“I thought you might like this book,” Ed said and quickly disappeared.
Later I opened the book and found his inscription thanking me for a series of sermons.
“You gave me a fresh perspective on some enduring questions. My faith has been renewed,” he wrote. “Perhaps I can, in some way, reciprocate with this book.”
We had met only briefly-he, a face in the audience, and I, a guest preacher, blindly shooting words at the hidden needs of strangers who sat in the pews.
Miraculously, something hit a bull’s eye. Some thought struck home in Ed, and faith was revived.
As I mulled over the inscription, my thoughts went from self-satisfaction and accomplishment to surprise and curiosity. What did I say that touched Ed? I had no clue.
* * *
Preaching is an odd enterprise.
Some preachers are wordsmiths, crafters of fine art. Others are silver-tongued orators who dazzle listeners with their dexterity in juggling language and moods and gestures. Some are scholars who come across as possessing more knowledge about the Bible than God does.
Others communicate a sincerity that warms the listener, while still others burn with such intensity that those who hear find themselves caught up with conviction.
The rest of us do the best we can, trying not to put anyone to sleep the way Paul did in Acts 20, while being careful not to dangle too many participles or heresies along the way.
To the casual observer, it appears that the tough work is happening in the pulpit, where the preacher strains to express the unexpressible.
In fact, the listener is working just as hard, without the advantage of formal training, seeking to catch something that will revive the soul.
Week after week, preacher and parishioner join together to play their roles as speaker and listener. They meld into what often becomes a familiar dance, circling around the holy.
It’s an odd sort of dance, which seems to lunge and jerk. Both sides feel a little tentative.
Preachers who have integrity recognize the audacity of standing up and speaking on behalf of the Ancient of Days when they can’t even balance their own checkbooks.
And honest listeners know they too are more prone to chat about the daily news than to ponder heavenly mysteries.
But the Scripture is read. A prayer is said. The preacher expounds. And sometimes, something happens.
* * *
A variety of messages are heard by people sitting on the same pew, depending on their point of view and point of need.
“I appreciate what you said about such and such,” someone remarks while shaking the preacher’s hand.
Did I say that? the preacher wonders.
As the congregation files out, the preacher realizes that some of them have begun dancing with Someone Else. Where preacher and parishioner began a rhythm together, the Spirit has slipped in, and the dance goes on.
Joseph Phelps is pastor of Church of the Savior in Austin, Texas.
Copyright © 1993 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
