I stepped into my pulpit with some trepidation this past Sunday. On the 10th anniversary of the Al Quaeda attacks against the US, with all the hype that had been going on in the media, and being in a geographical area where there was a high probablility that people in the congregation knew someone who had died on that day or knew someone who knew someone who had died, it was a worship service fraught with unspoken expectations.
It was also our "Homecoming" Sunday, getting back into the swing of things after the summer. I know there are places where there are more snow birds who return for summers than folks who leave, but here in New England people take summer seriously -- those lake houses and beach houses that have been in the family since landing on Plimouth Rock demand serious allegiance. Churches are pretty quiet during the summers, barring unforeseen funerals.
I was torn between scripture and newspaper, between culture and church; and the lectionary reading on forgiveness in the fellowship from Matthew was a lesson I think congregations need to hear repeatedly.
So I tried to do it all. I was a little afraid that my message about appropriate ways to remember and ways to heal and ways to move on would be heard as unfeeling, unpatriotic; but my own emotional turmoil broke through to at least let folks know I was seriously struggling with all this. Afterwards I had several people thank me, tell me it was a helpful sermon (which to me is a much higher compliment than a "good" sermon). They were folks who tend to be fairly liberal politically. The conservative folks didn't mention it, but they didn't walk out in the middle of the sermon or ignore me or scold me afterwards.
Preaching for me is always a little like performance art. I don't think I could recreate it again if I wanted to and to be quite honest it is a little of an ecstatic experience in the most traditional meaning of that word. Even though I work from carefully prepared notes, I also let the Spirit guide me and sometimes when it's all over I'm not exactly sure what it is I've said. (I'm sure the congregation often feels the same way!).
One of the frustrations of preaching is that once the words are out of your mouth they have a life of their own. And you have no idea whether people have heard what it was you hoped they would hear. One of the graces of preaching is that often people hear what they need to hear, regardless of what you have said.
When I was a college chaplain I used to preach the Baccalaureate Service at commencement. One year a geology professor who was a member of a Reformed Presbyterian Church, and a philosophy professor, who was an amiable agnostic who was practicing atheism, both came up to me after the service and said, "That was a GREAT sermon." I've often wondered if I was really that good, or whether I hadn't actually said anything worthwhile at all. I hope it was that the words were used by the Holy Spirit to speak to the need in each of their lives.
I've had people come up to me and say, "I'll never forget that sermon you preached where you said, "...." and they will quote something to me that I don't ever remember saying (though I do often file it away for future reference because it's good stuff!). Neither do I remember the occasion nor the point of the sermon. It's kind of like the orange cones you see for miles along the highway with nary a truck nor a flagman in sight. Preaching should begin with a neon sign: Caution: Holy Spirit at work.
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