Photo by Jessi Pena on Unsplash
Before continuing with our series “For the Love of Preaching,” I want to offer a suggestion about preaching the gospel to address a fundamental human sin running rampant in our world right now: "No one likes to admit to themselves they were wrong."
I don't recall the context of this statement someone said to me last week, but it wasn't in the context of our political climate, though it may as well have been.
There is a world of human sinfulness that's locked up in our fear to admit to ourselves, let alone to others, that we were wrong, and there's no one on the crimson-red to midnight-blue spectrum who hasn't fallen for it.
Our unwillingness to admit we were wrong comes out of fear that we'll learn things about ourselves that we're afraid to see, like:
we got fooled and aren't as smart as we thought we were
we put our trust in the wrong people
we led others astray in propagating falsehoods
others may have been hurt by our misguided actions
we love being right more than we love being honest
we thought placing our faith in our country was as holy and righteous as placing our faith in God
we were complacent in trusting that hearing the same thing over and over was enough to make it true without investigating—or even demanding—evidence of the claim
To discover these things about ourselves arises out of our fear that we'll feel ashamed of ourselves, and that God's love has been yanked away for good.
Which is the real shame because if there's anything we can know and trust, it's that "nothing can separate us from the love of God" (Rom. 8:38-39).
One suggestion for preaching, whether you're American on the eve of a hoped-for peaceful transfer of power, or another part of the world with split for other reasons, if you're wondering what to preach right now, preach this: that the truth that nothing can separate you from the love of God will set you free.
So what have you got to lose if you're wrong?
For the Love of Preaching (#3 in a series of 4): Accepting our limits in the face of limitless need
Could we even begin to count the needs people had in 2020?
People needed direction, safety, reassurance, and a sense of the familiar and comforting.
They needed social distancing and social connecting.
They needed food, shelter, and health security.
They needed worship, community, and God.
We did our best to meet the needs we could, but the needs have not abated, and the reign of God still needs to get built.
Drinking the Kool-Aid of limitless productivity
The reign of God, in fact, has been under construction for so long, I sometimes wonder whether we're so accustomed to looking at and milling about the construction scaffolding erected around its perimeters, we think that is the kingdom.
It’s like looking at the Roman Coliseum and not realizing that that’s only the foundational shell of a once stunningly beautiful, marble-clad arena.
While we’re building the kingdom on the Western side of the partially built edifice, however, most of us “drink the kool-aid” of the productivity-equals-success/respect/love poison our society ladles out for us during our construction breaks.
Even though the drink tastes bitter, and we say the Church is in the world and not of it, and we say we hate the stuff, we preachers keep going back and holding out our cups for refills.
While we drink, we look with dismay at that partially constructed kingdom and see all the work left to be done.
So we double our efforts, squeezing more tasks into the cracks of time, adding a patch here, pouring cement there, but seemingly to no avail.
Because the work is never done and the task lists only seem to grow larger.
That’s what it feels like during a “normal,” non-2020-type year.
Recognizing the physiological limitations of stress
During a non-2020, year we rail against the laws of time—the laws God created—complaining, “If only there were more hours in a day, then I could….”
We could—what?
We could finish building the reign of God, only slowing our pace after the celebratory photos have been posted to Facebook?
And if we often feel squeezed between the needs of the world and our desire to help in a non-2020-type year, what happens during a 2020 year?
During a 2020-type year, the needs of others increase, and usually our passion to assist expands at the same pace.
But time doesn’t.
Nor do our capacities.
In fact, our capacities shrink.
At the same time, our stress and fight-flight hormones swell—often at a rate and amount greater than our capacities, our passion to help, and the time we have available.
Which means we are unable to function at the same level in a 2020-type year as we can in a non-2020 year.
Yet we think we should be able to because we know how all this works.
Because of our wealth of education and experience, combined with an inflated sense in our efficacy induced by the productivity poison, we think we should be able to override the biological laws—the laws God created—that stress hormones wreak on our bodies.
Speaking for myself, I wish it worked that way. God knows, I’ve tried to make it work that way!
And yet, it turns out I’m human.
If nothing else, 2020 has been a lesson in humility as I accept my very ordinary, human-sized capacities and incapacities.
We don’t know what 2021 will bring.
It certainly has started with a squeeze to our adrenal glands.
Accepting Hofstadter’s Law
As a result, I think it will be helpful to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest Hofstadter’s Law:
Everything takes longer than you think. Even when you account for Hofstadter’s Law. (Douglas Hofstadter)
Especially as you take into account what is required to preach right now, and perhaps record and produce your sermons, too.
How will you factor in the extra effort and energy your preaching prep will demand?
What else might you relinquish to give you the space preaching requires?
Here are four reflections designed to help you get real about your limits, priorities, and schedule so you can rediscover your love of preaching:
Hofstadter’s Law. How might you build into your schedule everything taking longer than you think? What are the consequences to being able to accomplish less?
A Year’s Worth of Preaching Themes. The fewer decisions we have to make the better, especially when we’re under stress. An example of a preaching theme for every month (that even works with the lectionary) will jump-start your own ideas.
Lessons from 2020. What worked about your schedule from 2020? What didn’t? What will you adjust in 2021?
Some Days Are Harder than Others. It happened last year and it’s going to happen again this year. Plan on it.