The Eyes of Sheep May Safely Glaze

Producing a good sermon every week is an impossible task. This fact I had recognized even before my parishioners brought it to my attention. However, a sermon is a two-way activity. Preaching the word requires hearing the word. Therefore, I thought, a striking phrase brought to the process should be beneficial. In order to make a point about animosity, I once said, "There are people in whose ear you would not spit if their brain were on fire." Pausing for smiles of delighted recognition, I beheld only the congregation's normal glazed stare. I asked later why no one was amused and was told the congregation assumed I was quoting John Calvin.

Around this time I ceased to employ the categories of good and bad for my sermons substituting instead true and false. If I had thrown away every sermon I thought was bad I would not have many left, but I have several large boxes containing those I thought were true. These sermons represent the gloriously happy endeavor of many years (1) trying to understand the Scripture, (2) and proclaim the Word of God (3) within the community of the faithful.

I am immensely grateful to, and for, the dear people (and a few old grouches) who let me be their preacher. However, before this gets too maudlin, I should acknowledge my conviction that they remember almost nothing I ever said. This suspicion is based on the following evidence. I have always written out by fountain pen every word of every sermon. Today this pen retails at $475. I paid only ten dollars for my Mont Blanc Diplomat because at the time of purchase I was playing third base (and batting third) for their American softball team.

Anyway, in the third year of my first pastorate I decided as an experiment to preach again one of my old (but true) sermons. Not being entirely stupid, just in case this experiment backfired, I had already announced to the session that I was leaving to pursue further theological studies. After the service I waited at the church door with some trepidation intending to congratulate those alert listeners who had recognized my experiment and to explain to the displeased that I quite agreed even a really good sermon should not be repeated in the same church to the same people. However, I thought maybe a really true sermon might be repeated. To my bemused surprise no one realized that the exact same words had poured over that pulpit three years earlier.

Obviously it was entirely possible that all my sermons being neither good nor true were therefore mercifully forgettable. This would have been my own interpretation if each week so many people had not said they "enjoyed the sermon." Of course they always said these words, but I believed them every time. So the question was why couldn't they remember more accurately what they so much enjoyed.

The answer brings, I think, considerable comfort to preachers everywhere. But to get to the comfort we must go through (1) terror, (2) awe, and (3) disappointment. According to the Second Helvetic Confession "the preaching of the word of God is the word of God" (5.004). Ministers are expected to proclaim not their own but the Word of God (that's the awe). However, since we are human and not God, the task is impossible (that's the terror). Nevertheless, each of us must bring the God-given gifts of our best devotion, learning, and eloquence to bear on this impossible task knowing we will fail every week (that's the disappointment). The steady assurance of constant failure is balm for the preacher's weary soul. A proud preacher is both a moron and an oxymoron. The task and the task's Master are too great to be accomplished with our little tool kit.

On this point I can offer a startling example. According to Albert Mehrabian (Silent Messages, p. 43) a speaker's nonverbal behavior communicates more powerfully than the words used. A message therefore consists of the following components: What you say (the words used) 7%; How you say it (tone of voice) 38%; Who you are when you say it (facial expression) 55%. If this is true, then at some level preachers unavoidably preach themselves. Whatever else the Gospel is, it is not us.

Individualism is one of the modern megatrends fostered by René Descartes' view of the "separate self" meaning that everyone today has some kind of "I" problem. In The Moon and Sixpence Somerset Maugham says we walk side by side but not together. That may be true for human beings but not for Christian beings.

Christians, belonging to the fellowship of Christ, never walk alone. Rather, in body and soul in life and in death we belong to our Lord Jesus Christ (Heidelberg Catechism 4.001). Ministers do not stand alone in the pulpit or behind the table because God promises to nourish his faithful by word and sacrament, the ordinary means of grace (that's the comfort). Therefore, since the Good Shepherd watches over his flock by day and by night, the eyes of the sheep may safely glaze.

Charles Partee
Presbyterian Outlook
September 2001

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