The Curious Value of Preaching

It can be intimidating. James Taylor or the Eagles show up in town and pack the coliseum. Ten to twenty thousand people jammed in, and they paid good money to be there. Would your church members fork over the forty or fifty dollars they casually spend on a concert to hear you "perform"?

But come to think of it, even James Taylor or the Eagles can draw that crowd only once every few years. The stars come into town. Give a good performance. Then back on the bus or plane.

You? You're there every week. Probably not speaking to thousands. Still, whether it's dozens, hundreds or thousands, your people count on you. Week after week. They show up at your church expecting to hear somewhere in that half hour sermon you're going to preach, God's word to them.

A word from God. Perhaps not the word you're intending to say. Maybe not the word that is in your notes or manuscript. But somewhere in your sermon, they're going to hear something they need to hear from God.

Wow!

Peace.

Dragging at the End of the Week

I had minor surgery on Wednesday. I've been dragging ever since. Now, it's Friday afternoon, time to do an entry. And I'm wasted. I got my sermon done. That'll have to be enough.

Grace and peace to you.

John

You--a Prize Catch?

The poem begins, “Let him kiss me.” It ends with her invitation to him to come roam the landscape of her body. It’s pretty lush–ideal reading for Valentine’s Day.

The poem highlights the Shulamite’s longing for the King, but clearly portrays her longing as a mirror of his.

There’s a message here for pastors, for the ordinary men and woman called by God to represent him in the pulpit and at bedsides, weddings and funerals. Like the Shulamite, we are hungry for intimacy with the King.

Scarcely has she voiced her desire for the king, “Let him kiss me . . .” than she is reminded of her unworthiness. "I am dark . . ." She is sun-darkened in a culture that sees a tan as the mark of undignified labor. Her brothers have scorned her and assigned her field work. She is a nobody. Who is she to be the consort of the King? A king who already 60 queens and 80 concubines.

“I am dark but beautiful” she says.

She must be beautiful, otherwise the King’s admiration would imply he was desperate or blind or stupid. If the King prizes her, she must be a prize. If the King admires her, she must be beautiful.

If God has called you to ministry, you must have some special gift. God is not blind or desperate or stupid. He saw something extraordinary in you, something he prized. Something so good, he insisted on paying you to have it available full time.

As hungry as we are for God, the Song of Songs suggests we evoke a corresponding hunger in God. As we dream of finding rich satisfaction in communion with God, God, too, anticipates rich communion with us. We are agents of divine joy.

Not Perfect, but Just Right

This week in a class on spirituality led by two nuns, the topic was the Dark Night of the Soul. The presenter repeatedly referred to the Dark Night as a transient experience, a season in the Christian’s life. We look beyond the Dark Night to a renewed sense of communion with God.

I asked how Mother Teresa’s decades-long sense of abject separation from God fit with this classic view of the Dark Night as transient.

The nuns stiffened slightly. They argued Teresa’s Dark Night was perhaps not as bad as some have said. They echoed some of the hagiographic writings that have painted Teresa’s abandonment as a divine favor lovingly tailored to counteract the public acclaim she experienced. I did not prolong the argument, but I think they missed the point.

I heard in the nuns' eagerness to “explain away” Teresa’s endless Dark Night a to keep Teresa on her pillar. They need her to be peerless, exemplary, ideal. They worry that if we see Teresa’s Dark Night as a defect or deficiency, we are somehow dishonoring her ministry.

But Teresa did not need to be flawless to be “just right” for God’s assignment. Brennan Manning is another celebrated Catholic who has touched countless people. His well-known alcoholism has not kept God from using him. Catholic priest, Henri Nouwen, offered hope, consolation and insight through his writing. His imperfections included bouts of depression and homosexuality. Still, he was apparently “just right” for the mission God gave him.

God did not need Teresa, Brennan or Henri to be perfect. He used them as they were. And God does not need you to be perfect. Good thing! So don’t wait for perfection or denigrate your ministry because you are not yet flawless. Just do your job. And Jesus will employ you, too, as an agent of his Kingdom.