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How do I do that?

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When I was writing my second ever sermon, the first draft had most of what I was saying. The four steps of discipleship were there; and the one I was seeing as essential, finding God’s presence first, was there. To pick that up from the Biblical passages that were going to be read was easy enough; although getting that focus might have been slightly less straightforward.

But my first draft was seriously lacking. What wasn’t there was the list of suggestions as to how one could find God’s presence: pausing, receiving communion, praying, etc. That list got included after my curate asked me one very simple question. That question was:

“How do I do that?”

how

I was quick on my feet. I could give, more or less, the list that made it to my sermon. In short, I knew the answers; but looking back, I fell that list was rhetorical – as rhetorical as the question was. We both knew the answers. The very fact, however, that I hadn’t thought to unpack it means one of two things: either my knowledge of these was only superficial and intellectual, and I did not consider them seriously enough to consider them worthy of dwelling on; or they were integrated enough in my own life that they felt too natural to make explicit. I don’t know which one it is; I hope it is the latter rather than the former. But what matters here, as a preacher, is that for some members of the congregation, neither will apply. For these members, it is crucial that I address the How question – else, the sermon remains theoretical, unapplied, and, ultimately, dead.

Preachers, make sure that your sermon is not a succession of theological points (unless you are trying to inspire awe of God in that particular sermon!), and make  sure that for each and every point that involves your congregation, you answer – even if in some limited way – the “How” question. It can be a list. It can be a testimony. It can be something else – it doesn’t have to be exhaustive (that would just be arrogant and overly ambitious!)

You see, that “How” question is crucial because it allows theoretical, intellectual knowledge – mantras, as it were – to become effective in our lives. I was reminded of that a few weeks ago. I was talking with a friend; and in the course of conversation, I mentioned the image of someone taking on more and more bags upon his back, when he can just lay it down at the Cross.

It is a fairly common image, I’m sure. And when I first heard it, my mind was full of “Amens”. I thought the image was faithful and very well thought of, and I was content to leave it there; filing it away as something I could use later myself.

Then, my friend asked me “How do I do that?”

That was a violent question. It made me realise that I had been paying lip service to this image (which I still think is a good image), but never considered to apply it myself. In answering my friend’s question, I realised that letting go is difficult; and that something that seems simple is, sometimes, just the opposite. That night, I learned a whole lot more.

That was a raw question. In it, the deep, deep desire for my friends to let go of his worries and lay  them down at the Cross was bare. He wouldn’t have asked that question if he wasn’t filled with the all-consuming passion to actually do it. Asking “How” is not an intellectual pursuit, it becomes the outlet of our souls’ rawest desires.

Sadly, asking “How” is not that common, when it comes to spiritual things. Possibly because it makes one feel silly – after all, if it weren’t obvious, wouldn’t it have been explained already? Possibly because it engages us more than we feel comfortable with.

It shouldn’t. So start asking “How?”; you may find you are a blessing to the person who, actually, hadn’t thought to apply what he was talking about.

Marriable

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Believe it or not, that’s the title of an infamous book, which describes all the insider knowledge of relationships. At the risk of disappointing some of you, this post is not a detailed critique of a book which lists, among its female roles, “eating pickles”; and which has a chapter titled “Don’t marry your best friend unless you’re gay”. What I want to focus on, is that the authors went to the lengths of coining the word “marriable”. A ridiculous word, but why?

able

Because it suggests two things: firstly, that some people just cannot be married regardless of whether they might want to; and secondly, that once people have applied all the recommendations coming from the  book, there’s nothing more they can do; and everything that fails to happen is somebody else’s fault.

Let’s face it: the target population of Marriable (which is, incredibly, a serious book) is people who don’t wish to become marriable. They wish to become married.

It’s easy enough to notice it in such a ridiculous example; but anyone in a position of leadership is guilty of the same sin. How many of these words have you used recently?

  • understandable
  • transferable
  • applicable
  • usable
  • likeable
  • accessible

And I’m sure there’s many more. If you write your sermon so that it is understandable, or applicable, you’re stopping shy of your real aim. Rather, you should write it so that it is understood, and so that it is applied. Otherwise, you will find it easy to write independently of your congregation; and when no change happens after you have preached, the cop-out of “they just weren’t listening” is far, far too easy.

Be bold, and plan boldly.

To you who don’t think you are in a position of leadership, you’re not off the hook. Firstly, you are wrong: you are in a position of leadership, to some of your friends at least; but you may not be planning that leadership. Secondly, you are at the receiving end of these sermons. And if you start assessing a sermon in terms of its applicability, but not attempting to apply it yourself, you are not benefiting from it to its full extent.

Let’s get rid of the “-able” suffix. What word are you eliminating?

