look at his sweater, then down at his feet.
"I'm usually in a suit and tie," he tells his audience, "but if Jesus walked around in sandals, so can I."
Then, because this is a Saturday night, and he's preaching, entertaining and shooting baskets in a gym, Meadowlark declares this "fun night in the church."
The way Meadowlark figures it, God has given him two things. He's given him a ministry of joy. He's annointed him to pray for young athletes.
Then he does what he often does when he preaches. He asks all of the kids to come down to the front and line up. They do. Probably 70 kids stand in front of Meadowlark.
He asks how many of them have ever seen him play. Four raise their hands. Then he asks how many have seen Larry Bird, Magic Johnson or Michael Jordan play.
Everyone raises their hands.
"Michael and I are from the same hometown (Wilmington, N.C.)," Meadowlark says. "If you've seen him and those other guys play, you've seen me play. They got it from me."
When the laughs subside, Meadowlark gets serious again. He talks to the kids in front of him. Then he goes down the line and blesses them all.
He sends them all back to their seats, except one. He points to one boy, makes him stay. His name is Jonathon.
Meadowlark plucks his basketball off the nearby piano. He passes the ball to Jonathon, a normal two-handed pass.
Then the passes start coming behind his back, off his head, off the back of one leg and off the small of his back. Meadowlark asks Jonathan to try the tricks. Jonathon tries, but he can't do them.
Jonathon's attempts draw good-natured laughs from the crowd. Meadowlark rescues a somewhat bewildered Jonathon. He signs the basketball and hands it to him.
Meadowlark gets another basketball and goes to work shooting his infamous hook shots. They don't all fall in right away.
He has an explanation.
"After you get over 12," he says, "your body starts acting stupid. The last month, I did nothing but stretching exercises."
He starts out shooting underneath the basket. Every time he makes one, he moves further out. He gets to halfcourt, where he airballs one. After a few more misses, he asks the audience to give him some handclapping. They oblige. Swish.
He isn't done. He moves over to the baseline. He doesn't stop there. He climbs halfway up the bleachers, standing in the middle of the crowd. People clap. After only four tries, somehow he hits nothing but net from where he stands in the crowd in the middle of the bleachers.
After he makes that shot, Meadowlark takes a deserved break. He returns 10 minutes later and offers his testimony.
When Meadowlark was 11, he saw the Globetrotters on a movie newsreel in Wilmington. He knew then he wanted to be a Globetrotter.
He watched the newsreel, then went home. He opened the closet, pulled out a coathanger. He bent it into a circle.
He had a rim.
He found an onion sack. He cut the bottom out of it.
He had a net.
Meadowlark didn't have a basketball. He made one out of a Carnation milk can.
He took his rim, net and ball and went across the street. Using rope and some nails, he made a goal.
"I did not let adversity stop me," he says. "I made my own basket. I made my basket the size of the whole world when I was 11 in Wilmington. You can make yours."
His dream of playing with the Globetrotters came true. Soon after, looking and walking cool became a pretty big issue with Meadowlark.
He practiced and got the arm swing down. Meadowlark swang his arm when he walked. He got the bent knees look going. Meadowlark swang his arm and bent his knees when he took steps.
Meadowlark walked cool.
"I oozed through doors," he says. "I had platform shoes and boots back then. But I had a problem. I couldn't walk cool because they made my knees hurt."
Looking cool was one thing. Meadowlark knew something was missing.
"Heidi" showed him what he was missing.
Heidi - Meadowlark never mentioned her last name - made uniforms for a living. Heidi was no taller than 5 feet, but her passion for the Lord could not be measured.
Meadowlark felt God prompting him to call her. He did. They prayed together.
"It took only 60 seconds," Meadowlark said. "There were no bells, no lights flashing."
No, but there was most definitely a change. Since that day, Meadowlark has been ministering. Meadowlark Ministries ministers to athletes, to Native Americans, to gangs. Those are only a few. You name it, they probably minister to it.
He preaches in Algeria. He preaches in Zimbabwe. He entertains while delivering a message.
"God," Meadowlark says, "used athletics as a tool for me to get the good news out."
Afterward, Meadowlark walked into a commons area, where he signed basketballs. Judging by the number of people in this small area, it almost seemed if everyone left their seats in the gym and moved in here. A father asked if Meadowlark would take a picture holding his little boy.
Meadowlark scooped the boy up, the grin spreading wider and wider across his face.
Yes, God has given Meadowlark a ministry of joy. [[In-content Ad]]