Category Archives: Ministry

Articles specifically concerning pastoral/ministerial endeavors and responsibilities.

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Chasing the Sermon

A good sermon is an elusive sermon. At least, this is what I’ve come to believe. I’ve never served as lead pastor in a church, so I suppose this statement may not apply to the majority of pastors out there. But I’ve stepped behind enough pulpits to know that the sermon (or “message,” for the hipper Christians out there … and, I guess,  ”homilies,” for the more traditional) is one that doesn’t come easily. If it does, I believe it runs the risk of being merely the product of the preacher’s own opinions and selfish understanding of faith.

It is a surreal thing to stand in front of people and deliver a sermon. Perhaps the congregation assembled before you is collectively faithful and therefore intrigued and inspired by your musings on the things of God. Or, maybe like the majority of churches in America today, the people in the pews are there because, well, they’re almost always there, usually in the same seat, and arguably the most important thing running through their minds is where they will be doing lunch not long (hopefully) after your final “Amen.” Either way, I believe the sermon is no less of a holy thing. I sometimes suspect it is a sacramental thing, too, because a good sermon is breathed into by God (like Adam, the disciples, Scripture, and you and me), and that makes it a window into His mind, and that means that those who dare to truly look through it – the preacher and the hearers alike – take part in an act of allegiance unto the mind and heart of God.

I used to begin my preparation of sermons with the always popular proof-texting method. This is where you think of an idea you want to communicate (normally one coming out of your own innocent selfishness), and then you hunt down a few verses that back up your idea, which usually means you must take these verses out of context to a degree. The majority of the sermon, then, is like an argument presented in court. You are seeking to convince the audience as if they were a jury gathered to determine the quality of your topic. In my opinion, this is the most popular method of sermon preparation. These days, you can even visit some mega-churches where the Sunday morning worship budget is so fat that pastors can show flashy videos and bring props of all shapes and sizes on stage to make the proof-texting even more extravagant. Then again, this is often a necessity – when your sanctuary is the size of a basketball stadium, you have to do something extraordinary just to hold people’s attention week after week.

Of course, proof-texters rarely lose control of their sermons, because they have learned how to quell the movement of the Spirit while preparing, and then they simply pray for the Spirit to move in what they have created on their limited own. Granted, the flip side to this coin are those pastors (and I’ve known a few) who do not prepare at all and expect the Spirit to simply guide them in their presentation when it comes time to step behind the proverbial pulpit. And yet, even if they are skilled in impromptu speaking, this is just another form a proof-texting, only there is no glancing over the particular texts beforehand. You just land on them like the spinner in a game of Twister.

These days I try to avoid proof-texting of either kind. This can be somewhat difficult, but I believe that when the sermon focus begins to feel elusive, then the preacher is on the right track. When you begin to second guess yourself, I think this is actually a good thing. It means that whatever original idea might have been rolling around in my mind doesn’t seem worthwhile enough to expound upon to the congregation, and that is one of the first steps in getting over selfishness. Not the only step, but one of them.

When we come down to it, it is no easy thing to preach the Word of God. Sure, there are many out there today who make it look easy, but I’m willing to bet half of them aren’t preaching the Word of God so much as they are preaching advertisements for a noble life. There’s nothing wrong with this – there’s nothing wrong with self-improvement at all – but accomplishing an exposition of the things of God is easier done than said. Most churches are full of lessons on how to live noble, moral lives. What exists beyond the noble and the moral – well, that’s harder to come by.

So how do you know when you’ve done it – preached the Word of God, that is? Or, at least, how do you know when you’re on the right track? What do I mean when I write that the sermon becomes elusive? Mainly, I mean that the words you are striving to put together, the exegesis of the text, the application of the lesson (if indeed there is an actual cut-and-dried lesson in there somewhere) becomes haunting. Something that lingers in front of you, seemingly just out of reach. It almost taunts you. Reminds you that, yes, yes, this is the Truth, but oh, how delicate and beautiful a Truth it is, and if you would indeed come after it, you must comprehensively deny yourself – along with all your alliterative sub-points and poetic quotes and perfectly pitched punchlines – and take the heavy responsibility of speaking this Truth once again into being in the hearts and minds of your hearers.

