Preaching 101

Preaching 101

The first time I preached was the obligatory Senior Sunday sermon. I remember that on Saturday night before I preached on Sunday, the pastor had me preach it for him. I really didn’t think much about the sermon; I just kept humming the song, “Lord, I Wish I Were Somewhere Other Than Here.” Like on a date with Jodi Stacy.

Over the last thirty-five years of Sunday mornings, I’ve often felt the same way. (Except for the Jodi Stacy part.)

The second time I “preached” was on the Sunday you turned in your pledge cards. I was a loan officer at a bank and collected past-due money all the time. It seemed natural.

Then I got snookered into preaching one Sunday morning. The money was pretty good, and the first five sermons were rather easy to write. I’m sure they were brutal on the ears.

Then I served a small church in eastern North Carolina that expected a fresh sermon every Sunday. That experience convinced me to go to seminary, and after that I ended up here…twenty-two years ago.

Preachers prepare for sermons differently. Some plan an entire year’s worth of sermons in advance. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that, for me, long-term planning is about two weeks. That way, I can preach what God has placed on my heart in light of what’s going on in my life, the church, the community, or the world.

How do I decide which Scripture to use? Many times, it’s the lectionary—a weekly compilation of Scripture readings that follows the church year. Often, it’s simply what I feel God has placed on my heart. Sometimes, suggestions from you turn into a sermon.

Recently, someone asked me to preach a series of sermons on hell. I asked if they were worried that might be their destination.

I do take recommendations.

A few final thoughts:

Telling the preacher on the way out the door, “That was a good sermon,” is often just a social reflex. It’s like telling the baker of a less-than-delicious lemon pie, “It was wonderful.”

If you know you slept through the sermon, don’t tell me it was the most fascinating sermon you’ve ever heard. I saw you sleeping…drooling, even.

If you have no clue what I said, tell me. That might help with the next sermon. Maybe we can discuss it. And maybe I’ll pray for your soul.

See you Sunday. If it helps, bring your coffee.

—David