A preaching 'genius' faces his toughest convert

The Rev. Fred Craddock's stories revolutionized preaching, but few know about the pain behind them.

Story highlights

  • Fred Craddock revolutionized art of preaching
  • Craddock was selected as one of the world's best preachers
  • He only hinted at his chaotic childhood in sermons
  • Craddock on troubled father: "I struggled with his silence"

Blue Ridge, Georgia (CNN) Fred Craddock was a young preacher trying to find his voice when he received a call from his mother one day.

"You need to go see your father," she said. "He may not live longer."
Craddock found his father in a VA hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. Fred Craddock Sr. had whittled down to 73 pounds. Radiation treatments had burned him to pieces. He couldn't eat or speak.
When he saw his son, he picked up a Kleenex box and scribbled on it a line from Shakespeare's "Hamlet": "In this harsh world, draw your breath in pain to tell my story."
"What is your story, Daddy?"
His father's eyes welled with tears. He wrote:
"I was wrong."
'A preacher like no other'
Craddock never became a televangelist, built a megachurch or preached to an adoring crowd in a packed stadium. He is a diminutive, bespectacled man whose voice is so soft that he once compared it to "wind whistling through a splinter on the post."
Yet he is a pulpit giant, a man who, one preaching scholar says, tilted the preaching world "on its axis" after creating a revolutionary method that led to him being selected as one of the 12 best preachers in the English-speaking world.
"He is a preacher like no other" is how the Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor, who also made the top 12 list, describes him.
Craddock preached his last official sermon in October. He is 83 and struggling with Parkinson's disease. When he greets a visitor, he moves gingerly to his seat. He is 5-foot-5 with a plump belly and an impish smile.
He lives in Blue Ridge, Georgia, a small town in the Appalachian Mountains that looks like a rustic postcard, with its small white-steeple churches and autumn forests bristling with burgundy and gold.
Friends worry about Craddock's health, but he seems to treat his illness as an annoyance.
"I should have something by 83," he says with a quick smile when the conversation turns to Parkinson's.
His arms shake when he talks at length, but everything else is there: his phenomenal recall of names, details, places.
Though he has gathered all manner of awards during 50 years of preaching, he never received praise for his calling from the one man he wanted to hear it from most: his father.
"I struggled with his silence," Craddock says. "I wanted him to say he was proud of me."
A father like no other
Fred Craddock Sr. had plenty to say about other subjects. He stood 5-foot-7, weighed 150 pounds and even in his 50s could do one-arm chin-ups. He liked to dance, race his horse at county fairs.
Most of all, he loved to tell stories.
Fred Craddock in grade school, where he struggled to hide his poverty from classmates.
His son and namesake, Fred Jr., was one of his most devoted fans. Father and son developed a storytelling ritual. At the end of the day, the elder Craddock would return to his home in the small town of Humboldt, Tennessee, roll a Bull Durham cigarette by the fireplace and say to no one in particular, "Boy, I never hope to see what I saw today."
Craddock, his three brothers and his sister flocked around their father.
"What'd you see today?"
"Oh, you kids still up? No, you go to bed. You do