c. 2000 Religion News Service

(Tom Ehrich is a writer and computer consultant, managing large-scale database implementations. An Episcopal priest, he lives in Durham, N.C.)

(UNDATED) Back home after 17 days in Spain and 21 hours of travel, I greeted my wife and youngest son at the airport, was delighted to find my oldest son and his girlfriend waiting at home, received much licking from the dog, took a cursory glance at the mail, made it to 10 p.m. before crashing _ and then went straight to preaching at a congregation that is between pastors.

No wonder I chose to preach on “jet lag.” I was there.

I have no idea whether my sermon made any sense. At least it was unique, in that it was prepared on two continents, in venues ranging from a breakfast table on the Costa de la Luz to a quiet corner next to Gate 83 in Newark International Airport.

It is the Christian preacher’s delight and curse to imagine oneself _ briefly and, one hopes, humbly _ in the role of Jesus preaching to a crowd beside the sea. Out there are hungry people who put aside their everyday lives in order to touch the hem of grace. Inside oneself is a word that must be spoken.

Whether the resulting transaction is a tightly wound 10-minute homily or, as in this seeker church, a 30-minute wide-ranging message, something is supposed to happen. The people want it, and the preacher wants it. Both will accept surprisingly little, especially if it’s brief, but I think we ache for more.

One doesn’t need perfect faith or perfect words to preach. But one does need a sense of urgency. Not because one’s job is at stake, not to please the squirrelly and critical, not to make a good impression, not to make a contribution to financial stability or membership growth, not to be liked and applauded _ the sermon matters because lives are at stake.

Many preachers, of course, get beaten down by the squirrelly and critical. They listen for the compliments _ “Nice sermon, Pastor” _ and cringe at the cold faces and passive-aggressive grimaces that express displeasure. Preachers, like most folks, want to be liked and applauded. When one’s paycheck is on the line, it’s hard not to count the house and consider a connection between attendance and sermon quality.

Urgency tends to be at war with such concerns. Preaching of any authenticity is dangerous. It exposes both preacher and congregation to risks far more significant than boredom or faint praise.

On the day Jesus preached to a multitude in a “deserted place” and then fed them, he sent his disciples on and remained with the crowd.

Was Jesus garnering acclaim as he lingered? Was he enjoying the moment, savoring the victory of faith over fear, of “God will provide” over “not enough”? Was he looking deeply into people’s eyes?

All of the above, I imagine. Acclaim might be an awkward word, so try gratitude, try signs of connection. Preachers need to know their risk touched people’s lives. Superficial praise _ “I enjoyed your sermon, Pastor” _ means nothing. If anything, it puts a distance between listener and speaker, as if one were an entertainer, a pleasure-provider. Gratitude is in the eyes and in the amended life.

Mostly, I think, Jesus was preparing to remember. Based on those minutes when I have tasted just a slight piece of what Jesus tasted, I imagine he looked with compassion on people whom he would never see again, and like a soldier going off to war, he stored up images of their faces and hearts.

Later, when he berated the religious establishment for betraying the people, I imagine he had these lives in mind, for he knew the depth of that hunger which shallow and self-serving religionists were ignoring.

When he stood before his accusers, I imagine he accepted abuse on behalf of people whose faces he remembered. When he ascended the cross, it was to complete what he began in this deserted place.

Afterward, Jesus went off to pray. It is a powerful and disturbing thing to be allowed into someone else’s life. It shatters one’s own calm, disrupts one’s hiding places, and forces one to risk a glance into the ultimate reality not only of God’s grace, but of humanity’s profound hunger for grace.

DEA END EHRICH