After the service she waited until I was alone. I had noticed her and assumed this dear Christian lady had a problem that needed to be mentioned in privacy. I was partially right.
“Joel,” she ventured, “I have something to say to you, but I’m not sure I should.” Not knowing whether to encourage or discourage her, I simply nodded my head and waited. Finally, she said, “I just have not been getting the kind of depth from your sermons that I need.”
Ouch.
Thankfully I did not respond with my first few impulses:
(a) to explain my entire philosophy of preaching, using words like esoteric and broad-band transmission and avoiding the gnostic heresy,
(b) to discredit the plaintiff, or
(c) to say, “Well, the Lord tells me what to preach. If you don’t like it, I guess we both know whom you are fighting against.”
After making an appointment to talk further with her about it, I left the sanctuary. My confidence was shaken, my fears in full bloom. And my anger drove me to consider the matter further.
The phrase spiritual depth is fast becoming a catch phrase in church circles, and it’s easily used as a weapon. How do I defend myself against the charge that I lack spiritual depth? To add to the frustration, I have yet to hear a concrete definition. And since it describes the core of life rather than a simple behavior that can be changed, what could be more devastating?
How ironic that such a spiritual quality should become a means of judgment rather than blessing! I cannot conceive that those with true depth require more than they give. Those I consider spiritually deep see the best in others and often learn the most from common people and events. They can get truth from a rock.
One such man was a member in a church that changed pastors. The departing pastor had a reputation for “spirit-filled” sermons. The pastor arriving was known for dry monologues. I thought my friend would be gone in a second.
Some months later, however, when there was indeed deep trouble within the congregation, I talked with him. “I can see why people are a little disappointed,” he said. “But I’m getting a lot out of his sermons.”
Perhaps that was a comment about the sermons. More likely it was a commentary on my friend and the Holy Spirit’s activity in him.
What’s the damage?
When a spiritual depth charge hits its mark, what are the extent of the injuries? I found damage in two areas: ego and perspective.
Usually I’m fairly thick-skinned. Call me short and scatterbrained, and my estimation of your perception will increase. Call me a lousy counselor, and I’ll say, “So you think I’m a lousy counselor. Tell me about it . . .” But criticizing my preaching as shallow is like calling my baby ugly.
I think I am a gifted preacher. Does that make me sound conceited? Not so. It places me alongside almost every pastor I have known. After serving nine years on a board that interviews ministry candidates and asking, “What do you feel your gifts are?” I cannot remember even one who failed to mention preaching. It was usually first on the list. If people are naturally defensive about their weaknesses, how much more does it hurt when someone implies, “Don’t look now, but even your strength isn’t strong!”
Second, the depth charge knocks my perspective out of kilter. I feel I should produce profundity on demand. Like Carl Sandburg when someone asked him to write a particular poem, I reply, “That’s a little like ordering a woman to have a red-headed baby.” Profundity in my sermons will have to be knit together by the Lord.
I am not deep by my design. I wonder if anyone is.
What do they really want?
But are people really asking for profundity? Upon investigation, I found my sincere detractor was neither attacking me personally nor demanding profundity. She was looking for something else, something she had assumed was depth. I’ve discovered that when people call for spiritual depth, they actually may want a certain style or familiar content in a sermon. Asking a few questions can shift us from being hurt to being helpful.
Detail. When I met with the woman, I asked her to be specific: “Can you give me an example of spiritual depth in sermons?”
“Well,” she said, “I don’t mean to compare, but I have been listening to Pastor _____ on the radio. He takes an entire half hour to explain one verse! He brings in the Greek, fills in the history, gives us the author’s background, offers personal observations of people who violated the verse and what happened to them. I never knew anyone could get so much out of Scripture.”
She was not requesting depth so much as more detail. She thought the more a preacher talked about a small portion of Scripture, the deeper the sermon must be. Whether or not that’s true, I leave you to decide, but anyone can provide more detail.
If detail is the request, then looking up the Greek, piling up background information, and having multiple examples may well satisfy my detractor. Maybe God is leading me to give more detail; maybe not. But at least I can deal with a clear request, not an accusation about the depth of my spirituality.
Application. I heard another request when I asked someone, “Can you recall certain sermons that ministered to you deeply? What do you remember?”
“Reverend Jones wasn’t that great a preacher,” he said, “but every Sunday he would tell us what we needed to do during the week. It wasn’t just a theological talk; it was a practical assignment. You never had to wonder. You either did it or you didn’t.”
Many listeners get frustrated when a sermon doesn’t easily lead to a conclusive act. They might assume the sermon is spiritually shallow because it doesn’t issue a clear call for action. Perhaps they have a point. Regardless, the request is clear. These people are not seeking profundity; they’re looking for assignments and, perhaps, accountability.
The question left to the preacher then is not “Am I deep enough?” but “Does emphasizing application fit the goal of the passage? Does God want me to provide direct applications every Sunday?”
Challenge. One Sunday early in my ministry, I had gotten in a John-the-Baptist mood. I’m not sure what happened, but I began preaching pastor-to-vipers. Afterward a man told me, “You really got down to some spiritual depth this morning, Brother.”
“Thanks, but what do you mean?” I asked.
“You had us sweating. When a church squirms under the conviction of the Holy Spirit, you’ve done your job. You can’t pussyfoot with the gospel. We need to be broken so the seed can go deep.”
Many people link their discomfort with the pastor’s depth. There are indeed times when that’s a valid link. Yet a particular style of preaching, or a conclusion for each sermon that produces discomfort, does not necessarily come from or result in spiritual depth.
I had a young man tell me he was having a difficult time sticking to his Christian goals. “I don’t need to know more; I need to be challenged from the pulpit to do what I already know.” To him, spiritual depth was an outer voice that echoed an inner accusation.
A question such as “How does a spiritually deep sermon make you feel afterward?” helps identify people who have linked challenge with depth. Once the link is identified, the preacher and listener can talk about the benefits or dangers of stern preaching. Spiritual depth hardly gets into it.
These three yearnings often hide under what members call spiritual depth. You could probably add others, such as new insight or creative technique. But this analysis still doesn’t answer the question: What is spiritual depth, and is it the preacher’s job to provide it?
Where to dig deeper
My conclusion is that in most cases a sense of spiritual shallows comes not so much from inadequate preaching as an inadequate view of the Holy Spirit. Many people have missed the point of listening. As 1 Corinthians 2:10 explains, the one who reveals the deep things of God is not the preacher but the Holy Spirit. And this passage tells us where they are revealed: within us.
In our conversation, the lady who deflated me with the spiritual depth charge said: “I kept waiting for you to work in this saying of Jesus, but you never did. And I kept thinking of applications you never made. I could have taught a whole lesson on what you were trying to say but didn’t!”
How tragic. She had experienced spiritual depth without recognizing it. The Holy Spirit had been revealing things to her, but because she was not hearing them from the pulpit, she received them only as frustration.
God’s goal is to speak to us personally. The sermon has accomplished its purpose if through it the Holy Spirit was able to “remind us of all that he has said to us.” The Spirit’s message may be stated in the sermon or stimulated by it.
In either case, genuine spiritual depth begins when both preacher and hearer listen more deeply than any human voice can speak.
-Joel C. Hunter
Northland Community Church
Orlando, Florida
Copyright © 1987 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