When they don’t get it

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I’m studying education. I know there is a world of difference between what is to be taught (the curriculum, of sorts), what is taught (what you think you’re saying) and what is learnt (what people  keep from it).

mindthegap

Photo: zimpenfish, reused under CC license

From what I hear, the discrepancy between the latter two is something that preachers experience. A lot. The stories of people going up to the preacher telling them: “I loved that part about how we should not tithe if we don’t feel like it. God loves a cheerful giver indeed”, when the sermon was explaining why we should be cheerful about giving. Or “I  loved how you explained how Catholics are heretics”, when you were actually trying to explain they weren’t.

These discrepancies are often frustrating. As pastors, teachers of sorts, we have a responsibility to make sure that we communicate efficiently, and a responsibility to ensure that what we are trying to say is heard. When that doesn’t happen, we may feel like we have failed. But that view is one I wish to challenge, because it puts the preacher as the sole mediator of the Word: it suggests that everything that the congregation will hear will need to have been pre-digested by the leadership team.

Last Sunday, someone came to me to talk about my sermon from the week before, telling me about how it connected with his experience and that he felt that the person in the pulpit was actually understanding how they were feeling. “Great!”, I thought, a bit full of myself. And then he went on to describe the specifics of his situation, which was as far removed as what I had in mind when writing the sermon as possible! I was talking about fear of the unknown, he was talking about repeated stress.

Should I take this as a sign that my sermon was a failure? Quite the opposite. I take it as a positive sign: a sign that my sermon was aligned with the Word enough that it could just gently guide people to and through the passage, but crucially, that it was the passage that did all the work. The Bible is greater than all of us. That’s why we read it more than just the once, and that’s why we connect to it in different ways; and, for preachers, that’s why we shouldn’t aim to possess it, or to box it in.

To put it in a different way, it is the gap between Scripture and the congregation’s lives that needs to be closed; in priority over the gap between the preacher and the congregation. The gap between what is to be taught and what is learnt; in priority over the gap between what is taught and what is learnt. Of course, the two often work together; but if someone in the congregation is brought closer to the Word through a different path than us, let us still rejoice over it rather than try to bring them back to our way! As long, of course, as they do connect with the ultimate Truth (which may not be the case in the examples given at the start…)

And it feels great! Because through that, we are reminded that, on the one hand, the transformative or exhortative power does not come from us, so that we as preachers may feel anxious about nothing; and that on the other hand, what we’re saying matters and connects with people!

What’s your experience of people not getting it?

Christian heptathlon

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We like sport. We just put our own twist on it. Here’s what the Christian heptathlon looks like (with links to the event that was the inspiration for it).

athletics

Photo: AdamKR, reused under CC License

  • Bible hopping: quote as many separate and short Bible verses as possible to support an argument. Bonus points for quoting non-standard verses, especially genealogies or the minor prophets. In this contest, speed is of the essence: you do not want whichever passage you’re using to support your argument to actually speak to your listeners directly. Careful, some passages may trip you up, so never stray far from your usual turf.
  • Triple point: write any talk or sermon in a three-point structure. Bear in mind that these points should not be considered in any way that would allow anyone to continue after your work; and that if a four-point or two-point structure were better suited to your argument, such a work would be disqualified.
  • Javelin: use your talk, sermon or other document as a way to attack The Others – be it in terms of theological viewpoint, or in terms of societal issues. Current issues are disqualified, particularly shortly after schisms, where such attacks are far too easy. The Baptists made a commendable effort in 1689, but this effort was not homologated due to the circumstances at the time. You may wish to train by defending your church as opposed to other churches, and move on to a dissing of low/high churches (delete as appropriate) before mocking other doctrinal points.
  • Conceptual hammer throwing: talk about predestination, transubstantiation, cessationism or any other particularly heavy theological topic without explaining what it means, and with no other reason than that you like the sound of your own voice on that matter.
  • 1500s run: only use one theological reference from the 16th Century to inform your thinking – usually the Puritans. Also exists in other eras (100s run is particularly popular these days)
  • Sermon throw: make your sermon as far removed as possible from the text from which you’re meant to be preaching. This sport is commonly confused with the practice of throwing the sermon as far as possible from any form of relevance to the audience’s lives.
  • Service marathon: make sure everybody is keeping their Sunday holy by keeping them in church a minimum of 6 hours. Techniques include: readings which span many chapters; repeated verses and/or instrumentals and/or wo-ohs in hymns and worship songs; organ voluntaries put in the middle of the service; and, most easily, sermons with a minimal length of oner hour. Fringe improvements can be made by making sure that no one knows when their part is – this technique is particularly helpful with dramatised tellings of Bible stories.

Athletes competing in these will be checked for inhalation of incense.

In these especially, the first will be the last.

Add your own!

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!

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