Peewee Hockey Taught Me to Preach

When my son Mathew turned five, my wife and I signed him up for peewee hockey. We thought it would be cute. We envisioned munchkins wobbling on skates, leaning on sticks twice their size, chasing the puck around a massive rink.

After the first practice (indeed, it was very cute), we received a phone call from a man calling himself “a fellow hockey parent.”

“Our first game is this Sunday at 11:00 a.m.,” he informed me politely, “and it’s your turn to drive. And that’s not all.” He was excited. “We have a great idea for you and your wife, volunteering at our annual Christmas tree sale, a fundraiser for the local hockey association.”

A bit stunned, I said, “Wow, sounds like fun, but I have to work on Sundays,” adding in my best ministerial tone, “I’m a pastor, you know.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. “Well,” the hockey man said, “Can your wife drive? We’d sure appreciate your commitment.” As if trumping my clergy card, he asserted, “This is really important, you know.”

Silly us. Little did we know that cute had nothing to with peewee hockey. This was a serious game, nay, a way of life. They never said it out loud, but I’m certain that if they were arrested for being hockey parents, they would want enough evidence to convict them. They made it clear that peewee hockey was a high and holy calling. Ordinary parents shouldn’t dabble in it.

My son wobbled through the season and promptly retired. (We’re enjoying our new role as soccer parents). But I’m still grateful for my connection with the peewee hockey parents. Honestly! They taught me some profound lessons.

Without badgering or belittling, they communicated a clear, uncompromising message: “We know you long to do something significant, even heroic. We believe our hockey program fulfills that longing. So here’s your chance to be a hero. Get on board with us.”

They had perfected the fine art of challenging people. And, unwittingly, they caused me to rethink my approach to pastoring, especially my preaching. Certainly my sermons communicated warmth and acceptance. But compared to peewee hockey, my preaching looked pretty feeble. Did I challenge people? Did they appeal to that longing for the heroic?

I discovered I had some work to do. Here’s what I learned from my hockey friends.

Hockey parents say what they mean

Reading the Gospels, it’s tough to miss Jesus’ directness. He was always grace-filled, but on numerous occasions Jesus was also blunt. He placed the cost of discipleship up front, never burying the challenge in fine print.

My hockey friends did the same thing. Without a particle of shyness, they communicated the expectations. “If you want to be a good hockey parent, you will be at the Christmas tree lot by three o’clock on Christmas Eve.” They don’t indulge in cheap grace.

By contrast, I was guilty of indirect preaching. Five years into my first pastorate, for instance, I preached what I thought was a powerful sermon on a difficult Bible passage—just the right blend of sound exegesis, organization, application, encouragement, and even a few chuckles.

After everyone shook my hand and affirmed my “nice” sermon, Willis took me aside. A gentle, hard-working farmer and highway repairman, Willis had never criticized anything about my ministry. But on that morning, this tender man lovingly rebuked me.

“Pastor,” he said quietly, “I don’t mean to be negative, but, um, it’s like this: never apologize for God’s Word. Many of us want to follow God, even if it’s hard. So, please, don’t beat around the bush or get too cute. Just tell us what the Bible says. We can take it. Challenge us even if it wounds us.”

Ouch! Willis was right. Though filled with good information and even humor, this sermon (like many of mine) lacked the punch of directness. Why? It was, in part, my own sin. I lacked the confidence of my hockey friends. I cared more about pleasing people than pleasing God. I also did not realize how much the clear, direct approach is appreciated.

The fine art of challenging people requires a courageous and Christ-like directness. So now each week I audit my message with Willis’ simple appeal: “Challenge us even if it wounds us.” If the gospel meets the deepest longings of the human heart, particularly the longing to live a truly heroic life, then preaching must be direct.

Ordinary people can do this

Challenges that are unattainable by the average person produce only frustration. Every challenge made by my hockey-parent friends was not only direct, it was also accessible. An ordinary parent could actually do it. They didn’t start with running the entire organization or being the head coach.

“Just show up and drive,” they said. “Or if you can’t do that, you can sell Christmas trees. And if that doesn’t work, then you can operate the concession stand during games.”

They started with small things but constantly stretched our commitment. Clearly, they had confidence that we could become great hockey parents.

How do I make the challenge of the Gospel accessible to ordinary people?

I think of Susan, a new follower of Jesus. Susan attends church faithfully, participates in a Bible Study, and listens attentively to my sermons. But Susan is also trying to leave a difficult way of life filled with anger and deep wounds. As a result, she has a nagging fear. Recently, she put it this way: “I’m afraid that all this stuff about Jesus just isn’t for me. I can’t do it. It’s way out of my league.”

There are countless “Susans” in church. They want to follow Jesus. But they look up at the soaring mountain of discipleship and, in quiet despair, they’re not sure if they can do it.

How do we challenge the “Susans”? Without diluting the Bible’s challenges, we can encourage them to take small steps. Help people begin where they are, not where they’re supposed to be. And then challenge them to take the next step.

The Susan in my church has struggled with forgiving others. When I preached on forgiveness, I was direct about Jesus’ words: The life of your soul, your connection with God, depends on your willingness to forgive.

“And yet,” I continued, “maybe you aren’t able to entirely forgive today. You can still begin this process. Pray, specifically asking God to change your attitude. Refuse to stay stuck where you are. Even if it’s scary, ask God to help you take the next step.”

In our preaching, we can challenge listeners to take one small step forward. As far as I can tell, that is God’s normal way to transform a human soul.

Hockey parents never quit

A challenge can be direct and accessible, but without persistence it doesn’t have time to penetrate our resistance.

My hockey-parent friends didn’t give up easily. I’d turn them down cold and they’d call the next day with another “opportunity” to make a difference in the life of a hockey child.

They weren’t rude, they didn’t badger me. Neither did they write me off their potential volunteer list just because I declined previous offers.

Randy, a no-nonsense salesman in our church, encouraged me to do the same. “I’m hard to motivate,” he told me. “Because I’m challenged so many times in the business world, I’m now very careful where I expend my energy. And besides, I admit I have a hard heart. But like most people, I need to be challenged. Keep preaching the message. Let God soften my heart. Don’t give up just because I don’t respond the first or second time.”

“So, three’s the charm?” I said.

“Sometimes,” Randy said. “I’ll give you an example. While you’ve been preaching on grace, you invited us to receive God’s grace and you challenged us to extend it to others, especially the least likely people in our lives.

“Then you told us to picture the face of that least likely person. Immediately, I saw the face of a co-worker whom I absolutely despise. I rejected your challenge. But you were persistent, preaching the same message for the next few weeks. I don’t know how it happened, but the Spirit softened my heart. Last week I asked God to help me go out of my way to help this co-worker.”

It’s the same for most of our listeners: the Spirit usually softens hearts over a period of time.

Hockey turned out to be a one-year experience for my son, but the face-off with my preaching has produced long-term effects.

Mathew Woodley is pastor of Cambridge United Methodist Church in Cambridge, Minnesota. CambridgeUMC@juno.com