Last month I dared to declare what I thought were three essential elements to a good sermon. Toward the end I mentioned in passing a duty of the listener, but I didn’t elaborate. Today I realized that I (like most of you) listen to far more sermons than I preach, so if there is a duty of the listener, I would be wise to make sure I know that duty well – and remind myself of it often.
Kierkegaard has influenced my assumptions about the duty of the listener. Over the years I have returned several times to the twelfth chapter of his Purity of Heart Is To Will One Thing. The chapter is aptly entitled, “The Listener’s Role in a Devotional Address.” The key phrase for me in the chapter is, “… to listen in order to act, this is the highest thing of all,” echoing James 1:22, “Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.” [NIV] (more…)
One aspect of our calling that I relish is the prospect of working side-by-side with Paula. We had a taste of this the past two years in an English Camp in the Czech Republic, and it was delicious. We are complementary in almost every way, and we have been growing together for almost 30 years.
But as lovely as it sounds, I suspect it will have its challenges too, and will demand that we both learn more patience, more graciousness, more love, more mutual submission. Those challenges could also be exacerbated in the first year, when we have to deal with culture shock while adjusting to working with each other more than we ever have.
Therefore I ask you, yet again, to pray for us. I hope you never grow weary of my greedy appeals for prayer – I know we will never grow out of our need for God’s work in us and, therefore, never out of our need for your prayers.
I’d like you to pray for a pot of gold.
Not a pot filled with gold for me – I already have more than I need as far as that goes. Rather, pray that I would become a pot made of gold. That is, pray along these lines:
In a large house there are articles not only of gold and silver, but also of wood and clay; some are for noble purposes and some for ignoble. If a man cleanses himself from the latter, he will be an instrument for noble purposes, made holy, useful to the Master and prepared to do any good work.
2 Timothy 2:20-21 [NIV]
These verses consumed my meditation a few years ago, when I was fervently praying about life after Dell. Out of those prayers, I believe, grew this invitation to join the team in Trnava. But the invitation is not the fulness of the answer to those prayers. What I ask is to be useful – useful to the team, useful to Slovaks, useful to the Master. So please pray.
When I left the role of Pastor in 1997 I laid off preaching for a while. I didn’t preach (other than to my children) for eight years. But as I’ve taken up this new call to Slovakia, part of my work has included some preaching. So I’ve been thinking again about what makes a good sermon.
You probably have your own ideas about what makes a good sermon. After I expound my little theory, please feel free to chime in with your comments. I by no means pretend to have the last word on preaching.
My approach is simply to find what is essential to a good sermon – that is, what elements, if missing from a sermon, will truly be missed. In other words, I’m defining what the adjective “good” means when it is used to modify the noun “sermon.” Before I reveal what I think is essential, I will mention a few things that are not. (more…)
Click on the picture to see a larger version of Caravaggio’s “The Calling of St. Matthew,” and take a minute with me to study it and reflect on the idea of a call from Christ. Caravaggio has captured on the canvas some interesting insights.
Christ is to the right in the painting, in the shadows (perhaps suggesting the call is not always crystal clear, not always easy to discern?), with his arm extended to the left (but it isn’t decisively pointing at Matthew, is it?). Peter is next to Jesus, with his back to us – and note how he is dressed: a bit shabby, with no shoes (is this what it will become of those who follow?). Matthew is at the table, with his partners in tax collecting, with his left hand raised to his chest in the “who, me?” position. His right hand is on the table, suggestively resting on a coin (it isn’t always easy to leave the good life, especially when you might end up like Peter over there).
What else do you see?
This is Ethan. He is eleven, and will share some of the best years of his life with us in Slovakia. One of the most striking things about Ethan is his concern for others and his gentleness. He’s always been quick to share, and he even anticipates what others need or want. Some children (and a few adults) will reluctantly share their Amy’s ice cream with you if you ask; Ethan will beat you to the punch, and ask if you’d like some.
But a more subtle characteristic of Ethan that you won’t notice till you spend more time with him is his uncanny power of observation. I used to think that it was impossible for anyone to notice all the details that Sherlock Holmes did; but knowing Ethan makes me believe it’s possible. He notices when Grandma changes the paint in the bathroom; he helps me remember where to turn when I’m trying to find a place we’ve only been to once; he remembers where a book is laid (no small feat in a house with hundreds and hundreds of books, many scattered over the dining table, coffee table, hearth, bedrooms, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera). If I had to make a wager, I’d bank on his becoming a detective when he grows up. Whether he becomes one or not, I know he’d be a great one. (more…)
This is Kristian. He is our 13-year-old son who will be going with us to Trnava, Slovakia. He may not realize it for years, but he’s a missionary. And we believe that he will be a more effective missionary than we will. And part of what will make him so effective is the same reason he doesn’t like this whole idea of moving to Slovakia.
One morning last summer Kristian went to Robinson park to spend the day playing soccer. He left with his backpack, his ball, his sunscreen, and his water, and we didn’t see him again till sundown. When he came home his face beamed as he proudly told us that he met everyone in the park. (more…)