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February 2, 2014 6:39 pm

Going off on a tangent

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It’s happened to me many a time: I pick up on something said in a sermon, and that opens up a whole new track of thought which may well be unrelated to the sermon. Today, someone mentioned to me that they had to force their attention back onto the sermon. It’s natural to feel that tinge of guilt. After all, you came to church for the service, and part of that service is the sermon, so you really should listen to it attentively, shouldn’t you?

tangent

Photo: Wikimedia user Cmglee, reused under CC License

If you’ve ever felt that guilt, here are a few questions you can ask yourself:

Is the sermon the only way, or the best way you can find out about God?

This is a serious theological question. Sermons are useful; this much should be true (or else there’s little point in listening to them altogether). Still, if there are other ways in which God talks to you – if you believe that the Holy Spirit is still inspiring you (and not simply whoever is preaching), then why should you dismiss tangents? After all, it might well be that your attention is drawn to a specific point of the sermon through His inspiration. Struggling to focus back onto the sermon is then denying this power!

Are all the members of the congregation meant to receive the exact same experience?

We are all different in the way we understand, or at least relate to some truths spoken in sermons. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that dismissing parts of the sermon as “not for me” is right, or justified. But when something speaks to you and you start connecting dots, that’s when you’re properly hearing the sermon. Refusing to do so on the basis that you might miss out on the next bit is playing it safe. Because, when you think about it, you’re not giving what you hear space to affect you.

Is the sermon addressing your mind, or is it directed at your heart and soul too?

I don’t know about you, but my mind can follow a sermon more easily than my heart can grasp its implications. This is also true for going off on a tangent, mind you – as my mind will make leaps and bounds that sometimes even defy basic logic. Still, when I go on a tangent, it is usually because something that was said resonated within my heart and soul.

So if you see the sermon as feeding you holistically, I reckon following the tangents isn’t that bad a thing to do. But then, you might see a sermon as something that’s only meant to feed the head – or as an exercise where structure and curricula that span many weeks matter more than how the sermon transforms you.

Is it even possible to hold on to everything?

Sermons are fast. Very fast. The traditional structure is three points; but that’s generally for 15 minute sermons – 45 minute talks are usually replete with sub-points. That means going through three (or more) deep issues in under 5 minutes each. Now that’s a very quick pace, so I shouldn’t worry if I missed some part of it. Better to hold on to one thing well than to fill your pockets with tons of crumbs. (yay for mixed metaphors!)

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Now, that being said, there are some practical considerations to take into account, too:

Will you use what is discussed in the sermon for further discussion (for instance, in small groups?) 

If so, then it might be crucial that you can recall what is being said – especially if you’re meant to lead such discussion. But in most cases, there are ways to catch up.

Is there a way for you to listen back to the sermon later?

Most churches now provide either transcripts of sermons or audio recordings on their website. So you can always catch up on what you missed because you went off on a tangent. And even if they don’t, why not simply ask the preacher for their notes?

What are your thoughts drifting towards?

I don’t mean this post to be an all-encompassing excuse to allow my thoughts to drift towards my lesson-planning, or towards my grocery shopping. My thoughts do sometimes jump to these mundane tasks – but it is easy to see that such thoughts are completely unrelated to what was said in the first place. Maybe in such cases, it’s worth focusing back on the sermon!

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January 5, 2014 8:03 pm

2013 at Ed’s Slipper

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newyear

Photo: Sally M, reused under CC license

2012’s most popular posts were mostly silly comparisons. Attempts to be funny/quirky didn’t stop in 2013, but they were far less successful than in 2012. Only the most popular funny post just about fails to make it to the top 5. Rather, 2013 was ripe with more serious discussion. The most popular post, Are Christian Unions detrimental to the furthering of the Kingdom? suggests that there can be too much of a focus on evangelism; but I fear the suggestions I make fall very short of the issue raised.

On a more positive note, all other posts in the top 5 are affirming, to some extent at least: it is normal to find some passages of the Bible boring; or to not be 100% pleased with a new church; and it is sometimes difficult to rely on God, but some things help. I think, ultimately, if there were one thing I’d want people to be reminded of by reading this blog, it is this: we all struggle. It is natural to do so. So let’s not hide our struggles away, as if they were something immune to grace.

And it’s in that view that I tried to encourage guest posts this year. One even made it to the top 5. People who wrote guest posts started their own blogs (see Joe’s blog and Dorian’s blog). And I’d like to continue that in 2014: I’d like to keep on telling people that, just because someone writes a blog, it doesn’t mean they’re perfect – look at me, I’m far from clued up on predestination. But none of us are, and it is through talking that we stop putting our faith in a bushel. Even when we use mixed, or dubious metaphors. So if you’d like to write a guest post on here, get in touch (and if you don’t know how, leave a comment below).

