Reading: Preaching book ch 1-2

PREFACE

IF YOU ARE NOT A PASTOR, AND YOU ARE READING this book, good for you — I mean, literally, it will be good for you!

If you are a pastor and are reading this book, chances are some well-meaning member of your church bought it for you in the hope that it would:

1) Encourage you in what you are already doing.

2) Challenge you to do it better.

Regardless of the motivation of your church member, why don’t you give it a read? You will never look at preaching the same. When you’re finished, give it back to the person and make him or her read it, because it may just do more for that person than for you.

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CHAPTER ONE: A TALE OF TWO PREACHERS

JARED SHIFTED IN HIS SEAT, TRYING TO GET A BETTER view between the heads in front of him. The auditorium was ringing with applause for keynote speaker Arthur J. Hopkins, who was making his way toward the podium, but Jared could barely glimpse the man he’d traveled 400 miles to see.

As  the  clapping  subsided,  Hopkins  gripped  the sides of the podium and began to speak. “George Whitefield had a gift,” he said, without preamble. “Some say he found it as a young boy, with the constant influx of visitors and travelers passing through the inn his family owned in Gloucester. He found that he could hold an audience’s  attention.  He could  speak. And Whitefield was destined to use that talent to play a major role in what was called the Great Awakening — the Christian revival of the eighteenth century.”

Jared turned to his wife and whispered an apology, then crept into the aisle and found a better seat as unobtrusively as he could.

“Benjamin Franklin said about this gifted communicator: ‘Every accent, every emphasis, every modulation of voice was so perfectly well-turned and well- placed, that, without being interested in the subject, one could not help being pleased with the discourse; a pleasure of much the same kind with that received from an excellent piece of music.’” Hopkins paused, then added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Of course, Benjamin Franklin got zapped by lightning once, so we might take his exuberance with a grain of salt.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Now that Jared could see Art well enough, he was surprised to find his mentor’s hair had gone completely white and his face was gaunt and sallow. He knew it had been twelve years since he left seminary, but the toll of time on his professor’s face managed to impress the fact upon him in a new way.

“But the pastors of Whitefield’s day were not so impressed. Jealous of his popularity with the people of England, they eventually refused him access to their churches. Nevertheless, this man of God would not be stopped. He took the message of Christ to the people.”

Hopkins looked down at his notes. “He wrote on February 17, 1739: ‘I went up on a mount and spake to as many people as came to me. They were upwards to

200.’ He announced that he would speak again the coming Wednesday. Word spread: ‘Whitefield is speaking in the open air.’ That Wednesday saw 2,000 people gather to hear the young preacher preach.

“Keep in mind there was no sound system back then,” Hopkins said, tapping on the microphone for effect, “but only the God-given voice of a man on a mission. Four weeks later, on March 25, the crowd that gathered in the open air to listen to the booming voice of George Whitefield — a young man of only twenty-two — was estimated at over 20,000.” He paused to let the number sink in. “In the space of a few weeks, Whitefield went from 200 to 20,000 people. That is preaching!”

A few more chuckles erupted from the crowd of ministers  and  church  leaders.  Jared  watched  as  Art played deftly to the crowd. He was certainly not as haggard as he looked. For himself, Jared feared, it was the other way around.

“Whitefield describes the response to his sermons in these words: ‘Having no righteousness of their own to renounce, they were glad to hear of a Jesus who was a friend of publicans and came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. The first discovery of their being affected was to see the white gutters made by their  tears’”  —  Hopkins  traced  one  finger  down  his cheek as he spoke — “‘which plentifully fell down their black cheeks, as they came out of their coal pits. Hundreds and hundreds of them were soon brought under deep convictions, which, as the event proved, happily ended in a sound and thorough conversion.’”

Hopkins took a sip of water, then continued: “Not only did he draw huge crowds in his homeland of England, but upon his arrival in the recently populated new world of the American colonies, the crowds gathered to hear him there as well. In this new world he preached to Presbyterians, Congregationalists, Episcopalians, Catholics, Quakers, and Moravians — all who were willing to hear the simple Gospel truth. During his lifetime he preached to hundreds of thousands of people.”

Hopkins  moved  from  behind  the  podium  and leaned  against  it.  “Impressive,  right?”  he  asked  the crowd pointedly, and received murmurs of affirmation. “How many of you would like to have a ministry like that?” The murmurs were louder this time, and a few people even raised their hands, bringing another wave of laughter.

“And how many of you had heard of him before tonight?” The room grew quiet. A dozen people raised their hands, but there was no laughter this time.

“George Whitefield was a great man of God — a gifted communicator. In his day there was not a better known man in the English speaking world. But what became of his legacy? When he died, so did his influence.”

Jared smiled. It was one of Art’s oldest tricks to pull the rug from under his audience like that.

