HOMILETICS

Don’t Be Afraid to Say, “You”

I’m the Senior Editor of Homiletics. Actually, my official title is Executive Editor, a more officious designation I gave myself about ten years ago for reasons that escape me now. It certainly wasn’t for financial considerations.

Anyway, part of my responsibility is to hold the reins on a stable of headstrong and brilliant writers and encourage and occasionally admonish them in their craft.

One of the principles we follow is to watch the finger-pointing. The writers, and we preachers, can get into this “you” business: You should do this, you should not do that, you should know better, you bloody fools.

We try to stay away from that in Homiletics.

But I ran across a different opinion. Here’s what Peter Berg said in an address called “The Art of Preaching” delivered in 2007 at the Lenten Preaching Seminar, Christ Lutheran Academy in Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin. (The Reverend Peter M. Berg, the erstwhile editor with his brother John of the now-defunct The Motley Magpie is—I guess—a bit controversial in Lutheran circles.)

“I’ve come to the conclusion that all too much preaching of the law has become muted and softened because preachers include themselves in the denunciations. It’s a little bit like this, “Aw shucks, fellers, I’m just as bad as you all.” What prophet said that? Did John the Baptizer ever say that? You stand in the stead of Christ. You speak his words. He who hears you hears Christ. Speak as Christ! Speak as John. Speak as Isaiah. What lies behind this hesitancy to speak as the prophets of old? Could it be that we’re afraid to upset our people and turn them against us. If we include ourselves, the unspoken rationale goes, then they’ll like us. To be sure there are plenty of
ways to demonstrate to our people that their preachers are as wretched as they are, but don’t be afraid to say, “You.”

I think he’s got a point. At least, it’s a message to consider as Lent draws to a close. You can read the full address here. http://csesget.googlepages.com/artofpreaching.pdf

Here are a few more thoughts from Berg:

“Brothers, we’re preachers, that is, we’re vendors of words, barkers. On one hand, in they eyes of most we might rank a bit higher than other vendors of words; people like lawyers and politicians. On the other hand we might rank lower than others, such as popular actors. We do not repair diseased hearts, we do not research and assemble financial portfolios, we do not service automobiles. We’re barkers. Our guild has been besmirched by scandal. Our relevance has been brought into question. We ourselves have doubts about our usefulness at times. Defrocked, put out of the pulpit and barred from the altar, how well would most of us fare? What other marketable skills do most of us have? All we have at our disposal are words, the only tools of our trade. But, oh, what words! We preach God’s glorious words! Yet even here there is no glory. We preach God’s words, not our own. We are but stewards of the mysteries of God. We are beholden to another. His is the glory. Faithfulness is all that he requires of us, not success, not results, not popular acclaim, just faithfulness, but that will require all the help that Heaven can bestow. No glory for us.”

CruxLux

Just ran across a new web tool called Cruxlux. Just a click of a button and you get recommendations about related articles, videos, images, books, and Wikipedia connections to help you dive deeper into the topics you are reading about. When you're at a blog, a news article, or any other web page, click the button.

In other words, Cruxlux throws light--additional light--on the subject or topic you are interested in.

When I saw the word Cruxlux, I was curious about the web service, if for no other reason than the name.

CrossLight.

As we come up on Holy Week, it's redemptive to remember that the cross, far from being a symbol of despair, is actually a sign of hope. The cross is light in the darkness. On Good Friday, it supported the one called the Light of the World.

CruxLux. The meaning of Easter.

Pushing and Pulling a Prayer

On holiday, and Jeanie and I have had an opportunity to do some exploring in the Yunnan province of China. Yesterday we were in Shangri-la.

Took me umpteen years of marriage, but I finally got my wife to Shangi-la.

Anyway, on a hill overlooking the town is this huge temple and beside it a giant Tibetan prayer wheel. Must be 35 feet tall, and its about 100 feet in circumferance at base.

And it moves.

