Real Live Preacher - Preaching

Stage Fright

Wed, 28 Feb 2007 14:37:58 -0600

When I was young, the youth leader of our church would occasionally ask for someone to give a testimony during the worship service. All the kids would get quiet, shuffle their feet and squirm. For some reason I would feel the responsibility of the group shift slowly to my shoulders. The silence became more and more uncomfortable until at last I would give in and speak up.

"I'll do it," I would say, dragging the words out to make sure that my reluctance was duly noted. The moments leading up to the dreaded event were horrible. My anxiety would peak, my stomach would turn upside down, and I would bounce my right knee up and down furiously on the ball of my foot.

The first trick I discovered was telling myself it would be over soon...

Click here to read the rest of this essay at The Christian Century online.

Archive of Christian Century Articles by Gordon Atkinson

a Christian Magazine
Christian Writing

rlp

When I Become a Child

Wed, 09 Jan 2008 22:57:44 -0600

There is a time in every worship service when I become a child for a few seconds. It only lasts a moment or two, but that's all I need.

It happens right after the sermon is finished. Can you understand this? It is finished. It is over. I lived a week waiting for this sermon to be born. When the time came for it to be delivered, I entered the world of sermons, a world that includes me, the text, the people, and the words coming out of my mouth. It is a time of absolute focus. You enter that world and no other worlds matter. In this regard, preaching is almost like a drug. It takes away whatever else is in your mind. In this regard, preaching is also very dangerous for the one doing it.

I give myself to preaching because that is what it takes to preach. But sermons are not an essential part of Christianity. They aren’t mandated by scripture. And I have a feeling that in the eyes of God, sermons are often very silly things. I know mine must be. They even seem silly to me at times. But how am I to know this? How am I to know about sermons and whether they should or should not be? I never get to hear them. I only speak them. I can't remember what it's like to be out there in the chairs.

Sometimes you are called by your community to do a thing. It is your calling, so you do it. The big questions are fine, but you’ll answer them while you are carrying out your calling. If you are the woodcutter for your village, you may have questions about woodcutting. You might want to explore the possibility of coal. You might fantasize about some kind of rotation schedule where everyone cuts wood. But while you work all this out in your mind, you cut wood because the village needs fire.

I am in a constant state of trying to understand preaching. I wonder what people get out of it in the long run. I wonder if it ultimately does more harm than good. Am I contributing to the idea that the ancient spiritual journey of Christianity can now mean nothing more than showing up at a building and listening to some person talk? I used to think I would work all of this out along the way. And now it's been fourteen years, and I'm still uncomfortable with preaching. I'm beginning to suspect that the day you think you understand preaching is the day you should stop doing it.

The whole thing is very…ummm…adult. Yeah, adult. You know, carrying out your responsibilities in spite of how you feel, thinking about the big picture, all that adult stuff. So I don't think it's any coincidence that I become a child every Sunday after the sermon is over.

At our church, after the sermon, I invite one or two of my little friends to come and take up the offering. They walk among us and pass around the plates. They scamper up and down the aisle, sometimes with bare feet and always with pure hearts. They are children, and this is their calling at our church. They don't understand it completely, but it is their calling and they are faithful to it.

Sometimes it is Anna, sometimes Steven or Kevin or Adam or Jacob, sometimes Lillian or Rachel or Madison. Sometimes they work in pairs. Sometimes it is a child who has never helped before, like last Sunday when Ellie came forward for the first time. I never know who will heed the call.

While they do their work, I sit down on the hearth of our fireplace. I sit like a little boy on a curb. Usually my elbows are on my knees, and I often rest my chin in my palm. I get comfortable; I don’t know how it looks. I wait patiently while the children get the plates passed around. Then the magic happens. Whoever was passing the plates will come and sit beside me while Cathy finishes playing the piano. For just a moment, we are children sitting together in front of the fireplace in complete innocence. During that time I sit very still, and I don't like to make eye contact with any grownups, lest the spell be broken.

In those few seconds, while the piano music is winding down, I am a little boy. I don’t have anything to offer anyone, and it doesn’t matter. No one expects anything from me. Just these few seconds are all I need for the week. Just a few seconds to help me remember who I am. Then we stand together, my little friend and I, and everyone in the church offers a silent prayer. During that prayer I lean down and whisper something in my friend's ear. It is a secret thing I whisper. Only the children and I know what I say.

As far as I know, there is only one picture of me sitting at the fireplace in those few moments while the music is still playing. Here it is.

I look like a man trying hard not to lose something. I look like a man trying to hold onto something precious. Anna, on the other hand, looks like someone who lives forever in that moment. She knows nothing but the present moment, for she is a child.

There is wisdom here, for those who can find it.

rlp

Great Sermon Title

Fri, 03 Feb 2006 16:56:14 -0600

This goes out to all those who practice our ancient craft. So it's the second Sunday in Lent, right? You say you're doing the Nicodemus story, and you're looking for a good sermon title?

I got your sermon title.

I wish I had thought of this title myself, but I didn't. So I'll have to tell the story and give credit where credit is due.

A few years ago I was in a lectionary study group with some ministers here in town. Mostly Presbyterians. There was one other Baptist. He has since left town and is now the pastor of this church. Among the Presbyterians were the pastor of this church and this church. We met every week to talk about things and share sermon ideas.

It was the second Sunday in Lent, and Lib says, "If you're doing Nicodemus this week, I've got the perfect sermon title.”

Everyone turns to look at her. Now me, I don't worry that much about sermon titles as a general rule. If the sermon is interesting, challenging, and well delivered, who cares about the title? And if it is none of those things, a good title isn't going to help. But yeah, a nice title is kind of cool. She had my attention.

She looks at us like she's about to tell the world's greatest joke. “You ready?” she asks. We all nod. "Yeah, yeah, we're ready."

“Nick at Night.”

Gasps, moans, laughter, heads nodding with admiration.

Now I would imagine that only practitioners of the esoteric art of preaching will fully understand this, but just hearing that title can open up a whole line of thinking for a preacher. Maybe you hear that title and suddenly the element of darkness and light in that story begins to take hold in your spirit. It could change your whole sermon.

Seriously, that is one EXCELLENT sermon title.

“I'm definitely using it,” I said. “Not this year, but someday. The next time I preach from that story, that will be the title."

It's been a few years, but here we are in year A again, and it's the second Sunday in Lent. The title of my sermon this week is, “Nick at Night.”

Thanks Lib!

rlp

ps – want another great one? Next time you're preaching from Luke 10:38-42, how about naming the sermon, “Mary and Martha Stewart.”

Kaching!

Visit the Nick at Nite Website