The Sermon I Never Preached
A couple of weeks ago, I reached a milestone by writing my 500th sermon! And that’s just the ones I have on my computer. That’s a lot, but I’ve been writing them for 35 years now (my first was when I was a Freshman in High school – it wasn’t very good, in case you were wondering).
There have been some “out of the ballpark” sermons and some duds. There have been my personal favorites and some where even I felt were too boring – not the words of God, just how I interpret them and choose to communicate them. There have been some creative ones, short ones, too verbose ones, and some that really stand out. But the sermons that always impress me the most are the ones that are found “within” the sermon I’ve preached. And they are normally words I’ve never even said at all! Let me explain.
A few years ago, a visitor to our church made his way up to see me after I closed the sermon. He was crying and stumbling over his words. “So powerful,” he said, managing to eke out only those words. After he composed himself, he went on to explain how I was “reading his mail” and that today’s message was spoken only for him. He then brought out his favorite insight. I didn’t recognize it at all. I even went back and listened to the video, and was right. I literally never said what he heard me say. Is this just a lesson in people being overstimulated by so much information input that when we sit down and try to actively listen, we hear what we want? In some cases, I’m sure of that. In most cases, however, I think the Spirit does something even greater.
I may spend hours thinking about Ananias, Saul, sight, assumptions, and going beyond the walls, while someone sitting in the room is suddenly confronted with something completely different. But that’s not necessarily a failure of communication. As a pastor, I have to pour over what I’m going to say, making sure it’s not only in line with Scripture, but that it doesn’t come across as too stuffy or insensitive, and that it is culturally relevant. I know I’m spiritually responsible for what I say. But I’m not responsible for every way God uses it.
Even this past sermon, “Seeing Again for the First Time,” garnered thoughts that I never said, and challenged some people to think differently about their time. And it got me thinking: Maybe this sermon about seeing people differently also reminded me that I don’t always know what someone else is seeing.
The verse that really works here is 1 Corinthians 3:6–7 — one plants, another waters, but God gives the growth.
I plant. I water. God gives the growth.
When I was younger, and something like this happened, I just asked, “Did they not understand my point?” Without the experience of pastoring people, I just figured they didn’t hear me correctly or understand it. As if I “owned” what I shared. But now the better question is: “Did I faithfully give God something He could use?”
I don’t use this as an excuse for being unclear or sloppy. I still have a responsibility to communicate well. But I also don’t have to control the outcome. Just like I’ve learned that I don’t get to choose who I pastor, I also don’t get to decide what God is doing in someone else’s heart.
God is a Living God, and His Word is the Living Word of God. It’s important that I write it out just like that. Saying it that way just proves that sermons don’t end when the preacher says “Amen.” The closing benediction doesn’t close the Bible or the moment on the Word. The sermon continues in someone’s drive home or in a conversation later that afternoon. The hope is that it will be remembered three weeks later or in a conviction that isn’t specifically articulated or even in a decision I never knew they made. Sermons seem to have a life after the sermon.
Normally at the end of my time on the stage, my mind is buzzing while my body is exhausted and spent. This last time, I was only thinking I was preaching about Ananias learning to see Saul differently. But afterward I realized I was also being reminded that I don't always know what another person is seeing when they hear God's Word. I might write it, which normally makes it my favorite that week, and I might know it really well, but God knows the person.
There have been some “out of the ballpark” sermons and some duds. There have been my personal favorites and some where even I felt were too boring – not the words of God, just how I interpret them and choose to communicate them. There have been some creative ones, short ones, too verbose ones, and some that really stand out. But the sermons that always impress me the most are the ones that are found “within” the sermon I’ve preached. And they are normally words I’ve never even said at all! Let me explain.
A few years ago, a visitor to our church made his way up to see me after I closed the sermon. He was crying and stumbling over his words. “So powerful,” he said, managing to eke out only those words. After he composed himself, he went on to explain how I was “reading his mail” and that today’s message was spoken only for him. He then brought out his favorite insight. I didn’t recognize it at all. I even went back and listened to the video, and was right. I literally never said what he heard me say. Is this just a lesson in people being overstimulated by so much information input that when we sit down and try to actively listen, we hear what we want? In some cases, I’m sure of that. In most cases, however, I think the Spirit does something even greater.
I may spend hours thinking about Ananias, Saul, sight, assumptions, and going beyond the walls, while someone sitting in the room is suddenly confronted with something completely different. But that’s not necessarily a failure of communication. As a pastor, I have to pour over what I’m going to say, making sure it’s not only in line with Scripture, but that it doesn’t come across as too stuffy or insensitive, and that it is culturally relevant. I know I’m spiritually responsible for what I say. But I’m not responsible for every way God uses it.
Even this past sermon, “Seeing Again for the First Time,” garnered thoughts that I never said, and challenged some people to think differently about their time. And it got me thinking: Maybe this sermon about seeing people differently also reminded me that I don’t always know what someone else is seeing.
The verse that really works here is 1 Corinthians 3:6–7 — one plants, another waters, but God gives the growth.
I plant. I water. God gives the growth.
When I was younger, and something like this happened, I just asked, “Did they not understand my point?” Without the experience of pastoring people, I just figured they didn’t hear me correctly or understand it. As if I “owned” what I shared. But now the better question is: “Did I faithfully give God something He could use?”
I don’t use this as an excuse for being unclear or sloppy. I still have a responsibility to communicate well. But I also don’t have to control the outcome. Just like I’ve learned that I don’t get to choose who I pastor, I also don’t get to decide what God is doing in someone else’s heart.
God is a Living God, and His Word is the Living Word of God. It’s important that I write it out just like that. Saying it that way just proves that sermons don’t end when the preacher says “Amen.” The closing benediction doesn’t close the Bible or the moment on the Word. The sermon continues in someone’s drive home or in a conversation later that afternoon. The hope is that it will be remembered three weeks later or in a conviction that isn’t specifically articulated or even in a decision I never knew they made. Sermons seem to have a life after the sermon.
Normally at the end of my time on the stage, my mind is buzzing while my body is exhausted and spent. This last time, I was only thinking I was preaching about Ananias learning to see Saul differently. But afterward I realized I was also being reminded that I don't always know what another person is seeing when they hear God's Word. I might write it, which normally makes it my favorite that week, and I might know it really well, but God knows the person.
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