But you have to push it--or pull it. There is a railing about four feet off the ground that circles the base, and if you push or pull it, the prayer wheel slowly turns. Like a merry-go-round, it eventually gathers momentum.

I'm no Buddhist, but I thought I could put some muscle to my own prayers, so I grabbed hold of the bar and starting pushing.

Nothing.

Then I pulled.

Nothing.

I pushed again and slowly my prayers got some traction. I never knew praying could be such hard work, but I guess, sometimes it is.

Then, someone else on another part of the wheel, started pushing with me. Fortunately, he wasn't pulling when I was pushing. Not a good thing when we can't all prayer together!

I was amazed at how much it helped when prayer became a community event.

Eventually the prayer wheel got to spinning, and stepped back, and let the energy of the wheel do the rest.

Preacher as Shepherd—Part Two

Actually, I’m leaving behind the notion of the Preacher as a Shepherd since it doesn’t really work (read previous post to get caught up). The role of the shepherd—as it emerged in our conversation—is to feed and to protect, and concerning the latter, the Word of God as a sharp, two-edged sword came up, and that of course, blows the metaphor out of the water, because the moment a shepherd puts a sword in his hand, he’s not a shepherd, he’s a soldier.

Which, when I was listening to this, put me in mind of the statue of Phillips Brooks I saw last summer in Copley Square outside of Trinity Church in Boston. Brooks, in some lecture had likened the making of a sermon the preparation for a battle: Just as “ the character of any battle is determined by three elements, the gun (including the gunner), the ammunition, and the fortress against which the attack is made,” so the making of a sermon is determined by the “preacher, the material (text) and the audience.” The preacher is the gunner, the Bible is the material, and the audience is the fortess against which or whom the assault is made!

Wow.

I think my all-time favorite preaching book, or concept, is Lowry’s Loop: Oops! Ugh! Aha! Whee! and Yeah! Lowry, one of the deans of the so-called New Homiletic movement in the 70s and 80s, gives a spot on, practical tool to approach the biblical text. If you’re unfamiliar with Lowry, get his book, The Homiletical Plot.  

The Preacher as a Shepherd?

We had a meeting of the preaching team at the church where I’m occasionally invited to expostulate, pontificate and infuriate.

Six of us were present, and a discussion ensued about the preacher and the dominant metaphor was the Preacher as Shepherd.

And it was noted that—based on some Greek words—the role of the Shepherd was to a) nurture, and b) protect. The problem with the Greek words was that, although they described some sort of hortatory role (proclaim, herald, teach, warn, etc.)—the words themselves were never connected -- in the immediate Scriptural context -- to the metaphor of a shepherd.

Shepherds generally don’t do any of those things when you think about it. Shepherds I have known sometimes might be caught muttering to themselves—after all, they live by themselves with sheep— but they don’t really address the sheep: “Hey, sheep, listen up. Here’s today’s plan—we’re going to get some clover—high in calcium, and then we’ll head for Abdullah’s Creek, really clear, cool water—try not to step or pee in the water you’re drinking, and then we’ll  find some rest over by Absalom’s Tree, and then maybe play some games … who wants to be the wolf?”—Shepherds just don’t do that.

Granted, Jesus said something about the sheep knowing the voice of the shepherd, but that was simply a safety issue: If you’re a sheep, you want to stay close to YOUR shepherd and not be wandering off into someone else’s fold. It’s not like the shepherd really talks—preaches—to the sheep in any literal sense.

So why do we use the metaphor at all? The Preacher as a shepherd. It’s a good metaphor for the pastor—but not the preacher.

Spencer Burke said to me once that Jesus never asked his disciples to be shepherds. They went on later in the development of the apostolic church to arrogate to themselves that role, but even then, they don't invoke the shepherd motif and link it to the preaching task. They link it to a pastoral task. But Jesus--he doesn’t invite the disciples to be shepherds; he had a hard enough time getting them to be good sheep. Being good shepherds was just a few notches beyong their pay grade.