Sure, in the end, you may indeed have three memorable talking points, a couple of winsome illustrations, and perhaps even a couple of chuckle bombs perfectly calibrated. After all, the beauty of preaching is that this elusive Truth – the Truth of the Power of God – is not meant to be preached devoid of personality. He has, after all, chosen you, a human with a hankering for skillful turns of phrases and well-rehearsed changes in voice tambour, to be the bearer of His message. But that’s the simple glory of it. There is no such thing as “dumbing down” in God’s mind. The Apostle Paul reminds us that He chooses “the foolish things” of the world to shame the wise.

He chooses you. He chooses me. So, when it comes to preparing a sermon, take joy in the journey. Take thrill in the chase.

This Sunday, I have been asked to preach … and so, the game’s afoot!


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Where Did We Go Wrong?

In order to stay connected to some amount of liturgy, Leigh and I attend an Anglican Church in Basel, Switzerland. We go to the morning service despite the fact that much of its structure and content seem to be seeker-oriented and therefore stripped of some of the elements of liturgical worship I find most meaningful. However, the church’s evening service, which meets in a side chapel of the Munster cathedral in Basel, is extremely high church; it is almost too austere, and is certainly a striking contrast from the morning service. Leigh and I used to attend the evening service, but felt out-of-place with the strict adherence to the Anglican prayer book and the fact that the atmosphere felt heavy, almost dour. While we are still seeking a sense of belonging in the morning service, there is something familiar in corporate worship on Sunday mornings, so this is where we have ended up. For the most part, we enjoy it.

This past Sunday, the announcement time included an in-depth preview of a new outreach push originating in the United Kingdom. However, what struck me was not the idea, but the purpose behind it. On Sunday, September 27th of this year, Anglican churches all over the world will hold their annual “Back to Church Sunday” event. This is an effort to draw back into the fellowship the people who have left the Church. It is all centered around one mind-numbingly outlandish idea: invite a friend or neighbor to go to church with you. Such a concept should sound familiar to those of us who are regular church-goers. It has its denominational cousins, of course. My home church in Houston designated a Sunday at the end of the summer as a “High Attendance Sunday,” the goal of which was to increase our numbers and, in so doing, hopefully draw back people who have simply wandered away from the worshipping community as if it were only a temporarily intriguing store window display.

The Official Back To Church Sunday Advertising Pack!

The Official Back To Church Sunday Advertising Pack!

I know I am a cynical guy. I am well aware of this fault, and I do struggle constantly with such judgments. Still, though, I could not help but wonder, as the ten-minute promo video for “Come As You Are: Back to Church Sunday 2009″ played on the church’s screen last Sunday, how exactly the Church has come to believe that such advertisements are the way to go. We hype up the 27th of September as if simply inviting friends and neighbors to our churches on any given week were as foreign a concept as asking the waiter to cut our meat and spoon-feed us our mashed potatoes.

When did we stop inviting people to our churches? Was there a specific month, or year, or decade, or era in which we stopped caring whether or not our friends and neighbors encountered Christ through our communities of grace and hope? Did our numbers decline when we decided we didn’t care about the people around us, or did they plummet when we simply decided we had enough buddies in our churches already so there was no need to seek out any more?

This may only be the cynicism blogging (in all its glass-half-empty, bitter truthfulness), but is not the perpetuation of a “Back to Church Sunday” simply a reminder of how much the Church has failed to maintain its influence, relevance, and mystery? I know some might say that there is nothing wrong with the idea, that it may actually light a fire under some people to reach out to more than just the people who sit in pews just in front and back of them. But such a response is inherently tragic! Why hasn’t the salvation of God, that which has covered over the ugly darkness and foggy directionlessness of our lives, compelled church-goers to seek out their friends who are not in on the wonder of it all? Is it because the salvation of God is not what it used to be, or because, for decades now, we have held onto our salvation not as if it were a light, but rather a shield against the world, or a boat we have built to withstand a rising flood?

We need to be more than hospitable. We must be better than convincing. We must be compelling. And we must be so more than simply one weekend a year. In a world where responsibility is fast becoming an arcane concept, it is the responsibility of the saved to do more than simply live nice lives, speak politely to coworkers, and forward spiritually superstitious e-mails. We wonder why more and more people are leaving the Church. We think it may have something to do with the siren song of the secular world, or the rise of rival activities of interest (world religions, social interest groups, etc.), or those pesky liberals, or the sorrowful decline of moral accountability, or maybe even the devil. We’re wrong, though.

