Category: Preaching

Hope Church associate pastor Geoff Henderson attended recently a training and evaluation gathering for men and women interested in church planting. One of the participants, he reports, was counseled to watch more TV, go to more movies, and to listen to more music, if he were to have hopes of being a successful church planter.

That sound you hear is the scoffing of (some) readers of this blog. Such counsel, they would assert, is just what is the matter with the church today. We are more concerned with relevance than we are with biblical or doctrinal fidelity, they will say. Advice like this is what has ruined the pulpit, it is asserted.

Is the scoffing justified. At times, sure. However, less often than we might imagine.

John Stott’s reputation as a faithful expositor of the biblical text is untarnished. His metaphor for the task of preaching is that of a bridge. Preaching is a task which begins in the ancient world of the biblical text and lands in the modern world in which our congregants live and work and think and play. The task of the preacher is to bring the ancient truth of the text across that bridge into the world of the hearer.

No one disputes that the preacher must be as thoroughly equipped to understand the ancient world of the biblical text as he possibly can be. He must be trained and diligent to understand the text before he can ever begin to pass it on to a modern person. That this is a weakness among many preachers has been duly noted.

However, if we make no effort to understand the modern hearer and the unique world in which he lives, we can speak all we want about the message of the text, but we will not be heard. This is Stott’s compelling point, a point which in itself is too often overlooked. We often build bridges which land no where because we do not understand the world into which we are wanting them to land.

After reading Dr. Stott make his plea for relevance, which he does very well, I was listening to several of the talks from the recent TED conference. Each of these speakers – a behavioral economist, an agricultural expert, a biologist – built bridges. Each was bringing insight from their particularly arcane fields and laying it upon the world of those to whom their insights applied. What makes these speakers so effective and captivating was their ability to help the audience see that their seemingly obscure knowledge matters to them.

We certainly have heard ‘experts’ speak about subjects concerning which they feel a great deal of passion. These subjects are often important ones. But if the speaker is unable to make the subject seem relevant, he has not built a successful bridge, we are bored.

I never want to be boring, for boredom means that I have failed to successfully connect my listener with the significance of the topic. I will have built a bridge to nowhere.

Would Stott scoff at the cultural advice given to the aspiring church planter? Certainly not. He would no doubt give such advice.

“We should be praying that God will raise up a new generation of Christian communicators who are determined to bridge the chasm; who struggle to relate God’s unchanging Word to our ever-changing world; who refuse to sacrifice truth to relevance or relevance to truth; who resolve instead in equal measure to be faithful to Scripture and pertinent to today.” (page 144)

Many, many years ago, I attended a special chapel service at a local Christian School at which a presentation was being made by a storyteller from Iowa.

A storyteller. That is not a career choice embraced by many of us. I’m not sure where one goes to get specialized training in it. All I know is that this guy was good.

For a long period of time, he kept all of us captivated with stories. Young and old listened through every dramatic pause and seeming diversion to get to the end of the story.

If at the time I’d ever heard of Garrison Keillor, it didn’t matter. Here before me was a man who with the mere force of his words and presence held us in his web. And I wanted to do that, too.

Like most ambitions for me, that one got sidetracked by life. I did ask the man for a book recommendation which would be of some aid in learning to do what he was doing. Though I bought the book, I was never able to persevere in this. I now see that to do what he did demands a large measure of acting talent of which I have none.

What, however, this experience demonstrates is the stunning power of a good story well told.

And I’m envious of those who are able to marshal such skill in the service of the preached word.

I am not an advocate of the style of preaching parodied as ‘the sky scraper sermon’ (one story upon another). Preaching is to be more than the telling of stories. There is a truth to be extracted from the Biblical text and applied meaningfully to the congregation.

However, that truth once isolated and examined will be more readily embraced when served up through the medium of a powerful story. The prophet Nathan was a wise communicator. Instead of laying out the truth of David’s unfaithfulness in stark propositional terms, he told David a simple story of a poor shepherd, a powerful lord, and a vulnerable sheep. He did not sidestep truth. Rather, he took a story as his arrow, tipped it with the poison of truth, and aimed it at David’s heart. Story carries truth home like nothing else.