There’s one shepherd. That would be Jesus. We’re the sheep. The LORD is my Shepherd; Judy, or Jason is not. (You might ask about Peter's commissioning in Jesus' post-resurrection appearance in Galilee, but think about it a little--and this would be the subject of another blog.)

Even preachers are sheep among sheep. When we preach, we might try, as Craddock as famously observed, to preach as one without authority. We are in the pack; not apart from the pack. We are in the flock; not above the flock. We are on the same journey, and—come to think of it, we’re standing in the same muddy, smelly mess, as the rest of the sheep.

So this is the first thing you as a preacher should do when stepping into the pulpit to preach or when standing among the congregation: look at your feet. If the feet aren't muddy and crappy, you might as well sit down and let someone else carry the authentic, living word to the bleating congregation.

Next up: Preacher as Shepherd—Part Two

St. Patrick's Breastplate

St. Paddy’s Day. Is it anything more than an excuse to kiss the Blarney Stone and drink green beer? As the Irish pray: For every wound, a balm; For every sorrow, cheer;
For every storm, a calm; For every thirst, a beer.

Well, of course. It’s a day to remember one’s Irish heritage, if you’re Irish, and ask God why you’re not Irish if you’re not.

But it is St. Patrick’s feast day. Have you ever been to an actual service remembering Patrick?

Me either.

I could post some stories and jokes here, but where would I start and more important—where would I stop. So instead, here is one of my favorites, a condensed version of St. Patrick’s Breastplate:

Christ be with me
Christ before me
Christ behind me
Christ in me
Christ beneath me
Christ above me
Christ on my right
Christ on my left
Christ where I lie
Christ where I sit
Christ where I arise
Christ in the heart of every man
who thinks of me
Christ in the mouth of every man
who speaks of me
Christ in every eye that sees me
Christ in every ear that hears me
Salvation is of the Lord.

Amen.

Render unto Caesar … and unto Christ

A few words for you when you pass the collection plate, to wit:

From an MSB blog—“Putting a few bills into the church offering plate got one client of Virginia CPA James T. Campbell in a bind when the IRS asked for canceled checks or receipts to support his charitable deductions. Explaining why he had no such receipts, the taxpayer said he simply throws in cash ‘as the spirit moves me.’  Campbell says the IRS agent paused to consider the taxpayer's response and then offered this advice: ‘I understand how the spirit can move you. So my advice to you is to always take your checkbook to church with you. When you feel the spirit coming on, just take out your checkbook and fill in any amount you think is right, whatever the spirit may dictate. It makes no difference how much you give, just as long as you have a copy of the canceled check.’”

The Pope and I

The Pope and I are the same: neither one of us is infallible. Really, I know it’s hard to believe.

Benedict and I—we both had some trouble a couple of days ago. On the same day, we both issued written apologies for grievous errors, and in my case, misconduct.

First, the pope: In January, he lifted the excommunication of an ultra-conservative bishop, Richard Williamson, not knowing that the cad had just given an interview on Swedish TV denying that six million Jews had died in the Holocaust. Benedict’s extended hand of fellowship to the bishop was quickly slapped by the Jewish community and outraged people around the globe.

Benedict, of course, was chagrined, and went on the Internet, and learned that what people were saying about Williamson was true. 

So yesterday, he issued a rare public letter of apology, published in six languages. Among other things, he said he needed to learn to use the Internet better.

Yesterday, I wrote a rare private letter of apology, published in one language.

Several days ago, I was in a phone conversation with a colleague in a professional setting, and we had a disagreement which continued for several minutes. I got a little testy, my voice got a little louder, and I was increasingly frustrated because my friend kept yammering away without stopping and wouldn’t let me talk and so I hung up on her.

I hate apologizing. But I know how to do it. I wrote a chapter about it in a book I wrote several years ago.