It is us. We have become dull. The faith of abundant life has turned lifeless. Our vibrancy and joy and copious grace have wilted like leaves in winter.

We are not perfect, but the world never asked us to be. In fact, what they are weary of is not our shortcomings, but the fact that we so often pretend not to struggle, or that our mistakes are not our fault when they most certainly are. The wonderful, bittersweet truth is that we are beautiful messes. We are redeemed. We are stumblers with scraped knees who refuse to quit their hopeful staggering toward home no matter how arduous the journey.

How is it possible that we are content to make this trek alone?

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A Communal Allegiance

Tomorrow afternoon, I will be “ordained into the ministry.” This afternoon, I sit on a makeshift bed on the second floor of Leigh’s grandparents’ house, my head wrapped in ice packs and my mouth feeling as if the tooth fairy made an unauthorized pillage of the back half of my molars. So, given the fact that I would still like to, at this time, explore the meaning of ordination, I ask my readers to remember that I am also hopped up on hydrocodone among other delightful medications; if I happen to write something offensive, obnoxious, or borderline heretical, I would appreciate it if you would chalk it up to the drugs. Who knows? Perhaps the worst heretics simply wrote their rebellious statements right after having their wisdom teeth extracted. Maybe some of our best wisdom is extracted with them…

In the Catholic church, ordination is one of the seven sacraments. As Frederick Buechner writes, “a sacrament is when something holy happens.” To be more specific, the word sacrament comes from the Latin root, sacra, which refers to pledging one’s allegiance to something. To think of the other six sacraments – confirmation, baptism, marriage, unction, confession, and the Eucharist – as well as ordination, we can see that each carry the theme of allegiance. In my opinion, it is a disappointing thing that Protestants no longer hold five of the seven in the same level of worshipful respect, and that the majority of us have done away with the word, “sacrament,” presumably because we think it sounds “too Catholic.” Disappointing, because the less we begin to see these things (not simply baptism and the Eucharist) as an experience of worship and an opportunity to offer our allegiance to God, the more likely we will find our worship becomes stale and free of genuineness. That is if we step back and carefully observe it, which few of us these days have the courage to do.

So what does it mean to be ordained into the ministry? After all, is not every Christian a person ordained by God to carry the message of redemption to the world? Is there really a need for something more? Why was there envisioned this thing called ordination, and how is it different? I have a cumulative answer to all of these questions, and it is an honest one (as opposed to one affected by the drugs): I don’t know.

I acknowledge the sad reality that, these days, the Church does not operate ideally. We are a poor reflection of the community so dynamically described in the Acts of the Apostles. Sitting here on this makeshift bed with my head wrapped in ice packs, only two weeks away from when I am supposed to be leaving for Germany to begin my missions assignment, I still recognize that Leigh and I are quite short of our fundraising goal (which renders void the possibility of actually leaving in two weeks). And I am saddened by this, because while Leigh and I are doing everything we can to raise the necessary funds, we still feel as if some people in our church – as well as some close friends and family – have turned their backs on supporting us (even some who had once expressed an intention to do so). And the words of Acts 4 plague me: “There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands and houses sold them, brought the proceeds and laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to any as had need.” Granted, we are blessed all the more by those friends, family and church members who have chosen to partner with us, but if I strive to look at things ideally, I cannot help but notice the shortcomings. And, of course, our fundraising is but one small example of this; there are certainly more dire circumstances to which the Church is not attending, but I will not even go into at this time.

Has ordination been made something special because less and less Christians are living as ordained ministers, no matter where they are or what their lot is in life? Is it about making an example of a particular person – an ambassador for the Kingdom? Certainly this was not the only reason such people as Paul and Barnabas were “ordained” and sent off. The story itself seems like the host of people involved in their commissioning were living out their allegiance to the life-altering message of the Gospel.

Perhaps ordination is not solely about the person being ordained. Perhaps it is as much for the community that is doing the ordaining. Perhaps we are all unique, intricate pieces in this mystifying puzzle of God’s Kingdom, and what is happening to me tomorrow night is indeed a holy moment – a significant opportunity for me to offer my allegiance to God’s kingdom in a new way, However, at the same time my church community is also entering into something extraordinary. It is a sacramental moment for all of us.

