In a Roman Catholic hospital in our town, in the elevator hallway, stands a life-size statue of Mary. Her face is perfect serenity. Her body is upright but not tense. Under one of her feet writhes a thickly muscled serpent; in its open mouth, fangs drip poison.
That's what preaching is. Preaching is stepping on the snake.
Children leave during the hymn that precedes the sermon. I enter the pulpit, read the Scripture, and fiddle with my notes; I gather my wits. Nervousness gives way to adrenaline for battle; it swells my awareness. I lift my eyes, open my mouth: the sermon begins.
I've heard of the art of preaching, and I've heard of the art of war. Preparation for preaching and for war requires human creativity. Both activities are acquired crafts. Hand-to-hand combat is not a recital, and neither is preaching. Preaching is an art, but it is not an art show. It isn't a concert, it isn't a speech.
Preaching is a form of aggression. As we preach, Yahweh, the God of war, conducts holy war to conquer territory. The field of conflict is the human heart.
PIERCING OFFENSE
I begin slowly, letting the words come as they will, following my outline section by section. I lay the groundwork for the thesis by commenting on the text and introducing the thesis slowly. I methodically scan the eyes in the congregation. I read every reaction.
As the sermon progresses and the thesis is revealed, the congregation divides up, splinters into individuals. Some are comforted, others are in distress. Some are angry or stubborn. I feel the battle engage. A line must be drawn in front of every listener.
One person looks offended. I've touched a nerve in a person who is normally self-possessed. What can I say to offend their pride even more? This is where preaching really begins. The offense is what counts. Stepping on a snake is an offense to the snake. Its pride must be mortally wounded.
It's easy to back off from the offense. The flesh will scream, and the Devil will bare his venom-dripping teeth. The human heart is the most fiercely guarded piece of ground in the universe. The fortress is built through years and years of self-justification and rationalization. The soul in sin feels alive, but it is dead. The sermon must shed light on the soul's dire circumstance so it may turn from sin and live. The people must hear the indicative of the sermon–"Thou art the man!"–if they are to hear the imperative of the sermon, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit."
I feel the offense of the words as they pierce hearts. I cannot stop until the whole truth is known: they are lost. Damnation must be preached. As Forsyth says, "There are not nearly enough preachers who preach, nor people who take home, the reality of damnation, or the connection of liberty with it."
I am a mainline-denomination preacher, quite shy by nature. I don't give altar calls. But when the battle for the human heart is pitched, the line scratched in my soul by that hellfire preacher leads me unfailingly where the sermon must go. The sermon needs to go to Christ. The line needs to be drawn. The demand needs to be made. Christ crucified must be placarded before every listener. There is a light, a calling, a demand, a raised voice, a pounded fist, the stamp of a foot. The snake is crushed.
Now the gospel. At the right moment, with the end in sight, the gentle voice. The Savior who would never snuff the smoking flax or break the bruised reed must also speak and make the plea for the soul to cross the line to life. Grace comes unexpectedly. The Way presents itself. The law raged, the gospel gently beckons. The law has condemned, the Savior pleads for mercy and peace. The corridor opens for the listener, the opportunity presents itself: receive the Savior; cross the line; enter life.
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When he wrote this, David Hansen was pastor of Belgrade Community Church in Belgrade, Montana. Adapted from The Art of Pastoring by David Hansen. Used by permission of InterVarsity Press, P.O. Box 1400, Downers Grove, IL 60515
Copyright © 1995 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
