While J.J. Vasquez was in the process of planting Journey Church in January 2015, he and his wife Elizabeth (Liz) were told terrible news about the child in her womb.
“We were informed by doctors that our baby had a rare disease that causes the kidneys and lungs to fail to develop,” J.J. recalls. “We were told the child would not live long if it made it to birth at all. Politely refusing the advice, we chose to carry the child until birth, whatever that might mean.”
The night before a scheduled C-section, doctors gave them a 99% chance the baby would die within hours.
Sitting in a hospital room, J.J. calculated the odds of Jesus’ resurrection, and prayed for a miracle.
On July 30, 2015, their son Journey was born and lived 7 hours.
After the loss of her son, Liz blogged:
“You have forever changed my life. I promise I will continue on the journey of faith and hope that you started me on.”
A little more than a year later, on September 18, 2016, Journey Church held its first service in a high school auditorium in Winter Park, a city near Orlando, Florida. Since its founding, Journey Church has been on the Outreach 100 Fastest-Growing Churches list multiple times, including this year.
But for J.J., numbers can’t tell the real story.
“The story of Journey begins with the short life of our son,” he says. “It’s a story about God’s redemptive power to turn tragedy into incalculable good.”
Tell me about being born and raised in NYC.
My parents were born and raised there. We are third-generation immigrants from Puerto Rico. When I was a baby, my dad, a corrections officer, got into a bad accident. After being hit by a car, he retired and survived mostly on workman’s comp. My mom was a clerk for the federal court. No one in my family had been in ministry, but we were up to our neck in church.
I remember when I was 12, my pastor gave me permission to preach in the church for the first time. As the pastor of [a church] many years later, I would never hand over a mic to a 12-year-old to preach to my congregation. A cynical side of me believed my pastor just really needed a day off, but the reality was that he saw something in me. Believing in me in such a powerful way opened the door to ministry—a journey I’m still on.
What childhood ministry did you do?
I would travel and preach at other churches, so while my friends were getting drunk, I was leading youth groups and writing sermons. It seemed so unfair. At one point I even considered leaving ministry, when I was 16, and my parents chose to move the family away from New York City.
What impact did 9/11 have on you as a child living in New York City?
Huge. Life-changing. I was a sophomore in high school at the time. I looked out the window of the classroom and I could see the fire, smoke billowing out the sides. Nobody knew if New York was under attack, or just one building of the World Trade Center was on fire. My mom worked in the city and would sometimes have lunch at the World Trade Center. After the second tower exploded, I remember being pulled out of class. That experience definitely changed my life; I think it changed everyone’s. Yankee Stadium was rented out for a huge prayer service. I’ll never forget it—Jewish, Muslim, Christian, just everybody coming together in such a loving and worshipful way. It’s an image of unity through diversity that will stick in my mind forever.
You said your parents moved from the city when you were 16. Where did you move?
Brandon, Florida.
Wow, tell me about dealing with that shift.
I showed up to my first day of a new school, and I wore Size 32 baggy jeans, Timberland boots, a Michael Jordan black and red number 23 jersey. When I make my arrival, everybody’s in swimming shorts and flip-flops. And I was just like, you don’t see people’s toes in New York City because it’s just not something we do. Suddenly, I found myself in a different world. Living in a community then composed of 95% Caucasians, it was the first time in my life, as a third-generation Puerto Rican immigrant from New York City, that I felt like an outcast, a marginalized person.
How did you adjust?
I try to look at every challenge as an opportunity. I started hanging out with a diverse group of people—white people among them. I grew up around hip-hop culture and Latin culture. It taught me that no matter who walks through the door, I can connect with him or her, but only by being the person God created me to be, not pretending to be someone I’m not. It allowed me to learn to exercise empathy.
Tell me about the birth of your son, Journey.
The night before Journey’s birth, the doctor was 99% certain the baby would die quickly. My faith was so great that I began to calculate the odds against the resurrection of Jesus. I was praying for a miracle. For the seven hours he was alive on July 30, 2015, I remember whispering in his ear how much he was loved. He was beautiful. I recorded a video; I still have it on my phone because whenever I face something that I don’t think I can get through, I put on the video to remind me about what God has already gotten me through. Seven hours after his birth, Journey passed away in my arms, suffocating; it was so traumatic looking into the face of your son, who can’t breathe. It was the worst feeling in the world—I couldn’t keep my baby safe. Yet, out of the horror sprang the power of Journey’s ministry.
Can you give me an example?
Lots of them. After choosing to continue the pregnancy, Liz blogged about the process through the birth of our son. We began to hear stories back from other expectant moms who were wrestling with difficult options and considering abortion. I remember one of them, shortly after the birth of her child, wrote Elizabeth, “It was the passing of your baby that encouraged us to keep ours.” We heard so many other stories of moms choosing to give birth. Journey’s story gave them courage to make difficult choices. It continually amazes us how much impact our son’s short life created. We named our son Journey for a reason. We are committed to continuing the journey he began. Through God’s redemptive power, we have come to understand that it’s a journey full of great suffering and even greater good.
In what ways did that understanding empower you as you made plans for the church?
We got this picture of God taking pain and turning it into something beautiful. We’re all human. We all hurt. I think every preacher that grabs the microphone needs to find and speak to those pain points, because it doesn’t matter how we vote or live, we all got the same pain. And if I can speak to the pain and then point you to Jesus, what better thing to do?