They say that our media saturated culture may be immune to preaching. I think we can say that our media saturated culture is resistant to the theological lecture. But a media saturated culture may be even more vulnerable to the truth, if that truth is conveyed on the back of a story.

I still want to learn how to tell a good story. And when I do, perhaps it will be, as in the fun movie Bedtime Stories, that the stories will begin to come true.

Perhaps.

Someone, I believe it was Calvin, but I can’t be certain, once said that it would be better for the preacher to break his neck ascending the steps to the pulpit than to preach a sermon that he has not first preached to himself.

Okay. I get that. But at the risk of sounding hopelessly schizophrenic, what if I preach it to myself, and I don’t listen? That one twists me in knots.

You may not have noticed, but those of you who are in churches on Sunday are being preached to by someone who is NOT Jesus Christ. Oh, there are times he might imply otherwise, but believe me, he is not.

No one has ever mistaken me for Jesus. However, I have been called to preach the gospel, to preach what Jesus preached and to speak God’s word before a congregation of God’s people. Can a sinner do such a thing?

As preachers we represent a truth which is greater than we are. We preach a standard that exceeds our ability. We expound a word which is divine. It is all beyond us. If we are not humbled by that, then we are not really thinking carefully enough about what we are called to do.

It is right for a congregation to expect a preacher to model what he preaches. Hypocrisy in the pulpit is disheartening to a congregation and dishonoring to God and damaging to the Gospel. And yet at the same time, no man speaking God’s word will be able to completely represent, embrace, enact every truth he is expected to expound.

How dare a sinner preach? And how dare he expect others to listen? Such questions inspire two thoughts. One must be held dear by the preacher, the other must be embraced by the congregation. And both involve grace.

First, a congregation must expect its preacher to sin. They ought to judge a man’s preaching primarily by how faithfully he brings biblical truth to them. The faithfulness of his life is so important and so critical and so necessary and yet it will always fall short of the message that he preaches. Congregations must look with grace upon their pastors as fallible men who struggle with sin and belief in a way similar to other Christians.

Preachers, like other elders, certainly are held to a higher standard, and yet they are not perfect men. They will struggle and they will fail. How much struggle and failure is acceptable is worthy of debate. But preachers must be seen as men on the same road of sanctification as us all. So, look upon them with grace.

That’s the first thought. The second is this: Preachers must rest ever more heavily upon the grace of God. We must be willing to admit our struggles and our weaknesses. Our repentance must be as transparent as possible. Though we might not be able to live the commandments or even always understand all that we must about the mysteries of God, we must have no question or uncertainty about our status before the Father. We must know the gospel and find our rest in that gospel and not in the accolades of people or the supposed perfections of our lives.

Thus, no matter what we preach, our primary message is grace, because it is this gospel of God’s grace which assures us and our hearers of God’s unwavering favor. And it is this same gospel which impels us as we step down from the pulpit to live more and more for God’s glory, and not our own.

The one thing we cannot be in the pulpit is pretentious and fake.

It has been said that the pew seldom rises higher than the pulpit. That is, the passion and commitment and conviction of the hearers will not be greater than that of the preacher. If this is true, it is daunting to those of us who are aware of our grave faults.

But it as well reminds us that the ONE message which we can bring to a congregation is a message that we can preach to ourselves (and embrace) as we climb the steps of the pulpit: that message of grace which draws us to God and sends us into the world.

[This is the second in a series on preaching stimulated by John Stott’s book Between Two Worlds. It was prepared originally for the Bradenton Herald and appeared there on May 9, 2009.]

A preacher has an intriguing job. Weekly, at least, he stands in front of a group of people and tells them what to do and think. Who else (besides third world dictators) gets to do that?

And who else gets to do that with such immediate feedback? The feedback is, however, coded: “Good sermon” may mean no more than, “I agree.” “Interesting” translates as “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”

But DO we expect others to believe or agree with what preachers say? Why should preachers have any more inherent authority than, say, Rush Limbaugh?

The answer depends largely on the individual preacher, what he says, and how. But clearly if the authority of the preacher resides solely in him, then his words occupy no unique space and can be embraced or discounted according to the whims of the listener.

