I love reading to and listening to other creatives talk about their craft and process.
Their perspectives not only provide practical tools and advice for my own work, they help me feel less alone in this strange space of creation. They help me believe the invisible work I do matters.
These two gems offer insight on revision, inspiration, and getting to a finished sermon/story/script/etc. that is greater than the sum of its original concepts and drafts.
And I'm sharing them here because YOU, dear preacher, are a creative. I've said it before and I'll say it again: claim your place among the authors, composers, producers, actors, and orators of the world.
Enjoy these tidbits of wisdom as you marry the daily grind of showing up to the work with the inspiration that elevates your work to sacred.
George Saunders: The mysterious alchemy of intuition + iteration in revision
George Saunders is a contemporary author, professor of writing at Syracuse, and all-around, deeply good human.
In fact, he would be on my short list of dinner guests if I could assemble my dream dinner party.
What I love about Saunders is that every time I read or listen to his thoughts on writing, I feel as though I've encountered the gospel for creatives.
His words and perspectives are infused with empathy, hope, and humor, and he leaves me inspired and empowered, feeling as though the work is sacred AND I'm called to AND capable of doing it.
Preachers, I cannot recommend his essays, podcasts, interviews, etc. to you highly enough.
Side Note: I’ve spent much more time with his non-fiction than fiction, though he is most known for his fiction. For a taste of that, I will commend to you his recent short story for The New Yorker, "The Mom of Bold Action." If you persist through the quirky beginning, you'll discover a breath-taking portrait of the human condition and the universal invitation to transformation issued to us all.
Saunders's recent book, A Swim in the Pond in the Rain—a treatise on writing craft delivered via poignant analysis of seven Russian short stories by classic authors Chekhov, Tolstoy, et.al.—is giving my creative work life right now.
I found the following description of his revision process both practical and encouraging.
I'm sharing his process with you in case you find his insights helpful when you return to your sermon draft to shape it into more of the message it wishes to be.
Lectio, meditatio, the grid (all explained in this free quick-start guide), and your draft all serve to get the words on the page in some semblance of coherence.
If we take Saunders at his word, revision is where your sermon moves from abstract concept to the inspired message only you could deliver as you listen to your intuition in a hundred small decisions, over and over.
Saunders describes his process here, and you're welcome to substitute "sermon" for "story" to better appreciate the intent (pp. 110-111, A Swim in a Pond in the Rain):
We often discuss art this way: the artist had something he wanted to express, and then he just, you know, expressed it. That is, we buy into some version of the intentional fallacy: the notion that art is about having a clear cut intention and then confidently executing the same.
The actual process, in my experience, is much more mysterious and beautiful and more of a pain in the [tush] to discuss truthfully...
In my view, all art begins in that instant of intuitive preference.
...Skipping over, for the moment, the first draft, assuming some existing text to work with, my method is this: I imagine a meter mounted on my forehead, with a P on this side (‘Positive’) and an N on that side (‘Negative’). I try to read what I've written the way a first-time reader might (‘without hope and without despair’). Where's the needle? If it drops into the N zone, admit it. And then, instantaneously, a fix might present itself—a cut, a rearrangement, an addition. There's not an intellectual or analytical component to this; it's more of an impulse, one that results in a feeling of ‘Ah, yes, that's better.’
...I go through a draft like that, marking it up, then go back and enter that round of changes, print it out, read it again, for as long as I still feel sharp—usually three or four times in a writing day.
So: a repetitive, obsessive, iterative application of preference: watch the needle, adjust the prose, watch the needle, adjust the prose (lather, rinse, repeat)...Over time, like a cruise ship slowly turning, the story will start to alter course via those thousands of incremental adjustments.
...I once heard someone say that 'given infinite time, anything can happen.' That's how this way of revising makes me feel. No need for overarching decisions; the story has a will of its own, one it is trying to make me feel, and if I just trust in that, all will be well, and the story will surpass my initial vision of it.
I once heard the great Chicago writer Stuart Dybek say, 'A story is always talking to you; you just have to learn to listen to it.' Revising like this is a way of listening to the story and of having faith in it: it wants to be its best self, and if you're patient with it, in time, it will be.
Essentially, the whole process is: intuition + iteration.
This process strikes me as the perfect description of the Spirit meeting preparation.
You've done the work.
You've put ideas to paper.
Taking time to go back and listen to the feeling as you go through, listen to the sermon that wants to take shape and be delivered—that's the space where the work itself eclipses your intent, transcends your skill, and becomes something more.
That's the inception of a sermon that meets your listener in their very soul.
You don’t have to get there in your first draft. Indeed, you likely won’t.
But those magical returns to the page, where you follow the Spirit’s small niggling that something isn’t quite right or could ring truer or illustrated more clearly, brings the sermon into its fullness.
Jason Sudeikis: "Leave room for God to walk into the room"
Any Ted Lasso fans here? Brené Brown fans?
If so, you will love Brown’s Unlocking Us podcasts featuring several of the writers and actors from the show.
Image from wallpapers.com
Brown's podcast with Jason Sudeikis (Ted Lasso) and Brendan Hunt (Coach Beard) is full of gems for the creative life since Sudeikis and Hunt not only act in but also write the show.
About 20 minutes in—within the context of discussing how Marcus Mumford of Mumford and Sons came to write the opening score of the show—Sudeikis drops a series of insights about the mystery of creating something beautiful and true.
First he paraphrases Quincy Jones, a musician, songwriter, and producer:
When you're making something, you want to get it 75% of the way there and leave room for the magic...Get it to where's it's supposed to be, but leave space for God to walk into the room.
Sudeikis goes on to apply that insight to their work on Ted Lasso:
If I have this idea in my head, then I've gotta stay open to Brendan's suggestions, Marcus's voice, and not just the vibe going on that we want to go on, but the one that's actually going on.
...I often define the job of being creative as making the invisible visible. That's the neat thing that great storytellers do for themselves, first and foremost, but then also for the people.
I can't imagine a better description of your work in preaching: making the invisible visible.
You tune into the sacred truths of scripture and the world around us, and in a sermon, you wrap language and image and story and metaphor around those truths so those with eyes to see and ears to hear, do.
What does it look like for you to "leave room for the magic"? To "make space for God to walk into the room"?
I suspect it goes back to Saunders's encouragement to listen to the work.
To have faith that the sermon wants to be its "best self" and, with time and patience, will emerge.
Does this resonate? What's inspires your Preaching and creative work these days?
This article first appeared as a “Monday Reflection” in our free Backstory Preaching Community on Mighty Network. Come join us for more preaching inspiration, insights, and conversation.