Preaching and Pride: A Deadly Terrain

Did you see the opening battle scene in Saving Private Ryan?  Imagine the most frightening and dangerous terrain from any war movie.  What if pride be the threat and preaching be the mission?  Uh-oh, it looks dangerous:

1. Preaching involves speaking to others about their lives.  Of course it can be “we” rather than just “you” (as if you are the finished product!), but even so, there is massive temptation to pride when being the dispenser of spiritual input.

2. You might be effective as a preacher.  This doesn’t help because you will then receive affirmation and even admiration from people helped by your ministry.  Warning!

3. You might be rubbish as a preacher, but never fear, there are plenty of people who will be polite and affirm your ministry anyway.  False affirmation and feedback is a frequent feature of church lobbies and doorways.

4. You might be trained, equipped and well-informed.  That might mean numerous years of high level academic training.  Or it might mean you read a book during preparation.  Either way, you may be, or perceive yourself to be, beyond others in your knowledge.  Knowledge puffs up, careful!

5. Up-front ministry will get kudos other ministries won’t.  So you’re up front in the church.  People will talk to you and about you and they will see you and they know you.  A ridiculously low-level celebrity status awaits everyone who steps into a pulpit.  Warning!

6. What if you see lives change “under your ministry”?  That’s a scary thought, since you might think you achieved that.

7. The enemy would love to see you believing the hype.  Was it Spurgeon that was approached by a congregant and told that was the best sermon she’d ever heard, only to reply, “The Devil has already told me that.”

8. Public speaking presents continual opportunity to perform, or as we might say to children, “show off.”  Listen to me, see what I know, watch as I impress you with my Greek, or cultural awareness, or translation critique, or ministry experience, or name drop, or … warning!

9. You are not yet glorified, so your flesh is still pre-programmed with a prideful operating system.  So you are not immune to any of this.

10. You may find it hard to have genuine close friendships since you are in a position of influence, so you will be lonely and vulnerable while everybody affirms and endorses your spirituality.

11. You may find yourself, or put yourself, in a separate spiritual category to everyone else.  Sort of a clerical bubble that promises immunity from spiritual struggle, but guarantees a greater exposure to the attractive fruit of temptation.

12. There are probably a dozen more reasons that pride may be lurking behind every pew as you stand to preach.

To be honest, I think the terrain looks absolutely frightening, terrifying, a deadly terrain and the only way to go there is in absolute reliance on God!  Exactly.

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The Relevance of the Reading

Sometimes, in some services, you may choose to have a reading that is not the text you will be primarily preaching. For example:

1. To lay a foundation from an earlier and informing text – Perhaps your New Testament passage leans heavily on an Old Testament passage, so you read it for the sake of familiarity once you are explaining the connection during the sermon.

2. To avoid giving away the “tension” when preaching a narrative – Perhaps your sermon reflects the tension and resolution of a good narrative, so you want to avoid a recent reminder of how things work out in the end.  So you read something vaguely supportive of a theme in the sermon.

3. To support an earlier “phase” of the service – Perhaps you, or the worship team, have designed the service to flow through a greater sequence, of which the sermon is only a part.  Consequently the reading of the Bible earlier in the service is intended to fit with the songs around it, rather than as the sermon text.

4. To be appropriate to the day in the church calendar – Perhaps it is Trinity Sunday, or Pentecost, or Reformation Day, or whatever.  So you read a relevant passage, but then proceed to preach a message that may be only indirectly connected, or may be completely unrelated.

5. Because you were assigned the text, but basically intend to morph the message into a passage you are ready to preach – So you read the assigned text, but then do a couple of swift moves in your introduction to move into the sermon of your choice.

There may be other reasons too.  I tend to see the first three as being more legitimate rationale for this practice than the last couple, but that is not the point of this post.  What is?

If there is any possibility of doubt or confusion for the listener . . . explain!  Seems simple enough, but it is amazing how often we lead services and expect people to grasp the master plan of our clever service design through some sort of mind-reading or osmosis.  It may not matter if people get the full riches of your artistry.  On the other hand, if they are confused by it, then it is probably counter productive.

