When I fly, only two brief periods—the takeoff and the landing—make me anxious. Most airplane crashes occur during these crucial periods, so that’s when I’m listening carefully to the engines, feeling for any unusual tremors, sniffing for the scent of smoke, and watching for fear in the faces of the flight attendants. Between the beginning and the end, I can relax and get some work done.
Listening to a sermon elicits similar periods of anxiety. If our introduction is clear, and people sense the preacher knows where he or she is going, everyone can relax and listen. But when the flight time has elapsed, people begin to anticipate the landing is near, and anxiety can rise again. When I’ve failed to land a sermon effectively, it is often because I have not given it the study time I should have. I end up circling the field two or three times. Folks keep thinking Surely he’ll land it this time.
A great sermon not only starts well, it ends well. Here’s what I’ve learned about getting the plane down safely, on time, at its intended destination.
Where things go wrong
One reason for a bumpy landing is introducing new material in the conclusion. For example, I may illustrate my conclusion with another passage of Scripture, then realize halfway into it that folks don’t make the connection, so I have to back up and explain it.
I must also refrain from the temptation to shoehorn into the conclusion something I recently read or heard at a conference. It’s good stuff, I’m itching to preach it, but it’s not organic to the body of the sermon.
Finally, there is no such thing as a generic conclusion. I cannot “run to the cross” if I have not spoken of the cross all morning. A great conclusion, like fine gravy, is made up of the same essence as the meat.
Anatomy of a conclusion
A great conclusion is pithy, personal, and persuasive.
Pithy.
Compared to the length of the body of the sermon, a conclusion is relatively short. Everyone jokes about the preacher who says “in conclusion,” when everyone knows he’s really just warming up. Brevity has immense power. I don’t want the conclusion to sneak up on anyone, but if it drags, people will not stay with me to the end.
Personal
. I want the sermon conclusion to feel like a one-on-one conversation, like I’m talking directly to each one present. I’ve had people say, “I came wanting to be lost in the crowd, but I felt you were talking directly to me.” That’s what I’m after.
Persuasive.
I believe the whole intent of preaching is to draw people to a decision. To merely lay out information and say, “There it is,” without calling for a decision is unthinkable to me.
I watch my people and listen for the Spirit, even as I’m speaking.
The conclusion represents the highest emotional peak of the message, because I want to motivate people to do what they’ve just been informed about. I want to move them to action, not just agreement. People don’t do what they know to do; they do what they’re motivated to do. A conclusion must deal in the currency of passion.
Begin in reverse
I’ve never boarded an airplane without being absolutely sure of its destination. But we’ve all heard, and probably preached, sermons with no destination—they just didn’t go anywhere. Usually that happens because study time invariably runs right up to the time of sermon delivery. If we wait to plan our conclusion last, chances are we’ll run short of time and step into the pulpit without a clear destination in mind. In all my work, and especially my preaching, I tackle the hardest part first. So when I prepare a sermon, I begin by planning where my sermon is going to end. It becomes my target for the rest of the sermon.
Spirit cues
As I approach the end of the sermon, I’m watching and reading the congregation. I’ve been here before, many times, but I know that God may want to do a new thing today. So I watch my people and listen for the Spirit, even as I’m speaking. In the African-American tradition, when a preacher strikes a chord with the congregation, he’ll not only get a verbal response, but the body language of the congregation changes. The Spirit may then lead me to develop a thought, because that’s where the Spirit is dealing in the hearts of people. But other times I’ve sensed, It’s time to shut it down and land.
Several years ago, I was preaching a revival in another church. I was preaching on Hosea in the first-person narrative. I had just described the tension between Hosea and Gomer as a result of her unfaithfulness, and how Hosea agonized in pain, wanting her back. I had no idea that one of the deacons of that church and his wife had been separated over a similar issue.
As I preached, the pastor was weeping, because he was thinking about this couple whom he loved so much. But this night, the deacon was also present. In a moment of emotional anguish, during my narration, he jumped to his feet and screamed out, “I want my wife back!” He didn’t even know she was in the church. But she was sitting in the back, and somebody hollered, “She’s right back here!” He started toward the back of the church; she started toward the front of the church. And when they met, the church exploded. Tears and praise flowed.
I just backed up, sat down, and never said another word. For the next thirty minutes, that place was awash in the presence of God. He ran to meet us that day. It was a visible demonstration of the text. What could I say in conclusion that was better than that?
E.K. Bailey is pastor of Concord Missionary Baptist Church in Dallas, Texas. I watch my people and listen for the Spirit, even as I’m speaking.
1997 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. For reprint information call 630-260-6200 or contact us
