Like a rnan about to face a firing squad, I was sitting in the front row of the sanctuary waiting for the soloist to finish. In a few seconds I would once again stand before the congregation to preach. Fear gripped me. This fear was not pre-performance butterflies or nervous jitters. No, this fear was deeper and more debilitating and it was weekly.
On the one hand my head told me, You’ve done this for thirteen years, and the church has grown, and many people say they’ve benefited from your preaching.
But my gut said, Do you realize you have absolutely nothing new to say? These people are expecting something. They won’t tolerate a boring monologue. You’ll stand up there and make a fool of yourself. What could you possibly say that these people haven’t already heard, and from far better preachers than you!
Even before I would start my weekly sermon preparation, my dread would nearly paralyze my study. All week I would live in such apprehension, I was emotionally worthless to my family. Every Saturday night and Sunday morning I would mentally resign, telling God, I can’t go on this way. This fear is consuming my life.
Then, on Sunday morning, waiting to walk before the congregation, I once again pled with the Lord, Let me do something else with my life!
What was my main fear?
One Wednesday evening I sat in the home of a parishioners and gathered around me were twelve people, listening attentively. I had spent a couple of days preparing for this Bible study, and I was excited about sharing what I had learned. As usual I had some jitters, but I noticed that they were nothing like Sunday’s.
Driving home I reflected on the difference between Sundays and Wednesdays: most of the Wednesday evening people were freshly minted in the faith, and most of what I said was new to them. Not only that, they were eager to learn. I felt comfortable in that setting because I knew I was helping them.
I also realized that I viewed the Sunday morning congregation differently. It was populated by spiritual Ph.D.’s, people who, I perceived, were daring me to come up with something new and improved, and I didn’t feel up to the challenge. I had as much chance of meeting their expectations as I would surviving that firing squad.
Three types of listeners
After one of those Wednesday evening meetings, I realized that my congregation is composed of at least three kinds of listeners.
The Corinthians. These people are experienced in church life but spiritually immature. They know the Bible and have heard many four-star preachers- and they come to church expecting me to be as winsome and stimulating as Chuck Swindoll and as analytic and deep as J. I. Packer. This was the crowd I was trying to please on Sunday morning.
Well, I’m not Swindoll or Packer. As high as I may stretch, I will never satisfy that crowd, and I will burn out trying. I had to release myself from their expectations.
The Barnabas listeners. These are the spiritually mature, people who come to worship expecting to meet with God. All I have to do is lead them to the Word. The Spirit of God is so active in their lives and they are so responsive to him, they readily learn and grow. Barnabas listeners are a delight to preach to because they aren’t dependent on me. They only ask that I honestly and earnestly lead them to think and interact with the Holy Spirit regarding his Word.
The Bereans. These are the novices, like the Wednesday evening study group. They don’t need theologically sophisticated ideas to rivet their attention. They are excited about the Lord, and they’re eager to learn the Bible. If I can manage to be clear and simple, they’ll soak up the message.
Recognizing that I preach to three distinct groups helped to ease some of my preaching fears. I’ve also taken other steps, including having others share the pulpit ministry. Now, when I stand up on Sunday mornings, I still envision the Corinthian firing squad taking aim, but I simply hope they will forgive me. The people on whom I now focus my attention are the Berean and Barnabas listeners.
-Gerald Nelson Southern Gables Church Denver, Colorado
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