THIS PAST SUMMER MY FAMILY ATTENDED a Christian family conference hosted by the radio ministry of a well-known American pastor. Over the years I have enjoyed listening to him preach countless sermons, both in person and by audiotape. I have profited spiritually from his exposition of the Scriptures.
During one message at the conference, he illustrated from his life. That was no surprise, for it was fairly common for him to insert personal anecdotes into his sermons. Frequently these stories were of the rubber-meets-the-road variety of family-life events. This, however, was different. A hush came over the audience as he told his story.
The story was about a soul-wrenching conflict that had affected his entire family. But it wasn’t the details of the story that gripped me—in fact, the details were purposely vague because of the intensely personal nature of the pain. The impact came not from what he said, but from what he was unable to say.
His story did not have a conclusion; he and his family were still in the midst of the struggle. As he ended the illustration, he said, “I wish that I could close this story by telling you that everything has been taken care of and we have seen the faithfulness of the Lord’s healing touch. But I can’t, because we haven’t. We’re still hurting and waiting to see how God will work all of this out. And so we wait … and we wait … and we continue to wait.”
That was a powerful reminder of the peculiar challenge pastors often face preaching the great promises of God during times when we ourselves are still waiting for those promises to be fulfilled. Sometimes we bear the pain and heartache of conflict while holding forth in our preaching the hope we have in God. Perhaps this challenge is never greater than when we have to preach to those who have perpetrated pain in our lives. Speaking the truths of God to people we know are plotting to undo us is daunting. I’ve found it troubling to preach when I know that one person in the congregation doesn’t like me.
How do we preach through pain, to people we may not like and who may not think much of us? How do we bring a message from God while trying to push down all the unresolved hurt and anger? Although I’ve been preaching for more than twenty years, I’m still trying to fully answer those questions. The conclusions I’ve drawn in this chapter are certainly tentative at best. For with each new conflict, I learn more about what it means to proclaim the truths of God amid the brokenness of life.
Unfulfilled promise
One challenge of the Old Testament saints was to proclaim the promises of God and to exemplify a steadfast faith when they themselves had not received what was promised. In his conclusion to the great faith chapter (Heb. 11), the author surprises his readers by announcing that the heroes of their faith died without receiving the total fulfillment of God’s promises:
And what more shall I say? I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel and the prophets, who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies. Women received back their dead, raised to life again. Others were tortured and refused to be released, so that they might gain a better resurrection. Some faced jeers and flogging, while still others were chained and put in prison. They were stoned; they were sawed in two; they were put to death by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated—the world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground. These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised. God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect, (vv. 32-40)
Yet these leaders still proclaimed God’s promises to a needy nation. I suspect that is what God calls pastors to do. In the midst of conflict that has yet to be resolved, we must hold forth the promises of God. For it’s the promises themselves, not only their fulfillment, that call forth faith.
When I preach during a period of conflict, I ask myself what specific promises of God would be relevant to that situation. I once had a man in the church accuse me of being greedy because I asked the budget committee for a much-deserved (and long-delayed) salary increase for the staff. He didn’t seem to understand there was a spiritual principle of sowing and reaping at play in how the church treated its staff. In his mind, my asking for a raise for the staff was an expression of greed rather than generosity. After a particularly harsh criticism that he leveled at me during a budget meeting, I went home angry and hurt. I wrestled the rest of the week with having to stand before the congregation on Sunday and preach grace when I felt like dispensing God’s wrath.
Finally, on Saturday morning I sat down and began to list the promises of God that were applicable to the situation. On a piece of paper I wrote:
My God shall supply all your need. (Phil. 4:19 KJV)
I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. (Phil. 4:11)
The God of all grace … will himself restore you and make you strong. (1 Pet. 5:10)
Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. (Matt. 6:33)
Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. (Matt. 6:34)
I had memorized most of these as a child in Sunday school. Throughout my life God had fulfilled them time and again. But not this time—at least not yet. But the process of writing down these promises, though not yet fulfilled, helped me release my disappointment and hostility. I realized the issue was in God’s hands; rereading God’s promises helped me to hand back the responsibility to him.
Softened hearts
When the apostle Paul confronted his accusers in Acts 24, he used the method of preaching. Before the Roman governor Felix, Paul’s response to the prosecuting lawyer Tertullus was in the form of a sermon. So effective was his rejoinder that Tertullus was silenced and Governor Felix was moved to give Paul a greater measure of freedom even while he was still under guard.
Again in Acts 26, Paul responded to his accusers with a sermon before King Agrippa. Paul spoke in the power of the Holy Spirit, intending to convince Agrippa to become a Christian. Although that did not happen, God used Paul’s proclamation to convince Agrippa of the apostle’s innocence.
