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Some are group sessions where each client has time to practice only a few minutes of a much longer presentation. We focus mainly on making a good first impression through strong delivery skills, breaking down complex messages for clear communication, and transitions.

Others are one-on-one conversations, usually over Zoom, in which we review and evaluate an entire presentation.

In both types of sessions, one of my favorite coaching questions is, “If you had the opportunity to do that over again, what would you do differently next time?”

Many times, the client notices and names the same adjustments I’m prepared to recommend. This allows me to agree with them and suggest coaching cues and tips.

It’s always easier to coach someone on a skill they willingly acknowledge needs improvement. It’s much harder (impossible!) to help someone get better at something they don’t see as a problem.

Sometimes clients are harder on themselves than I would be. This gives me the opportunity to affirm and encourage what they’re doing right, as well as alerting me to watch for how perfectionism may be sabotaging their performance.

Occasionally, a client will see nothing in his or her performance needing improvement. Invariably, these are the ones who have the most room for improvement.

The most polished communicators can always name something they want to work on.

How about you?

What’s one communication skill you know you need to work on?

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Of course, I was familiar with their biggest hits, especially those featured in commercials, but I had never paid much attention to their story, catalogue, or influence on music.

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I blame this knowledge gap on my parents, mostly. They raised me to love classic country artists like Waylon, Willie, and Merle. There were no Beatles albums in their record collection. I never heard them intentionally listen to a Beatles song. I vaguely remember my mom laughing at a joke a comedian told about Paul McCartney getting busted for possession of marijuana.1

I got into Elvis when I was a senior in High School, mainly because I had sideburns. After shaving them off, my love for his music remained. My buddies and I also discovered the Eagles while cruising the drag of our dusty West Texas hometown. Long-time readers know of my love for U2.2

The catalyst for my recent deep dive into the Beatles was an episode of The Rest is History podcast with Tom Holland and special guest, Conan O’Brien. Listening to them rhapsodize about their favorite Beatles songs and albums, while reviewing seminal stories from the band’s history, goaded me into finally seeing what all the fuss is about.3

After watching several documentaries, including the Beatles Anthology and Peter Jackson’s Get Back, and listening to their discography almost exclusively for the past three months, I’m ready to make this pronouncement:

The Beatles were pretty good.

Here are five observations from a Beatles newbie. (With a bonus observation from Heather, who went on this deep dive with me.) I’m sure they’re Captain Obvious to long-time Beatles aficionados, but they’re revelations to me.

1. Their seven-year output from 1963-1969 is astounding. They released two albums most years, all with multiple hits, not to mention the singles that weren’t originally included on their albums. They’re a great example of how the best creative endeavors emerge less from inspiration and more from hard, grinding work. Even the story of McCartney waking up with the melody for “Yesterday” in his head, while magical, reveals an inconvenient truth for lazy creatives: Somnolent inspiration seems to fall more readily on those who are working their butts off while awake.

2. Their iterative song-writing process is instructive. They didn’t let not having the rights lyrics keep them from developing a song. They’d sing gibberish while working out the melody, trusting the lyrics would come in time. (And if they right lyrics never came, John would go with the gibberish.) The way “Get Back” emerges and evolves over the course of the Get Back documentary is a great example. Sometimes when I’m working on a sermon or another writing project, I’ll get stuck working out the wording of a key point. I can burn hours focused on a sentence or two that may not even make the final cut. From the Beatles I’ve learned that when I hit a sticking point to keep moving forward and flesh out the rest of the piece, trusting the exact wording for the specific point will come in time.

3. The diversity of their catalogue is amazing. Doo-wop. Rock and Roll. Folk. Psychedelic. Proto-metal. Ballads. Classical Indian. No need to hit shuffle to sample these (and many more) genres from their catalogue. Just pick a later album and push play. This diversity draws me to their later music over their early work.

4. The brilliance of John Lennon is surprising (to me). Because Paul has remained visible and active well into his eighties, I’ve always assumed he was the face of the Beatles. John Lennon was just the quirky hippy who sings one of my favorite (melancholy) Christmas songs. I stand corrected. What a voice! (One of my favorite vocal performances of his is in This Boy, a song I’d never heard until recently. A close second are his vocals in “A Day in the Life.”) And of course he, along with Paul, was a songwriting genius. His murder at age forty robbed us not only of more great music from him (and Paul if the Beatles ever reunited), but also the opportunity to hear, as we have from Paul, his more mature reflections on the Beatles story.

5. The roles Brian Epstein (their long-time manager) and George Martin (their long-time music producer) played were essential. Martin has been called the fifth Beatle for good reason. His expertise in classical music, combined with his creative flexibility, provided the building blocks for the band’s experimentation. It seems he was often the only adult in the studio. To appreciate Epstein’s influence, all one has to do is watch the band disintegrate after his untimely death. The Beatles did more than get by with a little help from their friends; they depended on it.

My Ten Eleven Favorite Beatles Songs (In no particular order and depending on mood and guaranteed to change over time.)4

—This Boy (John’s vocals.)

—Penny Lane (Love the joyful horns and key change.)

—Elenor Rigby (Evidence they were not just another shallow sixties boy band.)

—Get Back (Paul’s propulsive bass and John’s guitar.)

—Don’t Let Me Down (Love the rooftop version with John’s flubbed lyrics.)

—Yesterday (Paul at his best.)

—A Day in the Life (A creative mash-up of two distinct songs.)

—I Got a Feeling (Thanks to the Get Back documentary.)

—While My Guitar Gently Weeps (George Harrison wrote songs too!)

—Let it Be (You can take the boy out of his religion…)

—Octopus’s Garden (Heather said I should include a Ringo song since I didn’t mention him in the piece.)

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And now the long-awaited bonus observation from Heather, who, as usual, offers a more thoughtful and deeper take than any of mine:

6. Their genius is synergistic. The whole was genuinely greater than the sum of its parts. Ringo played with an understated, instinctive feel that served the song rather than himself. George Martin called him the best rock drummer he ever worked with. The Beatles were a different band without him. George spent years writing in the shadow of Lennon-McCartney and yet produced some of the band’s best songs. (“Something,” “Here Comes the Sun,” “While My Guitar…”) His quiet genius was exactly that: quiet, until you really listen. None of these four men were as good alone as they were together. John needed Paul’s melodic polish and drive. Paul needed John’s edge. George pushed them both toward depth they might not have found otherwise. And Ringo held the whole thing together. Their ideas bounced and crashed until they became music. The friction between strong personalities produced something none of them could create alone.

