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God the Father

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A few weeks back, it was Trinity Sunday, also known as the occasion for heretical analogies. It is extremely difficult to grasp, intellectually, how one God can be three persons, and all the analogies that I know are flawed in some respect. This hilarious video points some of them out. Before going any further into the topic of the Trinity, I should point out that, in matters such as this (the mysteries of faith), we shouldn’t ever expect to fully understand; however, this does not mean we should not keep contemplating it. Indeed, as we do, we get closer and closer to God, in our understanding and in our lives. But as we do, we should not try to explain the Trinity, as though it were something we can grasp fully; rather, we should try to describe it.

trinity

Painting in the public domain (full image on Wikimedia)

There are three persons (three “hypostases”): the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. A lot of our worship focuses on the Son (with the help of the Holy Spirit), and it is Christ we’re following. And so we focus more on the Son, and end up neglecting the other persons of the Trinity. While we tend to be aware that we don’t know that well how to picture the Holy Spirit, the same does not necessarily hold for God the Father. Yet, who is He?

There are three things to know about God the Father:

1. He is indescribable. Saying it right off the bat actually relieves the pressure, as we know we can’t reach the perfect description. He is greater than all of creation, and even if we had measured the mountains and the seas, we could not describe Him.

2. He cares for us, even though we are nothing before Him. This, in turn, implies two things: as our actions are naught too before Him, that this caring love is not dependent on what we do. Secondly, that His promise is greater than anything we could achieve ourselves. He will make us soar on wings like eagles.

3. We are called to be His children and to behave as such. This call to action is not one of obligation, but a mere expression of our identity as loved children of God the Father.

You can listen to the sermon, which (like the above summarising points) is based on Isaiah 40 and Matthew 28, by using the player below, or you can download the audio or read the sermon notes.

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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!)

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!

When is a sermon not a sermon?

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“That wasn’t a sermon” – that’s a criticism I’ve heard about sermons a few times (including my own). We all have ideas about what a sermon should be. Why? What makes a sermon sermon-like?

The Oxford English Dictionary gives some ideas: it is, for our context, a talk on Christianity. In written form, it could then, be this blog. But this blog is not a collection of sermons – with the exception of two posts. Let’s read a bit further: it suggests sermons are long and tedious.

sermon

Image: Wikipedia (Public domain)

Maybe we shouldn’t complain, then, when we don’t hear a sermon. More seriously, though, there is one thing that makes a sermon a sermon: that it is given as part of  a church service. In other words, that it has the label “sermon” all over it (after all, podcasts of sermons are still sermons). So if you heard it at church, it is a sermon. The thing is, a church service is a full and well crafted (hopefully) set of parts, whose aim is worship and edification. A church service is not simply a sermon with some padding around it, nor is it some liturgy with a homily thrown in the middle: it is a dynamic set with a purpose. So a sermon should fit into that set and lead the audience (and the preacher!) to be imitators of Christ, rekindle in them a passion for God and open their hearts. If that’s missing, then it might as well be a secular talk!

Bible based?

That a sermon is not “Bible based” is the big argument of those who say “That is not a (good) sermon”. As if being Bible-based were the only hallmark of a good sermon! Matthew Henry’s commentary is Bible-based – very much so, indeed – but it’s not a sermon. Because it is looking at the Bible as an object to be studied, rather than as a source that  talks to us. Those last two word are important, because this is where we remember that a sermon takes place with an audience.

The most useful tip I’ve heard so far for sermon-writing is this: “Can you tell me in one sentence what you are trying to achieve with this sermon?” It’s not about what point we might be driving through the sermon, it is about recognising the transformative nature of a relationship with Christ and mediating that to the congregation, as best as we can.

Sometimes, that goes through close exegesis. Sometimes that goes through less Biblical sources – talking, say, about the Internet is hard to do when you’re Bible-bound. And so, as long as the aim remains firmly to get people’s hearts turned towards God, then I don’t think being Bible-based is a necessity for a sermon. In most cases, it helps. In some cases, it is even necessary because the sermon will be the only time in the week the congregation touches the Bible. Still, as a hard-and-fast rule, it detracts and leads to cherry-picking some verses to “make a sermon Bible-based”, when all the sermon does is drive a pre-determined point. And when that happens, well, it’s a bit of a scam.

So remember: a sermon takes place in a specific context. It is by that context that it can be judged – not independently of it. And sometimes, the surprise of a new type of sermon might do just what a sermon should do: refresh our love for God.

 

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?