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If You Must Take Notes

I have written before about studies I’ve read that show the best way to take notes as a listener is to listen wholeheartedly and then pause immediately after the message to write down highlights for a few minutes.  This is so much better than trying to take notes and therefore always listening with half an ear to what is being said as you also use mental energy on processing the information onto paper.

The thing about taking notes is that it usually translates into a desire to primarily capture content.  People passionately pursue a record of the points, perhaps listing cross-references and occasionally (if you’re blessed with a good preacher), writing down the main idea of the message.  This secretarial quest supposedly then supplies a useful written record for later review and reprocessing of the message in the quietness of private quiet time.

What if the goal of preaching is not primarily information transfer?  What if preaching is about much more than education?  What if preaching is about encountering God in His Word and responding to Him, being transformed by Him, and seeing His Word applied in your life?

If you must take notes, how about trying this “holistic applicational” approach to note taking?

Divide your blank sheet into three equal columns.  At the top of each column write A, B, C, or if you’re a doodler, draw a heart, a head and two hands.

In the A column make notes on how the message you are hearing is marking your affections, your heart.  How is it stirring you to respond to God?  How does it make you feel?  How are your values and emotions and passions and desires being affected?  If there’s nothing to write in this column, see if you can put something in the next column.

In the B column make notes on how the message you are hearing is shaping your beliefs, your thinking.  How is it informing your worldview?  What are you learning about God, about life, and the Bible, etc.?  How is your thinking being changed?  If there’s nothing to write in this column, see if you can at least put something in the next column.

In the C column make notes on how the message you are hearing is guiding your conduct.  How is it applicable in your daily life?  What practical, tangible, measurable steps can you take in response to this message?  How will your life look different from the outside?  If there’s nothing to write in this column either, pray for your preacher to recognize that preaching is more than covering familiar ancient territory in an un-engaging manner!

Ideally, a good sermon will offer all three columns something helpful.  Too many sermons would be purely right column, or contradictory between columns (i.e.practical steps offered in column C, perhaps some information for column B, but a big fat “it’s making me feel bored, or guilty, or pressured” in column A!)

Oh, but where can we fit in the informational stuff, the outline, the cross-references?  Hopefully your sheet would be either so full that you have no space for it, or so empty because you are genuinely engaged and forget the paper, but in reality I’m sure you’ll squeeze it in somewhere!

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The Non-Definitive Sermon

I think we all have a tendency to want to give the definitive sermon when we preach.  But maybe we shouldn’t.  And probably we can’t.

On Saturday I was asked to speak on prayer and fasting.  I decided not to try to be definitive or exhaustive.  Instead I chose a foundational and central truth and then preached that with the aim of marking the listeners with that truth.  In this case I chose to survey briefly the writers of the New Testament to hear a consistent witness to the “loving Father” aspect of prayer that I had chosen to emphasise.  I covered fasting in about a paragraph at the end.

Definitive?  Not at all.  Helpful?  Hopefully.

By choosing to preach this message as I did, I was choosing not to say so much.  I didn’t mention repentance or thanksgiving, or worship, three key aspects of a healthy prayer life.  I didn’t get into aspects of spiritual warfare, or do close analysis of biblical prayers.  I didn’t fully engage with the challenges of unanswered prayer.  I gave fasting only a cursory mention (although seemingly satisfying to people if feedback is anything to go by).  It wasn’t definitive, it wasn’t meant to be.

Instead I tried to drive home the main idea of the message and hope that people will build on that in the future.  I would like to take that foundation and build a series, but it was a one-off opportunity on this occasion.

So why didn’t I try to cover all these vital elements of prayer?  Because a message that tries to do everything often achieves nothing.  It is like the difference between a bed of nails and a single nail.  The bed of nails may be impressive, but it leaves a superficial impression.  The single nail will penetrate.  In preaching terms, the single main idea arrow will cut to the heart more consistently than the exhaustive sermon’s magazine of smaller artillery.

Let’s not overestimate what can be accomplished in a single sermon, so that we do not underachieve by overpreaching.  Preach specifically to penetrate substantially.