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I favor instead, textual series covering an entire book of the Bible, or a section of a longer book, like, for example, the Sermon on the Mount out of the Gospel of Matthew.2

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By textual, I mean allowing the sermon to emerge from and be shaped by a single idea, theme, or image from the text.3

This yields a much different kind of sermon than one beginning with a predetermined topic, around which texts are gathered, arranged, and sometimes manipulated to make or support a point. 4

Confession: I find textual sermons easier to prepare than topical sermons.

I like having my options limited by the text, whereas I’m easily overwhelmed by the endless possibilities of a topic.

Confession: For me, a topical sermon series comes not from the biblical text, but from whatever books I’ve chosen as my primary resources for the series.

When I prepare a topical sermon series, I start by reading several books addressing the topic. 5 These books become the “canon” from which I prepare my sermons.

For example, when preparing for a series on mental health a couple of years ago, I started, not with a thorough search of the Scriptures to see what the Bible says about mental health, but by reading a stack of books about mental health written from a Christian perspective, as well as everything Richard Beck had written about it on his blog.6

In my reading, I noticed common themes, patterns, and passages of scripture. Which I grouped into six general sermon topics. When it came time to write the sermons, I wasn’t so much wrestling with what a specific text said about mental health (although there was some of that), as I was arranging the notes from my various resources into a coherent message, while also including personal stories and observations to make each sermon mine.

The series received positive feedback and I was proud of it. It also wore me out more than preaching a six-week textual series out of something like Philippians ever does.7

Confession: I usually receive more positive feedback on my topical sermons than on my textual ones.

Listeners say they appreciate it when I address a specific issue (like mental health) with practical guidance and advice from Scripture. I wonder if this is more of an indictment of my overly didactic textual sermons with minimal application to current concerns, needs, and issues, than an endorsement of topical sermons in general. This feedback is why, despite my reservations, I sprinkle a few topical sermon series into my yearly preaching calendar.8

Confession: I’ve preached my fair share of fact-filled textual sermons, disconnected from the larger gospel story, and leaving my listeners with a good understanding of the text, but without a call to respond to or an opportunity to participate in the gospel in a tangible way.

Preaching the Bible, or preaching the text, is not necessarily the same as preaching the gospel.

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Preachers, what types of sermons do you prefer to preach?

Listeners, what types of sermons do you find to be the most helpful?

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I’m well aware that many of my listeners, based on what they want the sermon to be or do, evaluate it differently than I.1

• Some want the sermon to be funny, so they count jokes.

• Some want the sermon to be short, so they count minutes.

• Some want the sermon to be biblical, so they count verses cited.

• Some want baptisms, so they count responses.

• Some want the sermon to be perfect, so they count mistakes.

• Some (elders) want the sermon to be non-controversial, so they count inflammatory remarks.2

• Some want to learn, so they count insightful points and revelatory details.

• Some want to be affirmed, so they count all the ways I agree with them.

• Some want to enjoy a few minutes away from their kids, so they count sheep.3

Here’s my criteria for an effective sermon. ( And yes, some of these overlap with those listed above.)

• I want my sermons to convey the manifold good news of the gospel, so I count when someone, especially someone I don’t usually hear from, says, “Thank you. I really needed to hear that today.”4

• I’m want my sermons to be interesting, so I count signs of engagement like: nodding heads, note-taking, laughter, verbal responses (Amen! Preach it! That’s right!), and afterward, probing questions seeking clarification and thoughtful disagreement from a different perspective.

• I want my sermons to be informative, so I count comments like, “I didn’t know that,” or “I learned something new today.”

• I want my sermons to be challenging, especially to those who’ve been listening to sermons for decades and think they’ve heard it all, so I count comments like, “You showed me something in that passage I’d never considered before,” or “I’m need to think about that one for awhile.”

• I want my sermons to be literally remarkable, so I count conversations instigated. I love it when I hear about a family discussing the sermon over lunch or a small group unpacking it at their next meeting.

• I want my sermons to facilitate change, so I count tangible responses: faith, repentance, baptism, reconciliation, and other “next steps.”

• I want my sermons to encourage listeners to read their Bible more carefully, so I count when someone tells me (sometimes weeks later) how a previous sermon provoked them into deeper study.

• I want my sermons to model for my congregation how to read the Bible responsibly, so I count when I hear someone referencing or practicing the principles of interpretation I try to embody in my sermons. (This is a long-term goal taking years to bear fruit.)

Occasionally, a single sermon yields multiple wins across many of these categories.

Mostly, I’m happy with at least one win on any given Sunday.

Sometimes, the best I can do is go home relieved I didn’t accidentally cuss.

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It’s on schedule.

I learned this response from my friend, Terry Rush, the long-time preacher for the Memorial Drive Church in Tulsa.1

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My interpretation of “on schedule” is that a sermon is never finished until it’s preached. An unpreached sermon is always in process and can only be “on schedule.”

To finish a sermon before preaching it, is to risk missing Spirit-led opportunities to sharpen the sermon’s message by adding or clarifying a point, or, as is often the case for me, deleting a distraction.

I’ve found “on schedule” also helps me manage the anxiety pulsing from the relentless drumbeat of another Sunday coming. Especially when the sermon isn’t coming together as quickly or as easily as I’d like.

It relieves the pressure of needing to have a ready-to-preach sermon by Thursday evening. All I have to do, instead, is keep it “on schedule.”2

I keep my sermon on schedule by completing my daily, self-assigned preparation tasks.

When I:

—Dwell in the text and read a few commentaries on Monday. (On Schedule)

—Storyboard key elements and a rudimentary flow on Tuesday. (On Schedule)

—Sketch out a rough draft on Wednesday. (On Schedule)

—Revise and polish what I’ve written on Thursday. (On Schedule)

—Let it rest on Friday, unless I’ve fallen behind and need to catch up. (On Schedule)

—Spend a few hours on Saturday internalizing the message so I can preach without notes. (On Schedule)

—Add or delete something when I’m rehearsing early Sunday morning. (On Schedule)

—Tweak a key phrase in my head during the song before I preach. (On Schedule)

—When I deliver the last line and step off the stage. (Finished)3

Sometimes, after going through each step of my process, I still feel like the sermon is missing something essential.

In those moments, I have to trust (the Spirit) that it’s still on schedule.

Recently, after multiple revisions, I couldn’t find a strong closing for a sermon. After letting it rest on Friday, I hoped a sentence or two would emerge while internalizing it on Saturday, but again, nothing came. (On schedule.)