This year also saw this blog’s first interview – with none other than Ben Reed. If you are in any way, shape or form, dealing with small groups, I would heartily recommend you pick  up his book (print version now available).

As much as 2013 was different from 2012, so will 2014 not be a repeat of 2013. I think I will focus on notions of denominations, ecumenism and Christian identity – as I have already started doing so recently.

To finish on a light note, here are some search queries people have genuinely used to access this blog (find last year’s here):

  • is it essential to put slipper in church – yes. Otherwise your feet would get cold. Unless it’s a carpeted church, or floor-heating cathedral. But still. Slippers are stylish. And useful if the preacher brings up predestination.
  • people are like tea. That’s an anti-Calvinist statement if I ever saw one. I mean, this is in clear contradiction with the doctrine of total depravation. People are like coffee, that’d work better within the realms of that doctrine.
  • boxing evangelsim. (typo included). Well, that’s one form of evangelism I haven’t seen yet and it does give a whole new dimension to Bible-bashing.
  • list of things that isn’t in the bible. I think, brother, that’ll be a loooooooong list.
  • predestination made me feel unworthy. Cranmer had foreseen this. Oh, wait. Does that mean you were predestined to feel unworthy?
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November 17, 2013 10:55 pm

Lessons from teaching: fairness

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So I’ve now been teaching for a few months. I know, scary thought, right? And it is a steep learning curve, for sure – both in terms of actual teaching strategies and in terms of learning about human nature: children are much more direct and speak from the heart more easily than grown-ups. Here are a few things I gleaned while teaching.

lft-fairness

Photo: Wikimedia user Dmvward, under CC license

1. The potter/clay argument will only be grudgingly accepted. As a teacher, I am given full authority to give detention or extra work, etc.; and that authority is (mostly) accepted, but there are still claims that I’m being unfair.

2. Complete fairness requires complete knowledge. If I don’t know who was talking, or who threw a paper ball at me (oh, but I will find out), I am in no position to hand out detention for it. But what this also means is that I cannot be the judge of someone else’s fairness without having the same information that they have.

3. Rules are a good support for behavioural improvement. If students aren’t aware that they’re not meant to throw pens to each other, they will most likely do it at some point.

4. Equally, the absence of explicit rules is no excuse for all forms of misbehaviour: there is an intimate knowledge that some forms of behaviour (e.g., fighting, talking out loud, etc.) are not acceptable. Not being told about the specifics of these rules does not mean there should be no consequence to physical violence in the classroom.

5. As a figure of authority, I am expected to intervene and be the judge in all situations – even those I have nothing to do with (a previously allegedly stolen pen, for instance). There is a natural yearning for judgement

6. Forgiveness is an alien concept to the human mind. Especially when it concerns others. Students often think others should be punished (though they don’t always go to the lengths of telling on them) – after all, why should they put in the effort if others can cruise by? Yet even when it’s about themselves, rather than thinking they are forgiven, students think that they are being let off or that they just got lucky. While it is sometimes the case that I didn’t catch them misbehaving, there are clear cases of deliberate forgiveness.

7. People had rather everyone were punished than everyone be left off the hook. Some of my students have told me I was being too nice, including to them! Does that mean we are all deeply aware of our fallen nature?

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May 26, 2013 4:45 pm

What are your views?

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This has the appearance of an inviting question. One where whoever is asking is interested in what the other person’s position in a debate. I’ve been asked that question on a variety of occasions.

On same-sex marriage.

On predestination.

On transubstantiation.

On pre- or post-lactarianism.

nametag

Asking it, though, is making a double statement. On the one side, when I ask it, I admit that other views than my own are held. There’s little surprise, then, that people tend to enquire about my views on divisive issues.

But on the other side, when I hear someone answer that question, one of two things happen. Either they seem to fall on “my” side of the debate and I think “great” and get excited that someone agrees with me. Or they hold a different view, and then I directly consider that other view as something which is essentially alien. I box it in as “the opinion of someone else”, which does not affect me at all. I end up only using it to label the other person as a defender of “the other side” and, once I’ve done that, I can use that label as an excuse to dismiss anything they might have to say.

It’s a natural tendency we have always had. We try to form bonds and to associate with those who agree with us. We tend to listen to those who agree with us, and to build walls against those who disagree with us. But if we keep on doing that – and in a connected world, it is much easier to do so – we will never truly communicate.

Of course, there are sometimes legitimate reasons for you to ask about my views; or for me to ask about your views. But in those cases, the phrasing is awkward at best, and at its worst, it encourages the subconscious use of labels and the dismissal of their answer – from the moment onwards when I’ve found a label to attach them to.

