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joshta's review against another edition
5.0
A classmate recently told me, “God doesn’t need you to preach to people.” I should clarify that she was not being cruel; her point was that God is not dependant upon me, specifically, and that God’s word will be preached whether I am involved or not. I think this is wise to keep in mind, inasmuch as it keeps me humble. On another level, though, I disagree with her assessment, and as I read “Birthing the Sermon” – a collection of essays and sermons written by women – I became more confident in my position. One of the clearest messages running through this collection is that there is a distinctly personal flavor to each preacher’s work. I know that without me “even these stones will cry out,” but I also know that my perspective is unique and that God wants to use my mouth to speak to people.
“I have come to trust the expression of my own life experiences,” Mary Donovan Turner writes (175). I appreciated her imagery of seeing and hearing the events of her everyday life through the text she was working on at the time. In past preaching experiences I have instinctively read the scripture ahead of time, but I had not considered why. Turner doesn’t explicitly use the metaphor, but as I read her essay, it seemed as if the scripture were a set of glasses she puts on for the week, an interpretive lens through which she chooses to view the events and experiences of her life. I like that image, and it has worked for me even as I prepare for our first preaching assignment for class. I am methodical; I try to connect everything I see and hear to the passage I am currently considering. I really am “living with the text” – to the extent that it becomes a conversation partner. Turner is right to point out that the prophetic task sometimes comes in valuing one’s own experience as relevant.
Lest I become too egocentric, Barbara Brown Taylor’s “I rule” is a helpful corrective: refrain from using “I” material unless the audience can say “me too” (157). This was a bit of practical advice that I had never fully considered. I was heartened to read that Taylor fails sometimes, because I think I do as well, although I am afraid to go back and reread some of my sermons to be sure. Often when I use personal stories, it is to talk about my calling or my experience in seminary. While those may be interesting anecdotes, I have to wonder how relatable they are. Is there a way to reframe those stories so that they are more relevant to the lay listener? For example, not many people can relate to being called by God to ordained ministry, but they may have had the experience of being shocked by a moment of insight while sitting in a pew.
Taylor’s essay also got me thinking about the ways in which preachers use characters in our sermons. She pointed out that she often casts herself in the role of the bumbling idiot while her husband is the wise and faithful hero. I think this is a way of creating some connection with the congregation. They may feel as though the preacher, perched high above them in the pulpit, has a wealth of knowledge and wisdom. It would be easy for them, upon reading a difficult text, to “leave it to the experts” to figure out. When a preacher admits that he or she had a difficult time understanding the passage the first time through, it creates a point of connection where the listener truly can say, “me too!”
There is another aspect of preaching that is highly personal, and that is the idea that preachers go to the text on behalf of the congregation and alongside the congregation. “We are exhausted after we preach … because we take upon ourselves in those twenty minutes the spirits of those listening,” Linda Carolyn Loving writes (109). I am both inspired and terrified by that image, and I don’t believe it happens in the pulpit alone. As I have prepared my text for preaching this week, I have tried to visualize specific congregants and ask myself what questions and insights they will be struck with upon hearing the text. The mother being treated for breast cancer, the man who lost his job last month, the retiree who just taught Sunday school for the adult home residents: what will they see, hear, and experience as they sit in the pew and listen to the story? I am ashamed to say this is not something I have done during sermon preparation before, but it has been immensely helpful in the creative process of building my sermon.
Something I found interesting (if not very surprising) was my ability to relate to the women who contributed to this volume. I didn’t read anything that I, as a man, could not appropriate for my own preaching. I think the real benefit to collecting women’s perspectives on preaching is in the imagery that they chose to use and that is suggested by the title: sermon preparation as a kind of gestational period. Much like the glasses, the birthing metaphor evokes something we carry with us for a period of time, something that changes and defines who we are and how we live. Sermon preparation as pregnancy, however, is a much stronger image. It encompasses the potential for terror, confusion, joy, and uncontrollable circumstances that go hand-in-hand with sermon preparation; it evokes a wildness that glasses just can’t capture.
“I have come to trust the expression of my own life experiences,” Mary Donovan Turner writes (175). I appreciated her imagery of seeing and hearing the events of her everyday life through the text she was working on at the time. In past preaching experiences I have instinctively read the scripture ahead of time, but I had not considered why. Turner doesn’t explicitly use the metaphor, but as I read her essay, it seemed as if the scripture were a set of glasses she puts on for the week, an interpretive lens through which she chooses to view the events and experiences of her life. I like that image, and it has worked for me even as I prepare for our first preaching assignment for class. I am methodical; I try to connect everything I see and hear to the passage I am currently considering. I really am “living with the text” – to the extent that it becomes a conversation partner. Turner is right to point out that the prophetic task sometimes comes in valuing one’s own experience as relevant.
Lest I become too egocentric, Barbara Brown Taylor’s “I rule” is a helpful corrective: refrain from using “I” material unless the audience can say “me too” (157). This was a bit of practical advice that I had never fully considered. I was heartened to read that Taylor fails sometimes, because I think I do as well, although I am afraid to go back and reread some of my sermons to be sure. Often when I use personal stories, it is to talk about my calling or my experience in seminary. While those may be interesting anecdotes, I have to wonder how relatable they are. Is there a way to reframe those stories so that they are more relevant to the lay listener? For example, not many people can relate to being called by God to ordained ministry, but they may have had the experience of being shocked by a moment of insight while sitting in a pew.
Taylor’s essay also got me thinking about the ways in which preachers use characters in our sermons. She pointed out that she often casts herself in the role of the bumbling idiot while her husband is the wise and faithful hero. I think this is a way of creating some connection with the congregation. They may feel as though the preacher, perched high above them in the pulpit, has a wealth of knowledge and wisdom. It would be easy for them, upon reading a difficult text, to “leave it to the experts” to figure out. When a preacher admits that he or she had a difficult time understanding the passage the first time through, it creates a point of connection where the listener truly can say, “me too!”
There is another aspect of preaching that is highly personal, and that is the idea that preachers go to the text on behalf of the congregation and alongside the congregation. “We are exhausted after we preach … because we take upon ourselves in those twenty minutes the spirits of those listening,” Linda Carolyn Loving writes (109). I am both inspired and terrified by that image, and I don’t believe it happens in the pulpit alone. As I have prepared my text for preaching this week, I have tried to visualize specific congregants and ask myself what questions and insights they will be struck with upon hearing the text. The mother being treated for breast cancer, the man who lost his job last month, the retiree who just taught Sunday school for the adult home residents: what will they see, hear, and experience as they sit in the pew and listen to the story? I am ashamed to say this is not something I have done during sermon preparation before, but it has been immensely helpful in the creative process of building my sermon.
Something I found interesting (if not very surprising) was my ability to relate to the women who contributed to this volume. I didn’t read anything that I, as a man, could not appropriate for my own preaching. I think the real benefit to collecting women’s perspectives on preaching is in the imagery that they chose to use and that is suggested by the title: sermon preparation as a kind of gestational period. Much like the glasses, the birthing metaphor evokes something we carry with us for a period of time, something that changes and defines who we are and how we live. Sermon preparation as pregnancy, however, is a much stronger image. It encompasses the potential for terror, confusion, joy, and uncontrollable circumstances that go hand-in-hand with sermon preparation; it evokes a wildness that glasses just can’t capture.