I took the stage knowing I didn’t have a good way to end the sermon. (On Schedule)

As I was wrapping up, the closing sentence came to me. Saying it unleashed a seismic charge, the positive impact of which, I saw the congregation absorb.

It was the perfect way to end the sermon, obvious in hindsight, but I didn’t have it until it was time to say it.

All week long, the sermon had been on schedule, and that final line arrived right on time.

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It recently occurred to me that for all the time, energy, and money we spend teaching, training, and coaching preachers on how to preach, we put little effort into teaching, training, and coaching churches on to hear to a sermon.

As important as the content, craft, and delivery of good sermons are, they cannot, by themselves, bridge the communication gap between a speaker and ill-prepared or unwilling listeners.

So what can listeners do to prepare themselves to hear a sermon?

My friend Jon Mullican specializes in facilitating leadership conversations around listening, which he says is “The most powerful leadership skill rarely used.”

He recommends listeners prepare for meetings or significant conversations by using his CLEAR framework to adopt a posture conducive to listening. He calls this time of preparation “listening hygiene.”1

Here’s my adaptation of his framework for hearing a sermon.

Clear your mind. Take a deep breath. Say a prayer. Open your Bible. Or do whatever else helps you focus on the present moment.

Limit distractions. Put away your phone or any other screen biding for your attention.2

Expect an exceptional encounter. Rather than bracing yourself to survive yet another boring sermon, expect to hear a word from the Lord, even if the delivery is rough and the content poorly organized.

Ask God to open your ears.3 Psalm 40:6 speaks of God digging out the psalmist’s ears to receive the Word of Lord on a level deeper than mere religious ritual.4 The move here is not to ask God to speak to you, because God is always speaking, but to give you the ears to hear what God is saying.

Remember your purpose. You’re (hopefully) listening to this sermon to help you gain insight into God’s nature or become more like Christ or bolster your faith during a tough time or answer a pressing question or address a plaguing doubt.5

How would the way you hear sermons change if just before every sermon you took a moment to do this bit of listening hygiene?

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While checking my perceptions about long sermons, I found a survey of sermon length from the 50 fastest growing churches in October of 2019. The average sermon was just over 40 (FORTY!!) minutes long.1

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Keep in mind, this is the average. Meaning there were quite a few sermons above this mark. The highest average length for a church was 56 minutes and the lowest was 30 minutes.

In almost 30 years of preaching I can count the number of times I’ve preached for over 40 minutes on one hand.2 I’ve also never preached for one of the 50 fastest growing churches in America so take what follows with a grain of salt.

This survey raises a number of questions for me. These questions run the gamut from genuine curiosity to thinly veiled critiques (mostly relegated to the footnotes).

Many of these questions can be answered with a bit of research, but in this post I’m more interested in generating some speculative discussion than arriving at definitive conclusions.

1. Are these sermons focused on a single text or are they topical?3

2. What percentage of each sermon is dedicated to exposition of scripture, illustration or storytelling, and application?

3. Are these sermons primarily aimed at seekers, new Christians, experienced church-goers, or mature Christians?4

4. How long are the gatherings in which 40-minute sermons are the norm?

5. How many other elements of worship are—and can be—included in a gathering in which 40 minutes are set aside for a sermon? How much time is spent singing, praying, or sharing communion together?5

6. In these churches, are longer sermons necessary to support other concurrent children’s or student ministry programming?

7. Were these churches growing because they featured longer sermons? Or are their systems for promoting and managing church growth so effective that long sermons are not a limiting factor? Or is a strong commitment the teaching ministry (signaled by longer sermons) one of a cluster of factors leading to growth?6

8. If the preachers in these churches began preaching 25-minute sermons would these churches stop growing or start shrinking?

9. What are the long-term consequences of prioritizing the sermon over other elements of worship?7

10. In these churches, are longer sermons held up as essential for growing in Christlikeness?8

What other questions (or observations) do you have?

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One of my great joys these days is serving as a coach for Pepperdine’s Compelling Preaching Initiative (CPI). Coaching other preachers has inspired a number of preaching-related posts, some of which I published last year, and more are on the way, including today’s post.

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In my work as a preaching coach, I occasionally encounter an unnecessarily long sermon.1

What do I mean by long?

I think any sermon over 35 minutes is LONG, and any sermon over 30 minutes is longer than necessary. The sweet spot to which I aspire—and coach others toward—is 25 minutes, with a three minute margin on either side. A 22-minute sermon is a blessing. A 28-minute sermon is not an unbearable burden.2

Unnecessarily long sermons usually include the following elements (with my recommendations for shortening in parenthesis):3

1. Too many personal stories. (No more than one per sermon.)4

2. Personal stories with too many details. (Include only those details necessary to make the point or set up the punch line.)5

3. Including and explaining details that do not support the focus/big idea and function/application of the message. (Include and explain only what is necessary to move the sermon toward the big idea.)6

4. Giving multiple examples from scripture or reading multiple passages to support a single point. (Usually one example or scripture reference is enough. Use two only if the point is novel or controversial.)7

5. Using complicated illustrations, sight gags, and objects on stage that take too long to set up for the amount of work they do in making or supporting a point. (If it takes more than a minute to set-up or explain, it’s too complicated.)

One reason it is so easy to recognize these elements in other preachers’ sermons is because they were all prominent in mine when I used to preach 35-minute sermons which I thought were EPIC, but in hindsight were merely indulgent.

What else would you add to this list?

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• I took advantage of my usual free birthday drink from Starbucks, a grande Mocha. I drink one a year and it is always good and always enough.

• My co-workers gave me a bag of Haribo Peaches. Perfect.

• I gave myself a Pecan Kringle from Trader Joe’s.

• When my mom calls to wish me happy birthday, I always thank her for giving birth to me. I couldn’t have done it without her.

• I told my youngest son that fifty-two doesn’t feel all that different from fifty-one or fifty, but it feels a lot different from twenty-two (my son’s age) or thirty-two.

• Save for a few aches and pains and nagging workout-related injuries, fifty-two feels better. Relative to my age, I’m in better shape now than when I was thirty-two, but not twenty-two.

• I’m more secure, grounded, and confident now than I was then. My confidence now is more focused. At twenty-two, I was confident I could do anything. Now I’m confident there are a number of things I can’t do well and just a few I can. I take great joy, pleasure, and satisfaction from working within my wheelhouse.

  

• I’m less ambitious now than I was then. Since much of it was selfish-ambition, I take this as mostly a good thing. There are occasions when I miss caring about some of the pursuits that once occupied my attention. No matter how hard I try though, I can’t make myself care about them anymore.