So if I want to make you a cup of tea just the way you like it, I might ask “How do you take your tea?”, rather than “What are your views on pre- or post-lactarianism?” (1). If I have a hard time understanding how a loving God might predestine some people to hell; and how an almighty God leaves room for free will; I might just state those problems and ask “Can you help me to understand this?” rather than ask “What are your views on predestination?” In short, involve yourself in the conversation.

And if you’re on the receiving end of a “what are your views” question, be careful not to box yourself in. Do not start the answer as “I’m a Calvinist” or “I’m an Arminian” (I sometimes do, but that’s as a last recourse), and avoid being put in a box. Resist answering the question and ask why they are asking the question. Involve them (and their views). A deep, meaningful conversation is quite likely to follow.

If we are called to unity (in diversity!) let’s not try to create dividing lines where they are unnecessary and unhelpful. Let us speak with one another, informing one another in love.

So in the coming week, why not try to make sure that when you’re asking someone for their views on an issue, you’re not just trying to box them in?

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(1) By the way, unless the tea is brewed in the mug, only pre-lactarianism is correct. But we must show mercy to the unenlightened post-lactarians.

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March 31, 2013 3:20 pm

The Anecdote

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Next week, I’m preaching for the second time (you can listen to my first go here). And while one would assume that the experience should make it easier and less daunting, it doesn’t. There are many circumstantial reasons for this:

  • a lot less prep time (“only” 2 weeks’ notice this time round)
  • I don’t have the excuse of it being my first time as a safety net
  • The lectionary falls on Acts. Which is great, but it was a lot easier to just go with the message already spelled out in the Epistle last time (using the Gospel passage as a hook into that). This time, the sermon can take a fair amount of directions, and it’s a bit harder to pick one and stick with one.

Crucially, though – I have been given advice. It came in two forms: one was on the back of a conversation (of which, in fairness, I probably only remember the least useful bits!), and was given relatively independently of the passages: that I should pitch the sermon in the context of Easter. Because that’s “where people were going to be”. Probably great advice, the only issue is, I’m not quite sure what that means: after Easter Sunday, should we consider people to be on the road to Emmaus? Or further along the road, with the resurrection properly sunk in? Or should I wait until the Ascension for that*? Should I preach to both Peter and Thomas called Didymus?

anecdote

Photo: THOR, reused under CC license

The Joke, The Anecdote and The Three-Part Structure: the Trinity of sermon-writing?

And as I’m trying to weave the church calendar into the sermon, I’m also reminded of the various pieces of advice that are, seemingly, valid for all sermons. You find them in books on sermon-writing (among which the two David Day ones are very helpful). That there should be a joke, and an anecdote, to pepper the whole tedious business for our yawning congregations. Thankfully, though, the abuses of the practice of The Joke, which ended up unrelated to the sermon, have been put to light and it seems that this is far less common now. I think the same goes for the anecdote.

Writing the sermon, I was scratching my head, trying to think of an anecdote to tell which was fitting to the sermon, but finding I probably do not have any to offer. This was a real block to the writing process. Once I realised that I didn’t need an anecdote as such, I was freed to let the sermon flow.

There is a real risk in giving rules about what sermons should include: that we end up seeing  helpful rules as a compulsory system, and that The Anecdote becomes The Joke: forced, stale, and potentially worse, what people focus on and retain from the sermon. I would even argue that if it does not come naturally into the sermon, that is, without trying to fit one in, then an anecdote is detrimental to the quality of the sermon: it makes it bitty at best, self-contradictory at worst. (But yeah, if it does fit in naturally, then it makes the sermon all the more powerful and relevant!) So maybe there will be one in my sermon, but I don’t aim to include one at all costs.

Dead to rules, alive to the Bible

Despite this, I do believe one of the rules of sermon-writing should be upheld and observed at all times: preach from the text (rather than from a hypothetical point you’re trying to make). That rule can be applied, because it influences the entirety of the sermon, not just one part of it or its structure. And because it directs us to a source, it helps us avoid Bible-hopping.

I thought I had nothing to say about these two passages. Then I started to write, trying  to explain what was happening in either of the passages, and what was surprising. And a mini-structure  for the sermon just appeared. That’s what preaching from the text means: letting it guide you on a journey whose destination you don’t quite know yet.

This complete dependence on Scripture explains why it is so daunting to preach: these are powerful words we are wielding. And I hope I always tackle preaching with that same fear – that I never become blasé about what I’m preaching from. But at the same time, it is incredibly reassuring: because Scripture supports our preaching; and, relying on it, there’s no way to go terribly wrong!

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* That said, I love the church calendar, and love using it. But that’s for another post!

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