Category: Preaching (Page 1 of 24)

Okay, I’ve got a new little weird obsession that I’m really excited about. I am substituting the word “sermon” or “preaching” whenever I see the word “poem” or “poetry” and it is opening my heart to new ways of expressing what it’s like to be a preacher. The exhilarating anticipation. The tyranny of the Sunday sermon. The dread. The burden. The indescribable joy and blessing. The honor. The eternal power of the Word that is impossible to harness. The frustration. The surprise. Poetry and sermons have much in common, and so do those who write them.

I’ve come across a short poem from someone named Bill Knot. The poem is entitled “To Myself.” The first word is “poetry,” which I have changed to “preaching.”

Poetry
can be
that magic
carpet

which you say
you want,
but only
if you

stand willing
to pull
the rug out

from under
your own
feet daily.

Doesn’t this poem speak deeply to the sense of adventure there is in preaching? Yes. The mystery. The possibility. The certainty that your apple cart is going to get turned over without warning. The paradox of entering a sacred text hopeful for answers, only to come away with more questions. Continually feeling off balance. Daily.

Peace,

Allan

I was recently introduced to a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye entitled “Valentine for Ernest Mann.” I know nothing about the poet or the context of the poem or the title. But the poem struck me as important truth. It’s about poems and poetry but, more than that, it’s about life and living. It’s about perspective and intentionality. Oh, it’s good.

While reflecting on the truth contained in these short verses, I naturally thought about preaching. And sermons. I replaced the word “poem” in the composition with the word “sermon,” and the whole thing became more profound and much more personal.

Here it is, with my unauthorized substitutions. Where you see the word “sermon,” Nye used the word “poem.” Same thing, in many ways.

You can’t order a sermon like you order a taco.
Walk up to  the counter, say, “I’ll take two”
and expect it to be handed back to you
on a shiny plate.

Still, I like your spirit.
Anyone who says, “Here’s my address,
write me a sermon,” deserves something in reply.
So I’ll tell you a secret instead:
sermons hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.

Once I knew a man who gave his wife
two skunks for a valentine.
He couldn’t understand why she was crying.
“I thought they had such beautiful eyes.”

And he was serious. He was a serious man
who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly
just because the world said so. He really
liked those skunks. So, he re-invented them
as valentines and they became beautiful.
At least, to him. And the sermons that had been hiding
in the eyes of the skunks for centuries
crawled out and curled up at his feet.

Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us,
we find sermons. Check your garage, the odd sock
in your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite.

And let me know.

I pray this poem inspires you like it does me, to commit to “live in a way that lets us find” the sermons and the poems that are hiding all around us in plain sight.

Peace,

Allan

Here’s the last thing in this short series of posts about preachers, myself in particular, and all preachers generally. These thoughts have come from reflection and introspection I’ve done generally over the past 17 years and specifically over the past five or six weeks as to why I keep doing what I do. I pray these thoughts have helped you better understand me. If I’m not your preacher, I hope they help you better relate to your preacher at your church.

The preacher is a member of your congregation. He is not a hired gun brought in to preach and grow the church, he is not a fundraiser or a change-agent, and he is not a motivational speaker. He and his family are committed members of your congregation.

The preacher does not enter the pulpit on Sundays from a secret door backstage or sit by himself on the front pew until it’s time for him to perform. The preacher is a fully invested and equal member of the church body. He rises from the midst of the congregation to proclaim what the church believes and what the church needs to hear. Typically, the preacher has moved his whole family to this town to be a member of this church and to give himself to the relationships and the mission of this church.

He is gifted by God and ordained by his fellow Christ-followers to faithfully study and pray and speak his Word to them. As one of them. He challenges them and teaches them; they keep him straight and encourage him. It’s a partnership. He worships and serves and shares life with the other members of the community of faith. He needs the church as much as they need him. As much as we need each other. It’s not a one-way deal.

Peace,

Allan

The sermon is not a cat video or an epic fail or an advertisement for another new and improved product you just have to have. It is the holy Word of God, proclaimed to the holy people of God, as an act of faith in God. It’s a miracle, really.

It kind of works like the sacraments, I think. Not exactly, but similarly. The sermon is human words spoken by human lips, but those words and those lips are indwelled by God. God works through the proclaimed words to communicate the realities of his love and grace. It’s divine speech. God’s will, his character, his mission, his desires–it’s directly revealed to us by God through the preacher.

It’s not a lecture, not a book report, not somebody telling you what to do, not somebody giving you new information. It’s a direct message from our holy Lord. Preaching is not us talking about God; it is God talking directly to us.

As such, the hearer should come into a sermon prepared to hear that Word from our God. The hearer should have already read and prayed through the sermon text before Sunday, anticipating that the Lord will speak to her or him. There should be an expectation. There should be an openness and eagerness to receive what God wants to give through the sermon. I tell people all the time that the sermon is just as much about the posture and attitude of the hearer as it is about the preacher or the words he speaks or the style in which he or she preaches.

The Sunday sermon is a holy moment of direct communication between the present God and his redeemed people. I wish more of us came to church each week with that understanding.

Peace,

Allan