• For my birthday, I watched Gladiator 2 on Paramount+. I did this because I never got around to watching it at the theatre. This would have been unthinkable to earlier versions of myself. (It was fine, but I’ll re-watch the original multiple times before watching it again, if ever.)

• Along with wishing me happy birthday, a friend shared this quote from Henri Nouwen. I plan on sharing it with others in the future.

Birthdays need to be celebrated. I think it is more important to celebrate a birthday than a successful exam, a promotion, or a victory. Because to celebrate a birthday means to say to someone: “Thank you for being you.” Celebrating a birthday is exalting life and being glad for it. On a birthday we do not say: “Thanks for what you did, or said, or accomplished.” No, we say: “Thank you for being born and being among us.”

On birthdays we celebrate the present. We do not complain about what happened or speculate about what will happen, but we lift someone up and let everyone say: “We love you.”

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Rather than declaring what I’m going to stop or start doing on January 1st, I name what I want to do less or more or over the first few weeks of year.

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Instead of quitting processed sugar cold turkey on January 1st, I enter the new year intending to eat less processed sugar than I did the final week of December. Given how much sugar I consume around the holidays, the bar for achieving this goal is ridiculously low. Each day, for the first few weeks of the year, I try to take in a little less sugar than I did the day before, until I reach place of realistic and sustainable moderation.1

Rather than resolving to write for thirty minutes a day beginning on January 1st, I ease into the new year by writing for a few minutes. Maybe only a paragraph or two. Each day I try to write a little more than I did the day before until I reach a realistic and sustainable amount of time for a daily writing practice.

Over the past few years, I’ve snuck up on some good habits and gradually eliminate some bad ones by easing into my aspirations instead of going all in on day one and giving up on day ten.

I’ve also found this approach works well on the first day of any month or the first day back after vacation.

If you’ve already given up on your resolutions for this year, you don’t have to wait until next year to start over.

Over the next few weeks, how might you ease into a positive change by doing a little less or a little more?

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You can find more information about applying for Pepperdine’s Compelling Initiative here.

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I have a seven step process for preparing sermons.

The steps are straightforward enough. The twist is when I aim to complete each step.

First, the steps.

1. Study: This step includes reading the text carefully and consulting other resources such as Bible dictionaries and commentaries, and increasingly checking to see if Richard Beck has written anything on the subject. When I initially read through the text, I write down all the questions it raises for me. Some of the questions get answered as I study. Some have no answers. Some show up in the sermon.

2. Storyboard: I collect all the elements from my study, as well as anything I’ve tagged in my Notes app related to the sermon theme, by listing all scripture references, questions, insights, quotes, stats, stories, jokes, and random observations on a legal pad. Then I begin storyboarding these elements on a whiteboard in my office. Only a small fraction of what’s on the legal pad makes it onto the board. My goal in this step is to determine the flow and structure of the sermon without getting bogged down in precise wording.1

3. Write: Using my storyboard, I write out the first draft of my sermon as a Mind Map in MindManager. Sometimes as I write the first draft, I discover my initial storyboard isn’t working or an element I included doesn’t fit or a previously discarded element belongs. I try not to overthink any of this. The goal of a first draft is to “cover the canvas.” When in doubt, include it. This is not the time to edit. (I constantly have to kick the editing part of my brain out of the room during this step.)

4. Edit: I ruthlessly eliminate all the unnecessary or unhelpful elements I included in my first draft. If I’m not sure something belongs,2 it probably doesn’t. My mantra for this step is “When in doubt, cut it out.” The final step of my editing process is to read through the sermon and create the slides I need to support or enhance what I’m saying.3

5. Rest: My goal is to be done with the sermon by EOD Thursday so I can let it rest on Friday. Much like not opening the lid on the smoker while cooking a brisket,4 I resist the urge to open up the sermon and tweak it on Friday.

6. Internalize: On Saturday, I go through my delivery preparation process so I can speak without notes.

7. Preach: I don’t consider the sermon finished until I deliver it to the church on Sunday, because I continue to tweak it right up until I step onto the stage and start preaching. Some sermons are still getting tweaked as I’m preaching.

My goal is to complete each of the steps on a specific day of the week. So my typical week looks something like this:

Monday-Study

Tuesday-Storyboard

Wednesday-Write

Thursday-Edit

Friday-Rest

Saturday-Internalize

Sunday-Preach

This is an ideal schedule. The days of my week rarely fall into categories this clean, but it gives me something to aim for. These steps don’t necessarily require long periods of time each day. I may study for an hour or two. The storyboarding may take thirty minutes. The first draft usually takes a couple of hours. Editing and preparing slides can take up most of Thursday. Some weeks they all seem to take FOREVER.

Now comes the twist.

I stagger these steps across several weeks so that I spend almost a month with a sermon before I deliver it. This part of the process is easier to display that describe. Here’s what it looks like on my tracking spreadsheet.

I don’t beat myself up if I can’t stick to this schedule every week. If I fall behind I can usually catch up by combining the study/storyboard/writing steps into one or two days. I always manage to write and preach a sermon no matter what happens to my ideal week.

This approach helps reduce my anxiety about not having anything to say on Sunday. By the time I get to the editing step on Thursday, I already have a preachable first draft. It’s not great, but it is better than a blank page.

The more time I have to edit, the better the sermon (usually) gets. Spacing out the writing and editing also allows me to come back to the first draft a week later with a more objective perspective, which helps me see what is missing and what doesn’t belong.

This process also helps me preach shorter sermons, because already knowing the general shape of the next several sermons allows me to pace how many essential ideas I include in a single sermon.

That’s it.5

Hit me up with your questions in the comments.

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By that I mean I leverage streaks, a consecutive series of actions or activities performed without interruption, to form better habits, develop a new skill, and chip away at long projects.

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Also known as the gamification of self-improvement, streaking has helped me write two novels, lose twenty pounds, sleep better, and develop a rudimentary understanding of Spanish.

My first breakthrough with streaks came after reading about Jerry Seinfeld’s “Don’t Break The Chain Technique.” Seinfeld recommends making an X on a wall calendar every time you complete your goal activity for the day.1 For him, it was writing jokes. For me, it was working on my novel.

My magic number is three.

If I can do something three days in a row, I have myself the beginning of a streak, and I’m off and running.

My next threshold is one week.

Three days usually gets me going for a week.

Seven days can keep me going for a month or longer as I start to feel the pressure to not break the streak.

On several occasions, when I was working on my novel, I had to get out of bed at 11pm and write for thirty minutes after losing an argument with myself about if it was finally time to break my writing streak.

