I was at some youth event in 2005 and they played that awful song “Jesus You Are My Best Friend” (not down with the whole Jesus-is-my-homeboy thing). There are some praise nights that are meaningful, sweeping, powerful, full of Spirit, and others that are fun, light, fluffy, that make you feel cheap like after you eat cotton candy. This one was not only fluffy but colorful like a neon rainbow. I have nothing against disco lights and fog machines except that I’m against them. Disco lights are for discos and fog machines are for Halloween parties in a bad teen movie.
At least I was enjoying it — and then came the speaker. I knew right away that him and I could never be friends. My reign of judgment commenced. He was probably my age and what did he know about life and what school did he fail from and did he even read the whole Bible. I think he wore a hat, or maybe I had suppressed the memory of his pimply face. It took me some time and a lot of shifting in my seat to stop judging him.
He preached on 1 Timothy 4:12, the oft-misquoted verse about not letting anyone look down on you because you’re young. From his first few words, I knew he had never studied hermeneutics, the original Greek text, the history of the early church, or even the lives of Paul and Timothy. This speaker was shooting straight from his zipper pouch. The reign of my judgment continued. Instead of explaining the context — that this verse was actually told to the older people to tell to the younger people to live a life of purity — the speaker used it to lead the youth into a spiritual revolt.
Then he shifted gears mid-sermon and spoke about obeying parents. Total obedience no matter how crazy the parents are. Total obedience even in abuse. Someone actually uttered an amen. The final clincher that sent everyone into stunned silence was when he said, If you really have a problem with your parents that you can’t resolve, wait until you’re eighteen and move out.
Besides the whole confusion of the message, the speaker hardly opened the Bible, never spoke in reality, and kept contradicting himself even in the same sentence. I didn’t know much about the Bible then but I knew something about this was totally wrong. I remember taking notes; the only thing I remember writing is, Rather be listening to Hitler.
When I first got the call to be a pastor, I thought all I had to do was preach about God’s love for us, how we should love one another, how we can overcome our daily anxieties. By accident (on purpose), I was into the Osteen/Prosperity/Love-fest thing. I’m far from that now. The love thing is important — maybe the most important thing — but it’s not the only thing. There’s the reality of sin, the wrath of God, the weight of His discipline, the mark of His justice. One look at the cross speaks volumes about our deserved punishment and the infinite value of Jesus Christ. Everything points to Christ. He is our willing substitution of grace. Without that, you could hear the same message at a synagogue, a mosque, a temple, a healing center, a rock concert. None of it matters without Christ.
Sermons about obedience to parents are fine. But if it doesn’t point to Jesus, I might as well be giving you a band-aid for your cancer. There is a seriousness to this whole thing, a reverence to the almighty God, an epic scope that does not have room for giggles, jokes, pop culture references, and poor research. I know firsthand that coming unprepared to the pulpit only shames the name of God, and that’s not a good place to be.
I have heard some bad sermons told with awesome delivery. I have heard some great sermons told in a dreary monotone. But in the end the sermon is only a vehicle of the truth. Some pastors make it harder than others to get on that truth-train. If I leave someone’s sermon thinking more about the sermon than God, either my attention span has failed or the preacher stood in the way, or both. I remember after speaking as a guest once, someone came up to me and said, “Nice speech.” I don’t think he was a Christian and I don’t think he meant to slight me, but I knew I had completely messed it up. Pastors don’t do speeches like politicians don’t do cooking shows.
On one hand the listener must remove the preacher from the pulpit and listen for the truth in God’s book. On the other hand the preacher must get out of his own way and point to Jesus Christ. This is not that easy and it’s probably impossible in our human lifetime in the flesh. But the train of truth should be as smooth as possible. Preachers need to study up, listeners need to focus in. Preachers must stay in tune, listeners must stand firm. And we do not lead ourselves, but are led.
6:14 pm
–