Preaching in the midst of conflict can be a means for allowing the Holy Spirit to soften the hearts of adversaries. Certainly that is tricky, for preaching to confront adversaries requires skill and integrity. There is a fine line between authentically preaching biblical truth to accusers and using the sermon and the Bible to bludgeon them.
An issue arose in our church related to the growing number of youth coming to the services. Many of the young people had recently discovered a personal relationship with God through faith in Jesus Christ. To highlight what God was doing among the teens, we asked the youth ministry to lead the congregation in corporate worship one Sunday.
The youth jumped to the challenge with energy, creativity, and enthusiasm. The result was a moving worship experience for the entire church family. God enabled us to capture the hearts and minds of three generations simultaneously, bringing them together in worship in a unique way.
In light of that powerful encounter with God, I was surprised when I heard criticism about the way a number of the youth were dressed for the worship service. They said the young people’s casual dress was disruptive to the work of the Holy Spirit and disrespectful to some of the adults in the church. The next couple of weeks I discussed the issue with the unhappy folks. It seemed I was getting nowhere, except that their vitriol was increasing and starting to be directed toward me. Likewise, the youth and their supporters were growing more vocal in their arguments. One woman told me in no uncertain terms, “If we have to make a choice between reverence for the Lord in worship and having our youth participate like that, then both the youth and you will lose!”
The stakes were higher than I thought. Rather than continue down the path of private dialogue, I decided to address the issue publicly. I was careful to direct my message to the issue before us rather than to the people in dissent. To do that I used the message of Acts 15 as the text and titled the sermon “Freedom Worth Fighting For.” The point was that our spiritual freedom and liberty are core Christian values. I tried to show how from the Book of Acts onward, there have been constant attacks on the liberty Jesus Christ won for us on the Cross. Acts 15 says our relationship with God begins solely by grace through faith; the life that results is a life of liberty and freedom in Jesus Christ.
In my presentation, I addressed both groups, who glared at each other across the aisle. I showed how the Jerusalem Council’s decision in Acts 15 makes it difficult to determine the condition of a person’s heart toward God by looking at the style of her clothing or noticing the absence of shoes or socks from his feet. On the other hand, one’s liberty not to wear shoes must never be exercised in a way that disregards or disdains the convictions of others. Rather, we must exercise our liberty in Christ with a spirit of sensitivity and concern for others in God’s family.
The response to the sermon was more than I had asked God for.
The first person to catch me after the service was an older lady who had been in tears only weeks before after the youth service because of her distress over “the young people’s disregard for the Lord’s house.” She took my hand and said, “I don’t know if I can get used to people not wearing shoes in church, but now I see that it doesn’t have anything to say about how much they love the Lord.” Similar sentiments were voiced repeatedly that morning by people on both sides of the issue. I was again amazed at the power of God’s Word to bring reconciliation.
Log in your eye
In conflict I can become too focused on intersecting the message of Scripture with the lives of those with whom I disagree. Doing so inhibits the impact Scripture has on my life.
Once I preached a sermon series on the epistle of James when there was a small-scale war of words going on in the church. Most of the loose talk was focused on differences of opinion concerning our building project.
As I planned the sermon series, I could hardly wait until I got to chapter 3. What James had to say about “taming the tongue” was just what many needed to hear! Finally the Sunday to preach that passage arrived. I prayed all week that the Lord would use the message to soften hardened hearts. I did my best to connect the message of James with the words that had been spoken by members of our congregation. For the most part, I felt God answered my prayers. After the sermon people acknowledged to me that the Lord had spoken to them that morning and that they intended to mend some fences that coming week.
On Tuesday afternoon at the men’s fellowship group, I conveyed my excitement about how God had used Sunday’s sermon to challenge people. A couple of men acknowledged that they, too, were thankful for the way the Lord had used my message. Then another man cleared his throat, looked me square in the face, and said, “Does that mean that you want to clear the air with us over some of the things you have said in recent weeks?”
I had no idea what he meant. I thought at first he was trying to catch me with his dry humor, so I retorted with an off-the-cuff quip.
“No, we’re serious,” he said. “As I listened to the message on Sunday I wondered if you were hearing what you were saying.”
They had me. They talked straight to me, reminding me of statements I had made to them during the building conflict. Some of my comments had been gossipy and even slanderous. In the midst of preparing and delivering a sermon on taming the tongue, I had been deaf to the Spirit’s voice about my own transgressions. I, too, needed to pay attention to James’s message.