The downside of streaking for me is once I break a streak—and all streaks inevitably come to an end—it can be hard to get it going again. After breaking a 187 day streak of doing something, it’s easy to rationalize slacking off for three days, which leads to seven, which can easily become a month.

Did you catch that?

Streaks can be both positive and negative. Breaking a positive streak simultaneously begins a negative streak.. For example, once my positive streak of writing every day is broken, I can start counting how many days in a row I will go without writing.2 Paying attention to the negative streaks helps me mitigate going too long in between positive streaks.

Here are a few other suggestions for using streaks to your advantage.

1. Don’t make them public. In my experience, I don’t need external accountability or validation once I get a streak going. So maybe only share with a friend your intention to start a streak to get you through the three and seven day barriers.3

2. This is your game and you get to make up the rules for what constitutes a streak. When I was working on a novel my rule was to write at least 500 new words a day or spend 30 minutes a day editing what I’d written. I also exempted myself from writing on Sundays, so my streak only counted from Monday to Saturday.

3. Beware of dead-end streaks. It’s possible to build a streak doing something that over time doesn’t deliver the anticipated outcomes. A couple of years ago I built a long streak of writing Morning Pages. I started the streak because I was struggling to find compelling subjects about which to write. I hoped consistently laying down three pages of stream of consciousness brain drain would unlock some new ideas and perhaps unearth an idea for a new novel. After several months of faithful and time-consuming scribbling, I remained blocked. Yet I persisted for no other reason than I didn’t want to break the streak.4

“How is this streak serving me?” is an important question to ask when you realize you’re more focused on the streak than the benefit it provides. Streaks exist to serve us. Not the other way around.5

I’m curious, what is your experience with streaks?

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• Clarification: This is the most common type of feedback I receive. It can come in the form of a clarifying question (What did you mean when you said…?) or a request for more information (Where can I read more about…?) or a projected implication (So you think we all should…?). I usually enjoy these interactions. (Tone matters.) I love it when someone cares enough to seek greater clarity or depth about something I’ve said. I’m grateful when someone wants to make sure I meant to say what they think they heard. In fact, I’m hesitant to even classify this kind of feedback as criticism, but I’m including it because it can sometimes feel like criticism. Keep reading for an explanation.

• Suggestion: It may be a point that wasn’t included or a scripture that wasn’t covered. Sometimes it’s an alternative way of saying something. Most suggestions come from just a few people who offer one almost every week. I must confess, the nit-picky additions from these serial suggesters wears me down. I wish they’d pay more attention to what is actually in the sermon than what is missing. When they suggest I should have added something to the sermon, I often playfully ask how much longer they want my sermons to be? Occasionally after first service, someone will suggest a joke or wordplay that was a missed opportunity for humor. If I think it’s funny, I’ll include it in second service without giving them credit.

• Disagreement: It doesn’t usually bother me when someone disagrees with my interpretation or application of a text.3 I try not to preach my interpretation and application of most texts as if mine is the only correct reading. I often say, “One way to read this text is…” or “One possible takeaway from this text is…” If the disagreement leads to a respectful and open dialogue, rather than an attempt to correct one another (see below), then it’s possible both of us can learn something from each other, or perhaps spur one another on to a third way of reading the text.4

  

• Correction: Who among us hasn’t mis-pronounced a name or made a grammatical error or gotten our facts wrong or taken a position on a current event without having all the information? I don’t like this kind of feedback, because I’d love to be perfect in my communication, but I do eventually appreciate it when when someone corrects something to keep me from continuing to look stoopid in public.5

• Personal Attack: This type of criticism can take the form of a “drive-by chewing” during which the critic says something negative or nasty while walking past me on the way to the exit6 or as an email typed in ALL CAPS with multiple exclamation points!!! These kind of responses usually indicate that my sermon trampled on something sacred or poked something sinister. It can be as simple as challenging a long-held, but never critically evaluated belief or relativizing a traditional position held by a previous generation, including their beloved father who would “roll over in his grave if he heard what you just preached.” Or it can be as serious as naming their hidden sin or denouncing an idolatrous attachment (politics anyone?) they’re unwilling to relinquish. These offended critics rarely engage with the actual content of the sermon and instead may attack my intelligence, faithfulness, skillset, or personality. Depending on the source and ridiculousness of what they say, this kind of criticism is easy to dismiss and ignore. Occasionally, these flaming arrows find a gap in my armor and pierce my heart. Not because they’re true, but because they come from someone I thought was a friend or from whom I expected a more mature response. These unpleasant critiques often indicate I’m doing my job and are part of the “hard” I signed up for.

When I said earlier that “clarification” isn’t really a form of criticism, but can sometimes feel like it, it’s because these other forms of criticism tend to have a cumulative effect and can harden my heart until it’s easy to overreact to a sincere request for clarification or a helpful suggestion for necessary improvement. When I catch myself becoming hyper-sensitive to well-intentioned feedback, I know I need to step away and do some soul work, because my reactivity is a tell-tale sign I’m taking myself and my work way too seriously.

A final note to critics: In laying out this typology, I’m not suggesting you shouldn’t share your questions, suggestions, disagreements, or corrections with your preacher. The last thing I want to do is encourage an environment in which the preacher is treated like the untouchable “anointed one.” While not usually the case in my church tradition, there are plenty of examples of unaccountable preachers gone wild in other traditions. When delivering your feedback, please remember, and I can’t stress this enough, tone matters. Give your preacher the benefit of the doubt and assume he or she has done their best to prepare and preach a sermon that is faithful to the gospel and helpful to the church. Please consider the possibility that the preacher, given their years of education, preparation, and practice, may know just as much, if not more, about the subject of their sermon as you do. This doesn’t mean they’re always right or have a clear perspective on every issue, but it does merit delivering your critique with gentleness and respect.

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A final note to preachers: When preaching sermons, especially on difficult or controversial subjects, please remember, and I can’t stress this enough, tone matters. As much as possible, try to come alongside your listeners when challenging them, rather than taking a position over and against them. Don’t be surprised when people you just punched in the nose punch back. Let’s not be too quick to make ourselves into martyrs when our intentionally provocative and insensitively delivered sermons generate a boomerang effect.

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1. I try to protect myself from criticism until Monday.3

I’m fairly sensitive to certain forms of criticism.4 Whenever possible, I prefer not to have my Sunday afternoon and evening ruined by something that is usually better given and received on Monday.

• I do my best not to check email after church on Sunday. If I sneak a peek before going to bed and find a critical email waiting for me and then spend the night tossing and turning because I can’t stop thinking about it, I have no one to blame but myself.