“Let me ask you another question: How many of you have heard of John Wesley?” Every hand in the room was raised. “Of course we have. He birthed a denomination — a denomination that in the 200 years since its inception has expanded into 100 countries around the world, can count 10 million members worldwide, and has founded hospitals, universities, and seminaries.

“So what was the secret of his success?” Hopkins asked rhetorically as he returned to his notes. “What did he have that Whitefield never had? To put it in military terms: troops.”

He left the word  hanging  there, and Jared  could hear hundreds of pencil tips and ballpoints scratching against paper in the silence. Jared frowned. He hadn’t expected to take notes and had left his notebook back in his original seat.

“The first troop John joined was a rather strange one — his own family. You see, his father, Samuel, was a brilliant, outspoken, and somewhat eccentric Anglican clergyman. His mother, Susanna, was disciplined, outspoken, and also somewhat eccentric. One day she refused to say ‘Amen’ to his prayer for the king. She explained that she would not acknowledge William of Orange to be the rightful king — to which Samuel declared: ‘If that be the case, you and I must part; for if we have two kings, we must have two beds.’” Hopkins paused for chuckles from the crowd. “Fortunately for John’s sake, the king died later that year. The couple reunited, and nine months later, in 1703 — eleven years before Whitefield — John Wesley was born.”

Embarrassed or not, Jared knew he had to get back to his pencil and paper. He took the pause as an opportunity to return to his seat, hoping his old professor wouldn’t recognize the back of his head.

“John’s  father  taught  him  the  knowledge  of  the faith. In fact, by age twelve, John knew how to read the New Testament in the original Greek. But it was his mother who modeled the secret of the troop. Susanna was the daughter of a minister who viewed the family as — I quote from her biography by John A. Newton — ‘a little gathered Church, where prayer, Bible-reading, catechizing, and detailed personal instruction in the Christian faith provide a framework for the whole shared life of the home.’

“Every week, Susanna, mother of eleven children, would take each one aside an hour a week to attend to their spiritual progress. She believed that nurturing the religious lives of children was the most important task a person could undertake, and a responsibility God had entrusted to her. John’s hour came on Thursdays.”

Jared scribbled as fast as he legibly could manage. He wasn’t yet sure where this story of Wesley was going, but he knew he’d tried the Whitefield approach until he was blue in the face, and he was willing to listen to any and every alternative.

Hopkins continued: “The Wesley family troop propelled the young man John to an interest in personal transformation — not only how God saves one’s soul but also how one’s life can be more and more conformed to the image of Christ. To that end, while in college, he started his own troop called the Holiness Club. This was a small group of students  that gathered  to study  the Bible, not just to extract truth out of it, but also to come up with practical strategies for how the Bible could be lived out in one’s life. One of his fellow club members was none other than George Whitefield.” The crowd let out a small murmur of surprise, and Hopkins smiled.

“After  the  Holiness  Club,  both  George and  John went off on their separate adventures but soon reunited when George introduced John to the excitement of outdoor preaching. But whereas George went from crowd to crowd, John organized the crowds into — you guessed it — troops.”

Jared circled and underlined the word “troops” on the top of his sheet. While the military term had first struck him as somewhat impersonal, it was beginning to grow on him. What if he could ask for something and his congregation would simply fall in line? As it was, motivating his church better resembled his attempts to get his kids to sit still in the car.

“The large troops, or meetings, which were typical in  size  and  style  with  the  average  church  service  of today, were called Societies. But you could not attend the large meeting unless you were part of a smaller one. And there were various interlocking small group options: the Select  Society,  the  Band,  the Penitent  Band,  and the most popular, called the Class Meeting.

“The Class Meeting consisted of ten to twelve people. Following a leader’s example, each person told how the Word had impacted his or her life that week. It gave the  ordinary  person  an  opportunity  to  speak  —  to preach, if you will.” Hopkins paused, then repeated the point: “It gave the ordinary person the chance to be a preacher. It also gave one of the twelve an opportunity to try out his or her leadership potential at a new level — the leaders of class meetings.”

Jared looked up from his notes for a moment to watch Art, and noticed that he didn’t look as old as he had ten minutes ago. Either his vision was deceptive back this far, or the captive audience was putting some color back into his cheeks.

“In the book John Wesley’s Class Meeting, which I can’t recommend highly enough — it’s by D. Michael Henderson for those taking notes — he describes Wesley’s system like this: ‘It took no training or talent to be a class leader; anyone could do it. Being a class leader was in no way related to wealth or education or professional expertise or social standing … but it did demand faithfulness, honesty, and concern for people. Anyone who demonstrated these qualities as class leader could rise to higher levels of leadership.’