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Father’s Day Preaching: Good Man, or Good God?

Just a quick post as Father’s Day is approaching (at least in the US and UK).  If you are preaching this weekend, what are you preaching?

Are you preaching about how to be a good man?  Or are you preaching a Christian message?  Uh?  Ok, deliberately inflammatory way of phrasing it, but still, let’s ponder it.  How often do we take a God-centred Bible text (for it all is), and turn it into a man-centred moral tale?  I suppose Father’s Day is a really ripe opportunity to preach moralism, or to preach legalism, or to preach sanctified humanism.

Be like Abraham.  Don’t be like Abraham. Be like Jairus.  Don’t be like David.  Be like Joseph.  Be good.  Try harder.  Be better.  Demonstrate discipline.  Have integrity. Don’t fail.  Do try.  Don’t fall short.  Do be perfect.

But with all the plethora of possible Father’s Day narratives, let’s not miss that God is involved in every one of them.  The Bible is not an anthology of tales with morals to put Aesop in the shadows.  The Bible is the revelation of God’s heart and human response to that.  By all means preach of a human father, good or bad.  Affirm, encourage, train and exhort the Dads in the congregation.  But do so in the context of a life of faith.  No child should have to cope with a father who is good in his own strength.

Oh, and there’s the greater dimension behind it all.  God knows what a Father should be, because He has always been just that.  Not just for our sake.  Not a temporary mask for the sake of puny humanity.  Not a functional label hiding an entirely unknowable reality.  God knows what it is to be Father and what it is to be Son, for He is eternally both.  Why not let your church taste of the gripping reality of God as Trinity this Sunday?  Surely nothing can lift the hearts of fathers like a glimpse of the true Father.

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Father’s Day Post: What To Ask The Children

Coming home from church at Sunday lunch time is a regular opportunity to chat with the children.  Have we forgotten anyone?  How was Sunday School?  What did you learn?  All the normal interrogatives to engage the next generation after a morning of church.

But what about after the sermon?  What should I ask?  There are several options:

1. What did you learn?  This is the Sunday School question transferred to the church service.  Perhaps it implies that preaching is primarily educative.  Perhaps it suggests that the goal of the listener is to be intellectually stimulated by the preaching of the Word so that they come away better informed.  Certainly this is a fair question and there is a content to the Christian faith that makes the question worthwhile.  I suspect children of experiential meditative religions don’t get asked what they learned after visiting the temple.  And I suppose sometimes it is the only question I suspect might get anything out of the children.  But having said that, this shouldn’t be the only question to ask, for education is not the only goal in preaching.

2. How did the sermon change you?  I suppose this is a worthwhile question since church is meant to be transformative rather than merely repetitive.  On the one hand this question might train an expectation of transformation at the hearing of God’s Word.  On the other hand, it might fan the flames of self-focus that is the scourge of fallen humanity.  Perhaps the question can be modified slightly, “how did the sermon change you in response to Christ?”

3. How did the sermon make you feel?  This is a riskier question when the answer might easily be “bored” or “sleepy.” But contrary to popular opinion, it is a legitimate question.  God didn’t just design our brains, but also our emotions. Every sermon will have an “affect” on us.  Sadly, too many will numb souls, rather than igniting hearts with fire in response to the love of God. Too many sermons will depress the listeners, rather than stirring deep within the kind of passion for God that is only fitting for those who hear His Word preached.

Too often I only feel comfortable asking the first question.  Perhaps this is something for preachers to ponder, as well as Dads.

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Why Preach From There?

As someone who preaches in a variety of churches and settings, I often find myself evaluating a preaching position.  I was recently in the friendliest little countryside chapel that just happened to have the highest pulpit platform I’ve seen in a long time.  Why preach from all the way up there?

Elevation Intimidation – If I were to preach from up there I would be implying several things.  For one, there is authority when spoken from on high.  But on the other hand, there is also a sense of intimidation.  A sense of separation between the lofty preacher and the humble listeners.