• I attempt to establish a “Monday rule” with co-workers and elders. The rule is don’t pass on any negative feedback or criticism about anything that happened on Sunday until Monday.

• I also encourage the congregation to observe this rule as well, along with providing an explanation for the rationale behind it.5

  • I’m usually not in the right head space to respond well to confrontational criticism immediately after preaching a sermon.6

  • It’s impossible to have a meaningful conversation with a critic when surrounded by others waiting to visit with me.7

  • After 24 hours, the critic may decide the feedback isn’t worth sharing or at least be able to share it with less emotional heat.

• If the criticism comes via text, I try to ignore it until Monday, or I say, “Thanks for sharing your concern. Can we continue this dialogue tomorrow?”8

2. I attempt to clarify or explain my thinking to a critic only once via email or text.

If my written response doesn’t adequately address their concern, and they respond with more pushback, I suggest we meet in-person to have a more in-depth conversation. Most critics never take me up on the offer to meet. When they do, the outcome is usually a respectful conversation that either resolves the issue or allows us to amicably agree to disagree.9

3. I consider the source of the criticism.

• If the criticism comes from someone I trust, I take it seriously.  “Wounds from a friend can be trusted…” Proverbs 27:6

• If it comes from someone I don’t know well, but is delivered gently, I take it seriously, while also seeking some deeper dialogue to get to know the person better. I need more wise friends who are willing to help me see issues from other perspectives.

• Criticism almost always reveals as much about the critic as whatever they’re criticizing. This doesn’t mean the criticism isn’t valid or doesn’t contain some truth. But if someone seems to have a problem with everything I say and do, I assume they’re dealing with some underlying disappointment or pain that may have nothing to do with me.10 I also realize that given their apparent hatred of my guts, I’m not the best person to minister to them. I leave that to someone else on my team, while I try to pray for them.11

• I’ve gotten more comfortable acknowledging that not every sermon is for everyone. When a critic says they didn’t like or get anything out of a particular sermon, I’ll sometimes say, “Then maybe it wasn’t for you today. Hopefully next week’s message will be.”

4. I thank the critic for bringing their concern to me.

They could have taken it to someone else.

5. I never want to miss the opportunity to apologize when the criticism is valid.

I’m not always right. My communication is not always clear. My smart-aleck mouth (what my mom calls it) has been getting me in trouble since first uttering a complete sentence.

6. I hold my critics accountable for uncharitable or un-Christlike communication.

I shut down personal attacks and challenge attribution of motive. “You can tell me what I said or did. And you can tell me how what I said or did negatively impacted you. But you can’t tell me what I was thinking or feeling when I said or did it.”

7. I do not read anonymous criticism.

If the critic doesn’t have the courage to sign it, I feel no obligation to read to it. Into the trash can it goes.

What would you add to this list?

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In my post on speaking without notes I mentioned that I use MindManger to mind map my sermons. In this post, I’ll explain why this is my preference.

I first discovered mind mapping in graduate school when I picked up a beautifully designed book by Tony Buzan. Soon after I began mind mapping my notes from lectures and found it made taking notes more fun, even during the most boring of lectures. It also made my notes more memorable when studying for an exam. From there I began to mind map class presentations, short talks, and sermons.

For several years, I wrote out my maps by hand, using keywords to represent the main ideas of each section of the sermon. While this helped me create the structure and flow of the talk, it didn’t give me a place to work out the precise wording some of the components required.

I moved away from mind-mapping for a couple of years so I could write out my sermons in complete sentences. I missed the creative flow and visual representation of mind mapping, but I enjoyed crafting ideal phrases and sentences.

I began searching for mind mapping program that would allow me to write complete sentences in the shape of a mind map. I eventually found MindManager. It’s been my sermon writing app of choice since 2004.

There are several reasons writing sermons and other talks in MindManager works for me.

1. The map of each sermon I write has its own shape, which makes the structure and flow easier to remember. (For most people, images are easier to remember than words.)

2. I can use multiple colors to make the map more interesting to the eye and once again, easier to remember.

3. I can zoom out to see the overall shape of the talk without focusing on specific words or phrases. Being able to look at the entire talk on one page helps me see where the flow is disjointed or out of sequence. In MindManager it’s easy to rearrange entire segments with just a few clicks. It’s also easy to put everything back the way it was if I change my mind.

You can download a fully functional 30-day free trial of MindManager. If you decide you like it, there’s a nice non-profit/educational discount. Even without the discount, it’s worth it to me. (I get no affiliate fee or commission from referring you to MindManager. There are other mind mapping apps that may work just as well.)

If you try it, let me know how it works for you. (I can also send you a template I’ve created to flatten the learning curve a bit.)

If I’ve already converted you to MindManager (and there are a few of you out there), let us know how it works for you in the comments.

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I told my church early on it wasn’t going to be a series of TED Talks in which each week I revealed what the Bible says about overcoming a different mental health challenge. I attempted, instead, to share a theological framework that helps us navigate a variety of mental health challenges with patience, persistence, and compassion. Richard Beck’s work was especially helpful in this regard.2

One of the guiding questions for the series was: If being a Christian neither protects us from mental health challenges nor provides immediate healing of our mental illnesses, then what difference does being a Christ-follower make in these matters?

You can watch or listen to my imperfect and inadequate attempts to answer this and a few other questions here. (Or watch the first message in the series below.)

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Mark is a master of surprise.1 The big surprise in this passage though is not Jesus's resurrection. Jesus predicted it no less than four times earlier in the gospel.

The surprise is not that the risen Jesus is giving his failed disciples a second chance by inviting them to meet him back in Galilee. He told them he was going to do that back in chapter 14.

The surprise is how the women respond to the news that Jesus has been raised from the dead.

I can't prove this scientifically, but my guess is that this is the least read account of Jesus's resurrection in churches on Easter Sunday.

Now is as good a time as any to call your attention to a note you have in your Bible after verse 8.

"The earliest manuscripts do not have verses 9-20."

What that means is the consensus among textual scholars is that verses 9-20 are not a part of the original story Mark is telling in his gospel. The earliest copies of Mark we have end after verse 8.

It's possible Mark wrote a longer ending, but it was lost, so we don't know how he intended to end his story. It's also possible Mark, ever the crafty storyteller, intentionally ended his story at verse 8. If so, then it's understandable why someone would come along decades later and feel compelled to add a more complete ending.

For our purposes today, I'm gong to assume this is the way Mark wanted his story to end. Even if it's not his original ending, it is still, providentially, the best ending we have to his gospel.