Tell me about the launch of Journey Church.
I was 30 and Puerto Rican, and it didn’t look like I was going to fit in a mostly white retirement community. But much to my surprise, people came—mostly Latinos. After one service, I remember chasing down one white guy, and [I] warned him this might be a weird question: “Why do you come here being white and all?” He replied quickly, “Because I wanted to come to a church where everybody didn’t look like me.” I found that so encouraging and refreshing. It was an attitude that our church embraced that ran against the grain of most church-planting circles, which was that people like to congregate with people who are similar. Exercising the power in diversity is a deeply shared value at Journey.
How did the church do initially in the early years?
We launched with 400 people. I was determined to lead like Andy Stanley because I admired how he led North Point Community Church, which had several campuses in the Atlanta area. That turned out to be a big mistake. Because I wasn’t Andy Stanley, we dropped to 120 people. It was a critical lesson in planting a church: I had a clear picture of what I wanted to do, but not of who I was. I had to go on a journey to figure that out. Once I began to understand my true identity, things started to take off.
So who were you?
I was someone who loved diversity, and I wanted to lead a church that would attract people who didn’t go to church. So, we began to build everything to do those things. Clarity on your mission, your vision and values is critical, but comes through knowing yourself, and the who-you-are part comes only from an experience of God.
How important was the Orlando Sentinel profile of your church for Journey?
It’s a big part of our story. A catalyst moment. After the reporter found out our church was actually reaching young people, she wrote a story in 2018. I have the newspaper in my office to this day, kind of like a manna in the wilderness type thing to remind me how cool it was to be on the front page of the second largest newspaper in Florida. A lot of people saw the article and started coming to visit. But I don’t give the article all the credit for our growth. Sure, the article was 100% God’s favor, but if the church hadn’t gone through its who-are-we phase, we wouldn’t have gotten healthy. I like to say that God’s favor resides at the intersection of opportunity and preparation.
What would you say is your church’s identity in terms of outreach?
Love your neighbor, no matter who that person is or how he or she responds. I think we need to shift the conversation to obedience—I serve because it’s the right thing to do. You can’t make people follow Jesus, but you can display the love of Jesus. When you have that perspective, there’s no disappointment. Anytime you try to give somebody something because you want something back, God doesn’t bless that, because that’s called selfishness. You love others because God loves you.
How did you lead the church when the pandemic hit?
In 2019, I think we were number 10 on the fastest-growing churches list. In 2020, the pandemic hit hard. In terms of church planning, I think we were prepared in the sense that my eyes were on his presence and not on our attendance. I was trying to be closer to Jesus, to be the best version of myself through every trial. If you allow it, adversity will make you better, refine you, get you closer to God. Ironically, the pandemic allowed us to buy our current facility by dropping its value. Once again, you see the story of God’s redemptive work.
The pandemic and politics served to catalyze hate in an already divided nation. What would you say the church’s response should be?
I preached a message recently, and a large portion of it addressed the LGBTQ population, which in Orlando—host to the Pulse [nightclub] shooting—is a touchy topic. Different perspectives are frowned upon. I didn’t want to preach at all, but I gotta preach the Bible; I don’t have the option to skip around God’s Word. To make matters even more uncomfortable, my aunt—a lesbian for 45 years or so—was sitting in the front row. I thought I was going to be misunderstood, maybe even torn to pieces. It was just a hard sermon to deliver. I spoke directly to the LGBTQ population, nervous about how they might react.
The next morning, one person emailed me: “My dad is gay, and he is one of the nicest people I know. I wanted to let you know that I heard your message.”
Bracing for the worst, I took a deep breath before continuing.
“I just want you to know, I love the way you taught on this topic. Even though I disagree with you, I appreciate your perspective. I’m sending this message out to my friends who are gay, because I want them to hear a different perspective.”
I thought that email was the greatest compliment anyone had ever given me. Much to my surprise, the feedback was mostly positive. I had been able to preach a tough message in ways that were clear, loving and respectful. Many said they felt understood, seen, heard and protected. Those responses touched me deeply. I don’t think preaching the truth has to stir division. I think if you speak gently, it helps promote understanding and respect, lifting people up, not cutting them down.
How did the church react to the growing divide in our nation that dramatically grew during the pandemic?
I was a political science major, so I’m very interested in politics. Personally, I am involved, I vote, I’m aware of the issues, and I love to engage. But I also understand that the political kingdom is not where God has called the church to focus. We are citizens of a different kingdom. Never, never confuse true citizenship with nationalism. I love America and believe it’s the best nation on the planet. But Jesus died for all nations, right? I think that’s the key. I have a responsibility to vote according to my values, my morals, my ethics and what I believe the Bible teaches [about] what’s important. But at the same time, my calling is to honor the real King, who says all of the laws are summed up by two: Love God and love others.
I try not to fight cultural wars or lead our people to do so. I think culture wars are fighting the wrong battles. The Bible teaches us that we fight spiritual forces of evil in heavenly realms. That’s where the real war rages. That’s why I teach on sin, repentance and Christ’s love, and not on who to vote for. I think a Bible study focused on the culture wars of first-century Palestine would be very helpful. When the religious leaders asked Jesus if they needed to pay taxes to Caesar, he asked for a Roman coin.
“What does it say?” Jesus asked. “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and give to God what is God’s.”
And that’s exactly it.