Distant Proclamation – In other venues the front three rows are empty and the pulpit is then back some distance.  Again, it is a position of authority, but there is also the sense of interpersonal distance.  If my goal is to be an aloof expert, that is fine.  But if I want to increase the sense of connection in the communication event, perhaps I need to preach from closer (and on the same level avoids the elevation issues mentioned above).

Obstructed Communication – In most venues there is a barricade, a pile of rubble and barrels that obscure the preacher from the listener.  Really?  Ok, maybe not specifically that, but the big old wooden pulpit monument functions in the same way.  Authority?  Sure.  But what about the inevitable distance that obstruction puts into communication?  Try having a meaningful conversation through a door, or a wall.  Now cut a hole so you can see just the upper torso and head…still feels weird.

If our goal is to connect and communicate, then we must consider where we preach from, and why.

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What If?

Thankfully most churches do not descend into the superficiality of contemporary TV games shows.  Now I would be highly relevant and refer to one, but I don’t watch any, so I’ll have to be slightly generic.  Imagine for a moment that your church instituted a new slot in the church service. . .

Each week two preachers take turns to give the opening five minutes of their sermon.  Then the audience get to vote for which sermon they get to hear that day.  Perhaps the losing introduction gets less travel expenses.  Perhaps the church could install a praise-o-meter and the selection could be made via volume of singing in two subsequent songs.  Ok, enough of that.

Thankfully most churches don’t descend to such a level.  We have a bit more of an appropriate atmosphere and ethos around the worship time and the sermon.  Or do we?

Even without the flashing lights of the praise-o-meter, or the host with his “able assistant,” or the hype of a vote, something similar does happen each week.  At the end of the introduction, each listener chooses whether they will engage or disengage for the rest of the message.  Few, if any, will leave.  But many may leave internally, heading for the golf course, or the weekly to-do list, or the forthcoming interview, or whatever.  In fact, by the end of the introduction, many leavers will already be long gone.  The first moments and minutes of a message are so vital!

Preaching is no game.  But let’s not neglect the importance of arresting attention, surfacing a need, engaging the listener, demonstrating earliest possible relevance of speaker, text and message.  Don’t depend on their dutiful commitment to listen to the Word.  Win them so they can’t help themselves!

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Facing a Phrase Unneeded

When I listen to others preach, there are a handful of phrases that always stir a little reaction inside me.  One is, “of course we all know…” or variants.  “I’m sure you know the story of…” or “To quote a verse you probably have memorised…” or similar.

Why do people say this?  I think it is about a sort of humility.  It is a shorthand way of saying, “I know many of you have been Christians for many years and I am nervous, if I am honest, that I am not bringing anything new to the church today, so since my message is the same old same old, I’m going to pre-empt your critique that it was all the same old stuff by acknowledging that as I preach…”  That would be cumbersome, so “As we all know…” it is, then.  Hang on.  Perhaps that family of phrases is unhelpful.

What if somebody doesn’t know it?  We live in an age of increasing biblical illiteracy.  People in our churches do not know their Bibles, generally speaking, as church goers may have done a generation or three ago.  Giving the impression that everyone in the church knows something can be very unhelpful for the individual who doesn’t know that (uncomfortable to be the odd one out, even if actually there are many in the same boat, they will all feel alone at this moment)!  Which leads on to a second point…

What if somebody is visiting?  Chances are, an outsider is already feeling like an alien who has unknowingly landed on a different planet as they try to figure out the customs and culture of this thing called church.  Don’t add to it by making them feel stupid because they don’t know what “we all know.”  But there’s another reason I’d like to throw in here too:

Is the Bible really same old same old?  Absolutely not!  If you think it is, don’t preach it, please.  The ancient documents collected together that we call the Bible is more fresh and alive and new and relevant and powerful and engaging and poignant and stirring that today’s newspaper headlines.  We preach it and we preach it and we preach it again because it isn’t old news.  It is fresh and relevant and more for today than anything else any of us could come up with.  So preach with enthusiasm and excitement, not just for the visitor who may well have never heard it before, but for the most tired looking saint of the decades who needs to feel the force of the freshness of the Word anew right now!

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