COMMENTARY: The strange transaction of preaching

c. 1998 Religion News Service (Tom Ehrich is a pastor, writer and software developer living in Winston-Salem, N.C.) UNDATED _”Enjoyed your sermon,”said a worshipper on her way out. That’s odd, I thought. How could anyone enjoy the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, and the”chasm”that Jesus depicted between rich and poor? Had I not […]

c. 1998 Religion News Service

(Tom Ehrich is a pastor, writer and software developer living in Winston-Salem, N.C.)

UNDATED _”Enjoyed your sermon,”said a worshipper on her way out.


That’s odd, I thought. How could anyone enjoy the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, and the”chasm”that Jesus depicted between rich and poor?

Had I not been forceful enough in relating Jesus’ harsh words to”lovers of money”? How did words that got Jesus killed become”nice,”as another worshipper described my guest sermon?

But that’s preaching. The strangest things get heard, while the meat goes unheard.

Every week, men and women stand before the faithful and engage in this ancient act of worship. Some have spent many hours struggling with Scripture; others think of what to say as they mount pulpit steps. Some preachers carry polished manuscripts; others trust spontaneity. Some tell stories, some explain Scripture, some quote books, some quote the daily newspaper, some sing, some dance, at least one sits at a piano while preaching _ anything that will communicate.

Meanwhile, out in the pews, some people hang on every word, some shout encouragement to the preacher, some take notes, some squirm like restless school children, some daydream, some sleep, some critique the preacher’s style or attire, some time the sermon, some corral children, and everyone is polite, at least until they reach the parking lot.

Preaching is a strange transaction. It’s a holdover from days when books were rare, few could read, and traditions were transmitted by storytellers. In this age of nonstop messages, highly produced visuals, Java-flavored Web sites and punchy sound bites, the Sunday sermon seems anachronistic, almost amateurish in its lack of production values.

Yet preaching persists.

Search committees rank”preaching”as among the most desired skills in prospective clergy. Some hiring bodies call themselves”pulpit committees,”and they select clergy to do a 55-hour-a-week job by listening to them preach for 25 minutes. Even in traditions like Roman Catholicism which haven’t emphasized preaching, parishioners gauge a pastor’s authenticity and a congregation’s character by what is said from the pulpit.

It’s easy to wax cynical about preaching. How could the message that got Jesus crucified, Stephen stoned, and Paul imprisoned and executed, have led to grand cathedrals, accumulation of wealth, and armies of self-righteous folks carrying swords, instead of plowshares, and pamphlets, instead of compassion?

How can people hear the parable of a rich man condemned to eternal torment for his ostentatious, self-centered living, and then walk calmly to their $45,000 cars and head home for yard work?

And yet if preachers stopped trying, we’d notice. If they said only what we wanted to hear, we’d feel cheated. We don’t actually intend to change our behavior, but we want to be reminded that four bedrooms and a Subaru Outback aren’t all there is to life.


It may be that preaching is like parental advice: an intrusion most of the time, bread from heaven when our hearts are breaking.

If this were Eden, we’d hear the heart of the Gospel _ that we are sinners who must repent, that we are called to a new law, a new way of being, that God is making all things new, that the ancient divisions no longer matter in God’s new kingdom _ and take heed.

As it is, preaching serves to keep us honest, so that we can’t easily trivialize the gospel into a mere”tickling of the ears,”a projection onto God of that which we ourselves hold dear.

I know from experience that congregations disclose their true nature by how they treat preachers. In small-minded congregations, preachers are always employees, always on a short leash. Their sermons are timed and run through the sieve of parish norms. In those congregations, clergy quote books, tell safe stories, and watch nervously for frowns.

More daring believers expect to be disturbed and confronted, even made to feel as the Pharisees felt, when Jesus’ words so enraged them that they began to plot his death. They don’t value comfort above all else. They resent being soothed and patronized, as if they were incapable of hearing the truth.

To such worshippers, clergy speak from the heart and dare to say,”I, too, fear this Word, but I believe it to be true.”


DEA END EHRICH

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