Many things give a sense of rich privilege.
Some things are a privilege to see. I felt that way when I saw the original copy of the Constitution in Washington, D.C.
Some things are a privilege to hear. I will never forget sitting in the front row of Orchestra Hall to hear the Chicago Symphony under legendary conductor Sir Georg Solti.
Some things are a privilege to touch. My own sons fresh from the womb.
I feel that way supremely about simply proclaiming the name and gospel of Jesus Christ. While results are extremely important to me, when God gives me the chance to do nothing more than deliver the message to someone who needs it, I feel like Sammy Sosa springing out of the batter’s box after a homer.
Our worship service last Easter, for example, was overall not one of our best. Many of our people were away visiting family, so our attendance was half of normal, and the offering reflected that. What’s more, a few glitches beset the music. Even so, for the rest of the day I sailed on an emotional high.
My sermon had been a simple declaration of the good news of Jesus Christ, and in the service that day was at least one person who was not a Christian. That night on the phone my dad asked how I was doing; I replied, “Any day you can present the gospel for 30 minutes to even one unbeliever is a good day.”
I preach about Jesus with as much pride as a computer consultant speaks of meeting Bill Gates.
Not just a good day, a soul-enlarging day. Bench-pressing 150 pounds affects your soul in a different way than carrying a feather. You know you’ve done something. The name of Jesus Christ and the message about the gift of salvation through faith in him are the weightiest things I can utter, the most noble syllables my lips and tongue can form.
This is apparently what the early church felt. In Luke’s description of the apostles’ response to one episode of persecution, he writes, “The apostles left the Sanhedrin, rejoicing because they had been counted worthy of suffering disgrace for the Name” (Acts 5:41).
The Name. Such was the intensity with which they hallowed the name of Jesus Christ. To say The Name was enough, for they preached there is “no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved.” This saving Name weighs more than all the mass of this far-stretching universe.
Because of the glory of this Name and good news, preaching affects me like boasting does an insecure teenage boy. “May I never boast, except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Gal. 6:14).
I preach about Jesus with as much pride as a computer consultant speaks of having lunch with Bill Gates.
I’m a Namedropper.
Last fall I watched the game in which Mark McGwire broke Roger Maris’s home-run record. I was struck by how Cubs announcer Steve Stone spoke about his own role that night. With near reverence in his voice, he described the privilege of announcing the game, of just being in Busch Stadium for what many regard as the greatest record in sports.
Steve, I know how you feel, and more, for I am a servant of the gospel of Jesus Christ. That name is above every name. This preaching work above any work. I, like John, am unworthy to untie Christ’s sandals, but he has chosen me to bear his saving message to souls that never die.
Craig Brian Larson is editor of Preaching Today and pastor of Lake Shore Assembly of God P.O. Box 1456, Chicago IL 60690
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