That incident reminded me about the importance of allowing my study and preaching to address me first. It’s easy for preachers to study, prepare, and preach the holy truths of God to a congregation before addressing themselves. Phillip Brooks, the great nineteenth-century rector of Boston’s Trinity Church, illustrated this peril with the analogy of a train conductor who comes to believe that he has been to all the places he announces to the passengers because of his long and loud heralding of the names of those places.
Allowing my preaching to address me first keeps me from using the sermon as a weapon. I keep a blank notepad on the corner of my desk during sermon study. Throughout the week, I ask the Holy Spirit to bring to my mind particular issues or areas of my life where the message I’m preparing applies. As these thoughts come to mind, I write them down so I can pray about them before God prior to concluding my study that morning. I’m constantly amazed at how thoroughly God applies to my life the truths I’m studying for Sunday. That helps me identify the log in my eye before I become obsessed with the speck in someone else’s.
Needed cushion
A friend has been embroiled in conflict in his church for the past six months. So snarled is the situation that he is planning to offer his resignation within the next two weeks. When I talked with him this week, I asked him how he has been able to continue preaching every Sunday while his adversaries have maligned him and managed to gain the upper hand in the struggle splitting the church.
His response: “I’ve had a cushion between me and the congregation.”
He explained that an elder in the church, a friend and mature Christian, has stood in the gap between pastor and congregation. My friend credits him with allowing him to vent his thoughts and emotions in a safe setting. That, my friend says, has kept him from leaking toxic resentment to the congregation through his preaching. He told me, “When I’ve unloaded my frustration during the week to my ‘cushion,’ I don’t feel the burning need to do that in the Sunday sermon.”
During my darkest days in ministry, I discovered the value of such friends. A businessman, an ophthalmologist, an engineer, and a scientist were the friends I turned to to vent my frustrations, ask my questions, and offer my solutions. They mostly listened, occasionally offered advice, but always provided strength and support.
At one low point I called one of these friends as a last straw. “Can I come by and bend your ear for a while this evening?” I asked.
“Come on over,” he said, “the coffee will be brewed when you get here.”
Ten minutes later I sat with him and his wife at their dining room table and told them I didn’t think I had it in me to continue.
“Being a pastor requires constant giving,” I said, “and I’m afraid I have nothing more to give to anyone. I have to get out before this thing kills me.” Those were words I never thought I’d say. I wanted out, a feeling that was so foreign to me.
Through two pots of coffee, we talked into the night. Finally my friends convinced me that it was not time to throw in the towel. They said, “We will stand in the gap for you. You take the next two weeks off, and we will go before the elders and the church on your behalf and explain that you need some time away from the pressure.”
Since my friend was also an elder, I knew his decision would be acceptable to the board. I also recognized that the congregation would be supportive. My concern was about the three families who led the opposition and held the power in the church. What would they do with this news that I was on the ropes? Would they somehow move in for the knockout punch?
My friends told me, “That is no longer your concern. You are now on two weeks leave. We want you to go skiing tomorrow and leave the church alone for a while.”
Their boldness was convincing. Instead of resigning, I stopped worrying (at least for the next few months), and I went skiing with my wife the next day.
That sort of protection from friends prevented me from even more conflict—the kind that comes when you say things you shouldn’t because you’re so weary and beat up. They allowed me to direct my frustrations, questions, and even hostility, toward them rather than toward those instigating the strife.
I’ve had to learn to trust these people, and doing so has been worth it: when I lean on them, I find I am more spiritually ready to handle God’s Word in an objective way. I tend not to allow my wounds to distort my preaching, and thus I don’t misuse the ministry of the Word.
Preaching that comforts me
During church conflict, my preaching has comforted me. I know that sounds a little strange, but if I allow God to do his work in me prior to accomplishing his work through me, I can find healing in my preaching. Once I preached from Psalm 139 in the midst of intense conflict. As I prepared for Sunday, the moving lyrics of Psalm 139 brought me comfort; God was speaking directly to me. Never before had I experienced such intimacy with God, his thoughts becoming more and more precious to me. I felt reassured that God was in control, that everything would turn out as he had planned.
God’s special ministry to me that week emboldened me to proclaim that same hope on Sunday. After the service, rather than the usual hustle toward the refreshment table, many people remained in their seats to continue listening to and talking with the Lord. A small group approached me and asked if they could pray with me there on the platform steps. We knelt and prayed and experienced a profound sense of God’s presence. During a time when the waves of conflict were capsizing the church, Psalm 139 overwhelmed us with God himself:
How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand. When I awake, I am still with you. If only you would slay the wicked, O God! Away from me, you bloodthirsty men! They speak of you with evil intent; your adversaries misuse your name. Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord, and abhor those who rise up against you? I have nothing but hatred for them; I count them my enemies. Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. (Psa. 139:17-24).
Copyright © 1998 Gary D. Preston