Even so,It doesn't fit with the Easter vibe does it? Is this really the appropriate text to read when more people than usual show up at church to hear some good news? I guess it depends on how afraid we are.

The women's response is a surprise, because Mark sets us up to expect a bit more from these women. At the end of chapter 15, we learn that they didn't abandon Jesus the way his male disciples did. They watched his crucifixion from a distance. They stick around long enough to see where he's buried. They are the ones the risen Jesus entrusts not only with the good news of his resurrection, but also with the message  to the other disciples to meet him back in Galilee.

Earlier in Mark's Gospel, when Jesus heals someone, he tells them to be quiet about it. They almost always disobey Jesus and tell so many people that crowds often overwhelm him.

Now when the women are commanded to go and tell, they do the opposite. They run away and remain silent. They allow their fear, at least initially, to get the best of them, just like all the other disciples in the story do.

Fear plays a prominent role in Mark's gospel. It's one of the more common forms of resistance to Jesus's mission.

In Mark 5, after Jesus casts a legion of demons out of man, his neighbors beg him to leave their region because they are afraid.

In Mark 11, the religious leaders resolve to kill Jesus because they were afraid.

When Jesus is arrested Peter and the other disciples desert and deny him because they are afraid.

And now these women, faithful to Jesus til the end, flee the tomb and tell no one, because they are afraid.

Mark's cliffhanger ending leaves  us with a nagging question:  Will fear overcome the good news of Jesus's resurrection? Is fear going to get the last word in this story?

The answer is, well, it depends.

It depends not on what the women do and not on whether the disciples rendezvoused with Jesus in Galilee.

We know the women eventually told the other disciples the good news. We know the disciples took advantage of the second chance Jesus offered them.

The question is not did they overcome their fear and meet Jesus back in Galilee? The question is will we overcome our fear? Do we have the courage to meet Jesus back in Galilee? What comes next in this story is up to us. Mark leaves the ending in our hands.

The resurrection of Jesus is both an of announcement of good news and an invitation. Invitation is not a strong enough word. The resurrection is an announcement and a summons to meed the risen Jesus in Galilee.

But why Galilee?

Why does Jesus want to meet original disciples in Galilee? What does it mean to say Jesus wants to meet us in Galilee?

Galilee is where Jesus began his ministry of announcing the good news of the kingdom of God. It's where he called his first disciples to follow him while they were fishing or collecting taxes or whatever else they were doing. Galilee is where they first said yes to Jesus.

To say Jesus is waiting for us in Galilee is to say he wants us to go back to the start and begin again, but this time, he wants us to actually listen to him and do what he says, to deny ourselves, take up our crosses, and become great by serving others. He wants us to follow his example, which is what faithful disciples are supposed to do.

The summons to meet Jesus in Galilee is in itself an announcement of good news. To be summoned back to Galilee by the risen Jesus means that no matter how badly we've failed, Jesus has not given up on us. He still has a purpose and a plan for us. He's ready to use us, all of us, including our mistakes and failures, to spread the good news and make a difference in this world.

I love how the young man singles out Peter who three times denied Jesus on the night he was arrested. Tell the disciples, and Peter, especially Peter.

As the women's response shows, the good news of Jesus's resurrection doesn't inject instant courage into our system. It doesn't immediately solidify our weak faith. There will always be a struggle between fear and faith until we see Jesus face to face.

Until then, Mark's cliffhanger ending challenges us let go of (or at least manage) our fear.

Our fear of rejection that keeps us from seeking out someone who desperately needs to hear a word of encouragement and hope. 

Or our fear of how Jesus will respond to our latest failure.

Or our fear of failing again.

Or our fear of what others will think of us when we tell them our primary allegiance is to Jesus above all others.

Or our fear of what outrageous thing the risen Christ might call us to do if we go back to Galilee and surrender ourselves to him.

And yes, it challenges us to let go of our fear of death, which keeps us from really living.

Does fear get the last word in this story? Is fear bigger than Jesus's resurrection?

We don't need Mark to answer these questions for us. Not when we have the opportunity to answer them with our lives.

May we celebrate the good news of Jesus's resurrection and all that it means, including giving us the opportunity to meet the risen Christ back in Galilee where we can rededicate ourselves to following him.

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I preached the worst Easter sermon ever back in 2001.

On paper, it read like a masterpiece. When delivered it was dead on arrival.

The Lord, full of grace, mercy, and infinite wisdom, chose not to bring it back to life.

The sermon itself was built around the observation of how much running there is to and from the empty tomb after the resurrection.

I had the brilliant idea of preaching on how the resurrection gives us the energy to run. In the sermon, I named several scenarios in which, because of the resurrection, we run.

We run to Jesus.

We run away from sin.

We run alongside others with the good news.1

So far so good.

To enhance the sermon, I asked a friend to take footage from the movie Run Lola Run and loop it on a big screen so that throughout the service we could watch Lola, um, run.2

Then I’d get up and preach about running while continued to Lola on the screen behind me.

I’m sure you’ll be shocked to learn it didn’t work.

The sermon itself was half-baked and might have come in at “barely mediocre” had there been no special effects.

The added visual of Lola running ad nauseam made the sermon unbearable.

People left the service wondering if I understood the gospel, and I went home and started looking through the classifieds (2001!) for a new job.

I learned a valuable lesson from that failed experiment.

Easter Sunday is not the time for gimmicks.

If you want to try something cute or clever in a sermon, save it for Daylight Satan (Savings) Sunday. That way if you come up with something good, it will wake everyone up, and if it flops, no one will be conscious enough to notice.

The resurrection doesn’t need our creative help. It doesn’t need us to pump excitement into it. The resurrection generates its own energy and is capable of standing (or running) on its own two feet.

Tell the story and let the gospel do the work.

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God does this through the Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God. In the early chapters of Mark, we see Jesus exercise God's authority over demons and disease, over sin and death, and even over the wind and the waves. 

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Through Jesus's activity we see that the coming of the kingdom means healing, forgiveness, freedom, and a new way of life for his followers. Jesus describes his kingdom-bringing activity as gospel. It's good news.

But it's not good news to everyone. As Jesus exercises God's authority, he encounters resistance and opposition from the forces of nature and the forces of evil, from religious leaders and government officials, and from his confused disciples.

In response to this opposition, Jesus makes a series of startling predictions.

He predicts his conflict with the religious leaders will end with him suffering and dying a horrible death at the hands of the Romans in Jerusalem. He'll be crucified: a punishment so heinous, so shameful it was reserved for slaves, prisoners of war, and revolutionaries who dared challenge Rome's power.

