True story.
I taught a preaching course years ago.
All but one of the students registered for the course because they wanted to learn to preach as they prepared for ordained ministry.
The other student?
He was an older lay person who had no intention of preaching.
Frustrated by the sermons he had listened to for decades that he believed could and should have been better, he set out to go behind the curtain to see what it took to preach a sermon.
He registered for the course to prove that crafting a sermon couldn’t be that hard.
He assumed his belief would be confirmed, followed closely by a second one: that he could do it better—if he so chose.
Let’s just say that on both counts, the course disabused him!
He discovered how beautifully rich and complex this art form is, and his respect for the efforts preachers make to craft sermon after sermon grew exponentially.
He also realized that preaching would be as difficult for him to do well as it is for the rest of us.
Although his response to his frustration was extreme and unique to my experience, I don’t believe his naiveté was.
I’m confident that most parishioners don’t know what is required of preachers to craft a compelling sermon, sermon after sermon.
This naiveté is not surprising.
After all, we make it look easy, and that’s a good thing, as I’ll explain below.
On the other hand, because we make it look easy, parishioners mistakenly form the belief that it is easy—effortless.
When parishioners and lay leaders believe preaching is easy, they don’t have the information they need to appropriately provide and guard the time we need for sermon preparation, or offer the time and ongoing financial support we need to continually develop our skills—for their benefit.
Let’s take a look a look at these two problems before we share a tool to open the conversation between you and your parishioners so you receive the support you need.
We make it look easy — as we should
A major aspect of preaching is hospitality: we want listeners to feel at ease.
We hope that by the moment we arrive to the sermon in the liturgy, they are fully present to the moment: relaxed but attentive so they are fully able to engage the proclamation.
We hope they are guided into an encounter with the Good News of Jesus Christ to take with them as they return to their worlds after the church service.
It’s the same principle we apply at home when putting dinner guests at ease.
We set a beautiful table and lovingly prepare a three-course dinner for them.
Imagine, though, what it would feel like if, after the guests sat down and lifted the linen napkins we had carefully placed on top of their plates, a piece of paper fell from the cloth folds—an itemized receipt detailing the grocery store bill and hours spent laboring in the kitchen!
It would bring the evening to a screeching, uncomfortable halt!
The guests would be so focused on the costs, that they might wonder whether we resented them, or invited them out of duty or obligation, or whether they were supposed to pay us back or chip in? Or at the very least, feel that they should not just help clear the table after dinner, but wash all the dishes—by hand!
We don’t itemize the cost of a dinner party because we want them to experience being seen, honored, and loved, and that we are sincerely glad for the excuse to féte them because we value them so much!
We don’t want them to focus on the cost. We want them to focus on feeling loved.
When we preach, we don’t want listeners to feel the cost of crafting the sermon. We want them to feel loved by us and by God.
Sharing an itemized price tag would distract us all.
And so, just like we hope at a dinner party, we make preaching look like it didn’t cost us a thing, and not a single drop of sweat betrays our furiously paddling feet under the water behind the pulpit.
Making it look easy puts our guests at ease.
And that’s just the way we want it.
conflating “looks easy” with “effortless”
Have you ever watched a professional-level, perfectly executed, brilliantly clever soccer pass and imagined yourself pulling off that move?
I have, and when I do it’s because 1) the pros make it look so easy, 2) the only soccer I watch is the occasional replay when it makes headlines, because I don’t follow, have never played, and know almost nothing about the sport (though I’d like to), and 3) know nothing about the decades of superhuman efforts the athlete made that led to that one pass looking effortless.
I can imagine myself executing the move because I conflate easy with effortless.
I mistakenly believe that I could do it too because it wouldn’t require any effort on my part because (obviously!) it’s easy-peazy-lemon-squeezy!
However, if I had played some soccer, did know a little about the sport, got to know the players’ bios, and followed their matches, the next time I saw a perfectly executed move, I would probably not imagine myself pulling it off!
Instead, I would shout admiringly, “Did you see that?! That was impossible!”
Even rudimentary knowledge would tell me more accurately just how hard and perfect the move was. My appreciation for the player and sport would grow and enhance my astonishment and enjoyment of soccer and the athlete.
In other words, I would know enough to know that making it look easy didn’t mean it was easy or effortless. I would know enough to know the opposite is true.
When parishioners gain some general knowledge about crafting a sermon, learn our “preaching bios” that got us to this point, and maybe even try their hand at some preaching themselves, their appreciation for preaching can shift.
They will know enough to know that just because we make it look easy doesn’t mean it was easy or effortless. They would know, in fact, it takes a lot of effort.
But they also don’t need (or even should have) the “receipt” fall into their laps that detail our efforts.
After all, the price we pay to craft a sermon is not paid resentfully or grudgingly but out of love for God and those we serve.
It’s a price and an effort we gladly make.
In other words, detailed knowledge (unless they really want to become preachers themselves) is overkill. It inverts the emotions from appreciation through neutral down to discomfort or guilt.
General knowledge, however, enhances appreciation.
General knowledge about:
why we preach, and the hopes we have for them (and ourselves) through our sermons
our “preaching bios”: our backstories of preaching formation and education
our “handicaps”: the preaching hurdles we struggle with that we are trying to improve so that the word is proclaimed more clearly and freely
the support we we need to do our best and keep getting better at and energized and excited about it—for their benefit!
The risks and solution for “the talk”
“The Talk” is the one we have when we share general knowledge about the efforts preaching requires and lays out what we need to support it, allowing appreciation and discernment the chance to grow.
Many of us feel uncomfortable advocating for our needs in general, and for a lot of reasons, from family of origin struggles to societal norms about what it means to be polite (generally more true for women than men), to parish norms and history about the support offered to preachers (in general) and us (in particular).
We may worry that if we advocate for the number of hours we need for sermon prep, or ask for financial support for preaching continuing education and formation (including spiritual retreats in addition to continuing education leave and vacation) that we’ll sound like we’re complaining or ungrateful.
In addition, we might feel concerned that when we tell our lay leaders what we need, we won’t be believed—not because there’s inherent distrust between us but because they lack understanding about the process of sermon prep. They might not know enough to put our response in context.
And finally, we might not know how to bring it up.
To make it easier, I’ve created a conversation starter.
It’s written for parishioners, offering general knowledge about preaching, how we were led to the pulpit, and the effort it requires in the midst of parish and family life. It then offers suggestions for conversation and support.
I hope it makes it easier to get the conversation started because it’s written by a preacher like you but is also an outsider to your particular parish norms and history.
It’s called “Behind the Pulpit: Your Backstage Pass.”
I hope it increases the the understanding and emotional investment for everyone to want to support you and your preaching.
If you are blessed enough to receive the support you need already, download it anyway! You might keep it on hand to give to a colleague who struggles, or it may come in handy in the future.
Download your guide today—and send me a message to tell me how your conversation goes!