Apologies are one case when it is all about you and not someone else. An apology has to detail your sins, without mentioning the sins of others—or in this case my colleague on the phone. I had to let her deal with whatever excesses of which she believed she was guilty without pointing them out myself. So I wrote her a letter and identified one by one how wrong I was: wrong to raise my voice, wrong to hang up on her; wrong to assume she could stop what she was doing to answer a question, and so on.

The pope is doing the right thing. It’s the second public apology he’s made in recent years. He apologized—unnecessarily I thought—for remarks made regarding Christian-Muslim relations, and as is frequently the case, the Islamic community, remarkably unwilling to pluck the log from their own eyes, decried the splinter in the eyes of the Holy Father.

But you do what you have to do. But, if you do it, you ha  ve to do it sincerely. In this case, both the Pope and I were sincere. I regretted my behavior. And I explicitly asked for forgiveness. You have to do that, too. And I didn’t make excuses. You can’t do that.

Like I said, when you apologize, it’s all about you. You were wrong, You ask for forgiveness. End of story.

And often, when an apology like that is offered, it IS the end of the story, and life resumes. Many times a relationship can actually be stronger.

May-June Issue of Homiletics is Online

The new issue of Homiletics has been live on Homiletics since last Thursday. The cover story is “Cheating Death,” a look at how NASCAR drivers get out on the track, do laps at about 200 mph while taking every precaution to stay a step away from the grim reaper. This piece is linked to 2 Corinthians 5 where Paul develops a theology of death.

As with every issue, I have some favorites. “Smile Unto the Lord a New Smile” talks about a Web site that posts pictures of people smiling. It links to Psalm 98. “Is the Fire Going Out?” discusses an alarming development in nature: the disappearance of fireflies. This leads to a discussion of Acts 2:1-21 on Pentecost Sunday.

“What is a Second Life”? looks at a controversial Web site that’s been in the news lately in which people can assume different identities, or avatars, and have a sort of “second life.” You can get married in the alternative universe if you want to, and some people have done that, and when the spouse has found out — well, there’s big trouble. This material links, of course, to John 3.

I’ll just mention one more. If you’re prone to complain, or know someone who is, join a “choir for the complaining.” Complaint choirs, as they are called, have sprung up all over the world. The apostle Paul had a lot to complain about, but he didn’t.

There’s much more of course. This is just a taste. Go online and take a look.

What Can You Live Without?

Went to church this morning and the pastor was talking about Lent, and affirming those who were “giving up” things for Lent. She encouraged us, if that is what we’d chosen to do.

For herself, she preferred not to give up things for Lent, but to “take up” things for Lent, i.e. to make a special effort to do this or that as an expression of Lenten discipline. And she detailed a couple of things she had taken up for Lent—things into which she was throwing herself.

I was thinking about things I could live without.

The reason for this is that my Internet connection had just failed. A modem problem. The moment the problem developed, I got tense and irritable. And nervous. And anxious. I could live with television, or a phone, or food, or sunlight for 48 hours, but I found it extremely distressing to be without an Internet connection and without e-mail.

Is this good or bad.

I guess it’s bad.

So during church I was reflecting about it, and got a sense of peace about it all. For one thing, most of us are pretty helpless when we lose our Internet. All we can do is make a few calls, and rely on and wait upon someone else who might be able to help—in their sweet time. So you let it go, and wait.
I found that without the Internet, my energy and time got diverted to some other places that were actually stimulating and nurturing. I turned to some projects that need my attention, I spent more time reading, and I enjoyed a beautiful sunny day riding my bicycle and walking, too.

Turned out I was without an Internet connect for 27 hours. That’s not too bad. Could have been worse.
What can I live without? As a practical matter, I need an Internet connection to do my work—to fulfill the demands of my professional life. But I found I could live without it—for a while—in peace.
I was troubled by the sense that I am usually not nearly as troubled by a fracture in personal relationships or even my relationship with God.

What’s up with that?

But my Internet. Lord have mercy. Do anything, but don’t take away my Internet.

That’s pretty sad.

I’m working on it.