“You see, that was the secret. Everyone had a place to preach.  Average people could excel at some troop level. In the ‘everyone gets a chance to play’ environment, leadership potential was open to all — with the best rising to the new levels of leadership. Those who were gifted were encouraged by the group to advance to the next level. This meant that all members, from the marginally to the magnificently gifted, were encouraged to develop their ‘pastor’ potential. All had a chance to play the game at their own level. The best — by divine will, blessing, and opportunity — rose to leadership opportunities. All were in the Lord’s army, and a person’s leadership level was discovered and honed in the trenches of one’s relationships: marriage, family, and community.”

Jared was chewing his pencil’s eraser absently, searching his mind for a fleeting phrase that had passed through. After a moment, he circled “Everyone becomes a pastor” on his notepad, then scrawled, “Teach a man to teach others how to fish, and you feed a village forever.” When Jared came back to the lecture, Hopkins was speaking of Wesley’s death. “In John 15:16, Jesus says,

‘You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go bear fruit — fruit that will last.’ Although he didn’t know it at the time, Wesley’s fruit would last, and would influence the world far more than his popular contemporary. Because of Wesley’s belief in using the average person, there is a Methodist Church in almost every small town in America.

“Here’s the question I’ll leave you with, folks: Are you working just toward tomorrow, or are you working toward the next twenty, fifty, hundred years? What spiritual legacy will you leave?” 

CHAPTER TWO: THE ELEVENTH WIND

“TO STAY OR NOT TO STAY — THAT IS THE QUESTION?” Art asked Jared, his eyebrow raised in a whimsical manner.

“Essentially, yes,” Jared answered, chuckling. “You always had a way of clarifying the complex.”

Teacher and learner sat in the corner of the dimly lit hotel lobby, cradling paper cups of vending machine coffee in their hands and trying to keep their voices low. Jared felt guilty about keeping his mentor awake so late, but Art had insisted on an update of his life.

“So, tell me: Did you feel discontent in your job before or after you got this call to start at a new church?

“Oh, much before,” Jared sighed, leaning back in his overstuffed chair. “I’ve been down and out a lot of times in the past five or six years. I always get a second wind, though — I redouble my efforts, and I’m OK for a while longer. But once I started needing a tenth and eleventh wind, I got the feeling there was something deeper I needed to deal with if I wanted to be really fulfilled in my ministry.” He took a swallow of coffee. “But I suppose I never thought seriously of leaving until I got this offer from Trinity. I didn’t even realize how down I was until I got this glimmer of hope that I could start over.”

Art nodded. “But you wonder if your problems will just follow you there.”

“Right. Maybe it’s not my church. Maybe it’s me. There was a point at which I felt I was in the top tier of preachers — I had all the tricks of the trade under my belt and could put together a fresh and lively sermon week after week. I think what kept me going those first few years — what kept me working hard, improving my sermon writing and delivery — was largely the satisfaction of a job well done. But after a few years, when I finally looked up from my notes and looked out at the people to see whether they were actually changing or not, I began to have real questions about how well I was doing. I feel like I need to overhaul my approach, but I’m not really sure how, and I’m not sure how my congregation would accept it.”

“Hence the impulse to leave. You can dispense with the way it’s ‘always been done’ and start again.”

“Exactly. Only — I got a fax from the search committee at Trinity just before I left, and they seem to have a very specific, and very proficient, type of minister in mind.” Jared let out a long sigh. “I don’t know — I feel like I have to be a Billy Graham just to survive in this arena. I feel like the whole operation hinges on me and whether or not I can hit a homer from the pulpit. A few singles, a few groundouts, and they’ll be looking to the bullpen.”

“I wasn’t aware Billy Graham played baseball,” Art said flatly, and it took Jared a second to realize his mentor was teasing him.

“Let me make sure I understand,” Art continued, clasping his hands together thoughtfully. “What kinds of expectations did Trinity mention?”

“I don’t remember the specific phrases, but it said something like ... .” Jared stared at the floor while he tried to remember. “It was something about delivering sermons that instruct people and  inspire them, sermons that convert, nurture, and transform people. I’d like to think that I’ve accomplished some of that during my decade at the pulpit, but if anyone could do that consistently, then we wouldn’t need counselors, teachers, mentors, and artists working at the same thing day in and day out. The thing is, I have these kinds of people in my church, and I think we could accomplish a lot more if I could find a way to harness their abilities to do that type of transformative work. I’m really starting to like your image of the pastor as a general of the troops — to delegate tasks and coordinate the soldiers’ movements.”

Art nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m glad you’re not shrugging your shoulders and resigning yourself to what’s typical. I say: Take your time with these questions. Keep seeking and listening and questioning. If you feel trapped between two congregations, consider planting a church where you set new expectations. Or talk to this new church and share your misgivings, get them out in the open. There is no rule that you can’t try something different.”

Jared shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But can I take that risk with so many other people involved? I mean, I have no real plan for how to make the troop idea work. What if it doesn’t succeed?”