Perhaps the preacher derives his authority from the church in whose pulpit he stands. For a church to set a man apart implies that the body is granting to that man some authority to speak in its name. Is that sufficient? Should we accept and believe what the preacher says because of the eminence of the church behind him?

Yes, to some degree. It is better to hear from a man who has the approbation of others. But is the church that which gives the preacher’s words their ultimate authority? No.

What makes the preacher unique is that he is not, if he is doing what he is supposed to do, rehearsing his own clever ideas to impress a consenting audience. He is, rather, seeking to represent and explain the Bible.

I remember once standing before a group of Kenyan pastors who had come to hear me speak. Me. Not Billy Graham. Not John Stott. Me. My thought then was that I had nothing to say to these fine men. Nothing. Only if what I said accurately reflected Biblical truth would my words have any significance for these men. It is the Bible that gives the preacher authority.

But even to see this is not to have climbed the ladder far enough. The Bible is a book. A good book. A culturally influential book. But the preacher’s authority is grounded in this book only if we understand that this book’s author has authority. The preacher has authority because what he preaches arises from a book whose author is God himself.

To think this way has huge implications for the humility of the preacher. It has implications as well for those who hear sermons. The authority of the message resides in God. When we hear a message whose roots are in Scripture, we are not hearing a mere man speaking mere words. We are, in a very real sense, listening to God speak to us.

If I believed that, I would, as a preacher, be very careful about what I say. And if I believed that, I would, as a listener, be very excited about getting to a church on Sunday!

Ashton Kutcher has nearly two million people following him on Twitter. This means, if I understand the reports correctly, that more people follow him than follow CNN.

I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. But it seems to make his Twitter account a “Major Medium”.

This causes me to reflect upon an assertion I stumbled upon some twenty years ago. The contention was made then that among the ‘major media’ the pulpit was primary. That is, though little recognized and appreciated, the pulpit is the vehicle through which the greatest impact is made on human life and thinking.

I thought then and I think now that such a view is overly optimistic and tinged with an idealism that borders on the delusional. It ignores the fact that, for example, 1.36 billion Americans passed through the stiles of movie theaters last year. Who knows how many rent them, download them, or catch them on TV.

We get our news and entertainment on-line or on-screen. We are surrounded by schools and universities which shape and mold students apart from whatever Christian underpinnings some of them might have once had. Celebrities dominate our news (and our Twitters) and we drink from many streams of influence. Who can say what the major influences upon public thinking are. Few would include the lowly sermon in the list.

But then again, over three billion Americans passed through the doors of churches last year (take that Academy), so perhaps my skepticism is out of place.

This fact remains: there is no other medium with such a rich heritage and tradition. For 2000 years the Christian faith and life has been passed on by preaching. There have been times when the church has been at a low point, but still there were preachers. There have been times when preachers preached and immediately their sermons were printed, distributed, and read. The role of the sermon has ebbed and flowed, but it has always been there.

And it is unique.

No other medium even imagines that its message possesses a divine origin. Yet every (faithful) preacher who stands in the pulpit is intent upon opening God’s word to his congregation and therefore is seeking to bring a word from God to them. And though many have emerged from the movies or from the concert hall persuaded that their lives had been unalterably changed by what they heard or saw, when Christ is preached, lives are turned from eternal damnation to eternal life, from falsehood to truth, from an empty life to a meaningful life.

And though preaching is an ancient medium, it is gaining in relevance. In a recent unpublished document distributed among a group of pastors to which I belong, the following was noted:

‘One of the interesting phenomena noted by many writers studying the so-called emergent generation, or post-moderns, is that there is, in younger people, a hunger for deeper and more serious and authentic preaching of the Scriptures.
In the book The Emerging Church, Dan Kimball writes: “I sense a renewed hunger for theology and an interest in discussing the mysteries of God. Emerging generations are starving for depth in our teaching and preaching and will not settle for shallow answers. In his chapter on preaching in that book he says: “I know of several churches drawing hundreds and thousands of younger people in which the message is forty to fifty minutes long.”’