He also predicts that his disciples will see the kingdom of God come in power. They will see God become King through Jesus.

But how can this be? How can the Kingdom come in power, if Jesus, the king, dies? Ancient kings established their kingdoms by defeating their enemies, not by letting their enemies defeat them.

Just what kind of king is Jesus supposed to be? Finally, we come to the answer to this question in Mark 15.

““Are you the king of the Jews?” asked Pilate. (Mark 15:2, NIV)

““Do you want me to release to you the king of the Jews?” asked Pilate,” (Mark 15:9, NIV)

““What shall I do, then, with the one you call the king of the Jews?” Pilate asked them.” (Mark 15:12, NIV)

“They put a purple robe on him, then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on him. And they began to call out to him, “Hail, king of the Jews!” Again and again they struck him on the head with a staff and spit on him. Falling on their knees, they paid homage to him.” (Mark 15:17–19, NIV)

“It was nine in the morning when they crucified him. The written notice of the charge against him read: the king of the jews.” (Mark 15:25–26, NIV)

“In the same way the chief priests and the teachers of the law mocked him among themselves. “He saved others,” they said, “but he can’t save himself! Let this Messiah, this king of Israel, come down now from the cross, that we may see and believe.” Those crucified with him also heaped insults on him.” (Mark 15:31–32, NIV)

“And when the centurion, who stood there in front of Jesus, saw how he died, he said, “Surely this man was the Son of God!”” (Mark 15:39, NIV)

Mark's message is clear. Jesus is the King. This is his coronation and enthronement. What is surprising is how it is Jesus's opponents who repeatedly proclaim his identity.

Five times in this chapter Jesus is declared to be the King of the Jews. Three times by Pilate, once by the soldiers who crucify him, and once in writing to explain why he is being crucified.

The religious leaders who handed him over to the Romans mockingly refer to him as the Messiah, the King of Israel.

The Roman soldiers treat him as a king, dressing him in purple, the color of royalty, and placing a crown on his head. They bow down and pay homage to him.

A Roman centurion declares him to the Son of God, which was both a royal title for the Messiah, the Jewish King and for Caesar, the Roman Emperor.

Most of these declarations are used derisively to mock yet another failed messiah. There’s room to read the centurion's declaration, "Surely this man was the Son of God," as more sarcastic than serious.

The great irony is that as they are mocking Jesus, everything they say about him is true. He is the Christ, the King of Israel, the Son of God. He is the king through whom God is establishing God’s kingdom, but his throne is a cross and his crown is made of thorns.

Mark set us up for this moment of ironic revelation back in chapter 10 when James and John ask to sit at Jesus's right and left when he comes into his glory. Jesus says those two spots have already been reserved for others.

“They crucified two rebels with him, one on his right and one on his left.” (Mark 15:27, NIV)

Now Mark makes sure we see that Jesus is crucified between two rebels, one on his right and one on his left. This is the moment of Jesus's glory. This is how Jesus becomes king.

I love Sir Frank Dicksee’s painting, The Two Crowns.1 It portrays two very different kings. One is a medieval king riding into the city on his warhorse after a victory on the battlefield. The other wears a crown of thorns and hangs from a cross. The surprised look on the face of the king with the crown of gold suggests a moment of recognition, as though he realizes who is the true King of Kings.

It's this ironic revelation that invites us into the "mysterium tremendum," the tremendous mystery of the cross. There is no way around it. If you are a Christian, if you are almost a Christian, if you are going let your allegiance to Jesus shape your life, you have to enter this mystery.

I didn't say you have to completely understand it. I didn't say it has to make sense rationally. I said you have to enter it and live within it and let it live within you.

Here's the mystery: When it appears Jesus is losing, when it appears the darkness is prevailing, Jesus is actually winning. When his opponents think they're mocking and shaming him, they're actually glorifying and speaking the truth about him. When the powers think they're getting rid of him, they're actually cooperating with him to establish a kingdom no one can get rid of, although many have tried.

When it appears like God has abandoned Jesus, his Father in heaven is actually validating him by tearing open the curtain in the temple just as he tore open the heavens when Jesus was baptized. When Jesus cries out and dies, it appears he has been defeated, when the truth is he has just achieved a victory.

Just before he dies, Jesus quotes the opening line of Psalm 22, a lament of someone who feels abandoned by God.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1, NIV)

It's not hard to see why Jesus would pray this from the cross. He is completely isolated. His friends have deserted and denied him. The religious leaders have rejected him. The Romans are killing him. Bystanders are taunting him. The rebels on his right and left are insulting him. The weight of the world's sin is on his shoulders, and he bears the burden by himself.

But what we often miss is the larger message of Psalm 22. A message Jesus knew by heart. It starts out as a lament (My God, my God), but it ends with a declaration of victory.

This is the mystery of the crucifixion. What is a cry of despair is also King Jesus achieving a victory.

In Mark 10, Jesus described his death as a ransom, a price paid to set slaves free. The king's ransom was the king himself.

What does it look like when God becomes king? When sins are forgiven? When slaves are set free? When evil is defeated?

It looks like Jesus, naked and bloody, on the cross.

We may prefer to follow a bright-shiny king, but the King who saved us and sets us free was bruised and bloodied.

From the cross, glory of King Jesus doesn't shine so much as it bleeds.

May God open our eyes to see this glory and may we join the psalmist in declaring: Our God has done it. Jesus is King!

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The week begins much like Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, with promise and hope.

I already have an idea for my sermon. I may have even sketched out a storyboard of major sections and moves. I anticipate something glorious will soon emerge from the keyboard and appear on my screen.

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Yet, as the week progresses, my writing sessions yield nothing but disappointment, frustration, and cursing (like Jesus does to the barren fig tree).

If by Friday afternoon, my sermon isn’t working, isn’t interesting, or is just plain bad, I’ve learned it’s too late to do much about it. Assuming I’ve put in the necessary work throughout the week, all that’s left to do is place my dead sermon in the tomb.

There I leave it, in the care of the Lord, hoping the Spirit will breathe some life into it.

What emerges from the tomb on Sunday is not perfect (there are scars), but it is alive.

Without fail, the sermon I gave up for dead on Friday speaks to someone. (And sometimes it only seems to speak to one, but that is enough.)

Preachers, do the work.

Study.

Pray.

Write.

Pray.

Edit.

Pray.

And then, when you judge all your hard work to be in vain, put your lifeless sermon in the tomb and trust God to do what God does best.

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