As he begins speaking, some of the children in the room slump their heads over the table to rest on weary little arms. Their eyes close. They've been here in the church's basement fellowship hall for more than an hour already. But when Bryant makes reference to Steven Spielberg's films Jurassic Park, and The Lost World, several little heads pop up and eyes turn toward the podium. 

Ashley Stevens, 12, whispers across the table to a friend that she and her brother plan to see The Lost World later that afternoon. She then directs her attention to Bryant as he draws analogies between the wayward kingdom explored in Spielberg's movies and the jungle-like state in which Americans, particularly African Americans, are living. 

All you've got to do is walk around Baltimore to see a lost world, he says, prompting several in the crowd to roar back with Amen! Bryant continues: We've got to learn to escape from Jurassic Park.  

Before long, the immaculately dressed reverend is preaching with so much force, he has to loosen his tie; the blazing words forcing his voice to crackle. By the time he's finished, many in the congregation most of whom are several years his junior or senior are on their feet, shouting Amen, and clapping in affirmation.  

I liked what he said because he was preaching the truth, says 13-year-old Rachel Williams. Victoria Oglesby, 10, agrees. It is like Jurassic Park out here. People getting shot and everything, like Biggie Smalls and Tupac. Black people fighting other Black people; it's not right.  

Keith Stevens, 7, doesn't recall the details of Bryant's message, but he too wishes the shooting in his community would stop. So moved was he by the morning's proceedings, that he responded to the altar call, expressing a desire to be saved.  

Scenes like this are not uncommon in Bryant's life. The Baltimore native and graduate of Morehouse College and Duke University (from which he earned a bachelor's degree in political science and a master's in divinity respectively) has spent his life preparing for his current responsibilities. Initially, the son of author Cecelia Williams Bryant and Bishop John Bryant was determined to choose a career path distinct from that of his father. So he pursued an interest in international relations, traveling to Liberia, Sierra Leone, Gabon, Haiti, South Africa, the Ivory Coast, Nigeria, Paris and London. But his work with community organizers abroad inspired him to pursue careers in both the ministry and advocacy, both of which he now sees as inexorably linked. 

Bryant's current job requires adhering to a rigorous schedule of travel, public speaking, sermonizing and persuading young people not only to hear the word of God, but to actualize their faith by joining the NAACP. The young pastor admits that sometimes it is more demanding than he had anticipated. Nevertheless, he remains unwaveringly dedicated. 

I've committed my life to this association, he says, seated behind the large desk in his spacious, spotless office at the NAACP's national headquarters in Baltimore. The voice he uses in normal discourse is so calm and metered it bares no trace of the thunder that electrifies his oratory.  

My goal is to be a leader and a voice for this generation, he says. If the NAACP is not viable [in the future], I will take full responsibility.  

It is an ambitious goal for someone so young, but already Bryant's voice has attracted hundreds of young people to the NAACP. Recent speaking engagements in Brooklyn, Los Angeles and West Palm Beach have drawn crowds ranging from several dozen to several hundred. Colleagues like Adrienne Wilson, 27, coordinator of the NAACP's Back to School Stay in School program, describe Bryant as a great person to work with. According to her, one of his special talents, as demonstrated by his Escape from Jurassic Park sermon, is crafting the NAACP message in terms that appeal to young people. 

He is encouraging and motivating, Wilson says. He is full of knowledge, bright, and he takes a very aggressive approach [to his work]. He also has a sincere heart about working with young people.  
Bryant is particularly focused on drawing more college students into the NAACP. Since he assumed the youth and college directorship in May 1996, 350 NAACP chapters have been formed on college campuses around the country .The chapters are engaged in a variety of activities, from efforts to divert teens from joining gangs, to organizing pro-affirmative action campaigns. 

The youth department [of the NAACP] is so important because we will impact the future of this organization, Bryant says. Teenagers are looking for a sense of belonging, a group sense of identity. We are saying, if you want belonging...if you're looking for a way to make an impact... if you're looking for a way to give back, then this is a place.  

Beyond encouraging college students to join the NAACP dues are $3 for members age 24 or under ($8 for those subscribing to the NAACP's Crisis magazine) Bryant wants them to become activists. Toward this end, he is developing programs aimed at improving the lives of African American youth. 

In addition to programs on entrepreneurship and prison ministry, Bryant's largest program is a campaign called Stop the Violence, Start the Love. Each participating youth chapter is managed at the grass roots level and is allowed to tailor its program to the needs of the local constituency. Bryant and the national staff offer guidelines and support. 

Bryant's own journey of activism began while he was at Morehouse, where he helped organize a campaign to support Black-owned businesses in Atlanta in the wake of the Rodney King beating. The local NAACP Chapter assisted by lending the students its offices. 

That experience helped me realize the NAACP is not just something historical, as much as it is something relevant. Bryant believes that the current trend of apathy among college students can be reversed with the proper leadership, leadership he and the NAACP are determined to provide. 

Young people are waiting and looking for something to happen...the mantle is thrust onto us, he says. This is the first time, in the history of civil rights, that the NAACP is without a national peer. There is no viable national Black Panther Party, or SNCC or SCLC. The NAACP is, in a sense, the last man standing.