I am a preacher, and so I want to think that the work in which I am involved is indeed significant. I can’t claim one million Twitter followers, and only 200 or so visit my blog, and that in a good week, and most of those visit but don’t read. And yet, God has preserved his church and prospered his kingdom and persevered his people through something which seems so foolish, so mundane, so pedestrian, as preaching.

And I get to do it.

Wow.

Recently I was asked something like this: “Which individuals, living or dead, have been most influential in shaping your understanding of pastoral ministry?” A very good question, that.

To reflect upon an answer is to recognize the debt I owe to so many who will never know the contribution they have made.

A name that was immediately placed on the list was that of John R. W. Stott. Stott was an Anglican preacher and scholar (now retired) and has had a worldwide ministry through his published works and speaking engagements. He qualifies under the ‘living’ category of the above question, but obviously his impact on my life has not been the result of personal contact.

My earliest recollection of reading anything by him dates to the fall of 1978. Barb and I, newly married, were pondering seriously a perceived call to missions. So, to help us process that perception, I was reading Stott’s Christian Mission in the Modern World.

The result of those musings led us to the 1979 Urbana Missions Convention sponsored by InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. The morning Bible exposition was provided by Dr. Stott. So, for five straight days we were able to hear him preaching on the book of Romans. One could not escape his deep concern for the glory of God nor his deep respect for the integrity and content of Scripture.

As a pastor I have had the opportunity to preach through many books of the Bible. On several occasions, Dr. Stott has been my companion and guide. His commentaries (particularly I am thinking here of those on The Sermon on the Mount and Acts) always combine scholarly rigor and theological and pastoral insight and wisdom.

Through a long and careful ministry, Dr. Stott has won the respect of many. But according to David Brooks writing in the NY Times a few years ago, too many have chosen to ignore him.

Ten or fifteen years ago I bought and read Dr. Stott’s book on preaching, titled in the US Between Two Worlds: the Art of Preaching in the Twentieth Century. When one finds a mentor, it is good to spend time with that mentor. From such visits, one does not necessarily extract concrete plans and specific ideas. One may through such contact simply inherit a way of thinking and a general approach. That has been my experience of time spent with John Sott.

I chose recently to read this book again, to revisit Dr. Stott as he speaks in a passionate and personal way about the practice and power of preaching.

It has been a good, worthwhile, humbling, and challenging visit. As I’ve re-read the book, there are times I’ve had to simply go for a walk and ponder the significance of Dr. Stott’s wisdom for my own practice and approach.

These recent visits with Dr. Stott have spawned a number of reflections on the subject of preaching which I intend to post as a series for the next, oh, dozen or so Fridays. I worry that those who are not preachers will assume that these posts will be of no usefulness to them. Please do not think that. Yes, there will be much that applies to the practice of preaching. But the thread that unites it all is the nature of preaching, all the way down to the last, which I intend to entitle “The Art of Sleeping in Church.”

Though the posts will not always mention John Stott, and they will not necessarily reference the book at all, they have each of them been stimulated by the book. I picture this as you and I having conversation (which, of course, I have to initiate) after having visited with the retired master. I hope we continue, together, to learn from him.

I have been re-reading John Stott’s Between Two Worlds and benefiting afresh from this wise, compassionate servant of God. (If you don’t know Stott, you should. David Brooks gave an interesting take on Stott in the NY Times a few years ago which is as good as anything I’ve seen.)

Stott commends some kind of interaction between preacher and congregation, something more substantive than the seemingly obligatory ‘good sermon’ at the door. Over the years, off and on, I’ve encouraged sermon discussions following the preaching, but I’ve rarely led those discussions.

This past Sunday began for us a stretch during which I hope to host sermon discussions regularly through the summer. The value is already apparent.

Communication is always a tricky business. There is often a measure of distance between what a speaker says and what a hearer hears. My own children will often quote me on things that I swear I never ever said. But what I swear does not matter. What matters is what they hear. And it is the same in preaching. It does not matter what I say or what I intend to say. What is lasting is what people hear.

This Sunday I heard from some who stayed to discuss the sermon that the comfort intended by the sermon was not, or would not have been, heard by all. To know this saddens me. I’m bummed. And yet, this helps me. It helps me to aim at greater clarity and sensitivity in the future. And that is a good thing.