Of course, this weekend the majority of my church’s members are out-of-town. I do not expect very many people to attend the service tomorrow afternoon. Only a few of the deacons who have accepted my candidacy for ordination will even be there. Most of the people in the church that I have gotten to know the best will be enjoying their July vacations. I cannot shake the image of a sparsely-seated chapel. And though I will find a deep joy and blessing in tomorrow’s service, and see the support and love shining in many of my friends’ and family’s eyes, I know that I will not be able to shake the feeling that more people could have been involved. More people could have been blessed – could have shared in this holy moment.

A few years ago, my former pastor, Burt Burleson, explained to me when I first began asking questions about ordination that while he would support me in my desire to become ordained, he did not feel right in pursuing it through the church I was a part of at that time, simply because I had not attended there long, and because I was already preparing to move to Houston in search of a job. He did not feel that DaySpring, our church, had connected with me well enough to come together for an ordination service, and to Burt and me, this was of ultimate importance. It had to be a community activity.

Tomorrow night I will be ordained. The community will be small, but I will take joy in the fact that allegiance will be paid, by those gathered and those absent, to a great God – a God of all grace, mercy, and less than ideal circumstances.

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Rolling Down the Window

I wanna try and save the world but it never goes that way. God, I don’t know what to do down at Colfax and Broadway. - Five Iron Frenzy

Certainly every one of us has been in this situation: you are in your car, stopped at a traffic light, and faced with the uncomfortable choice of what to do about the person who is standing there, gazing through your window at you while they hold their pitiful cardboard sign. For those of you who do not feel the slightest compassion for such people and are convinced that all they plan to do with your handout (were you ever to give one) is buy booze, then you probably won’t appreciate this post and should simply move along in your Internet surfing for the day.

Then again, I have drawn this conclusion as well, so perhaps we can explore this situation together. It seems to me that somewhere within this wordless interchange, hope resides. I suspect there is potential for something beautiful to take place at every overpass traffic light and city intersection in America.

First of all, we need to dispel the assumption that all these “panhandlers” are going to do is use the money we might give to go get liquored up. After all, if this were the case, after a while there would be a lot less of them, I would assume, because alcohol poisoning and cirrhosis of the liver would bring an end to most of them, especially since it would be difficult for them to find quality health-care. So, let’s not hide behind our assumptions. We would do well to remember that they are our assumptions, nothing more.

While there may be some people who take the money we offer and use it unwisely, however that may be, this should not stop us from at least wanting to help these people; in fact, we should want to help them all the more to break out of their bad habits. This is if we are actively working to cultivate compassion in our lives. This should be what drives us: compassion. And showing compassion is not another way to say, “I feel sorry for you.” If that is what drives us to help people anywhere, then we are merely acting out of pity. It is easy to pity someone yet never truly consider things from their point of view. 

In breaking down the word compassion, we find that the root, passion, comes from a word that means “to suffer.” And the prefix, com, means “with.” So, in putting these two things together, compassion means  ”to suffer with” or “with suffering.” Therefore, to have compassion on someone is to put ourselves in their shoes, to seek to understand things from their point of view. It requires patience, understanding, and a complete lack of prejudgment. In the film version of To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus Finch tells his daughter, “You never really come to know a person until you learn to see things from his point of view. Until you crawl into his skin and walk around in it.”

Perhaps giving money doesn’t make you feel comfortable. Then don’t give money,… but don’t refuse the need. To have compassion on someone is to actively engage the need. To simply drive past someone with no intention of offering anything but a prayer for his or her well being is nothing more than pity. To only remark that they should go get a job or seek out a soup kitchen might be true, but it is irrelevant in the here and now, in the moment of truth. Such reactions are what the writer of the Book of James casts off as worthless. Pitying someone doesn’t take away their pitiful state; it only serves to make us pitiful as well – a person who can help but chooses not to either because it would require more time, money, or attention. 

I drive past way too many people even when I know I have a bag I have intentionally kept in my back seat that contains items of food that would serve as a perfect offering to a person who is truly hungry. Yes, handing out money or food still makes me uncomfortable because I cannot shake the nagging suspicion that my offering is inevitably going to waste. That it is affecting no real change in the individual. That he or she will be back out there again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day.

But, then again, it is not my responsibility to eat the food or spend the dollar for them. Only to give it. God is not looking for people who desire to manage the gifts they give to Him. He simply wants us to become givers like Him.

May I learn to be a giver. May I learn to not drive past a world in need.

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The Man Who Knocked On My Open Door

Yesterday, a man came into the building of the church where I work and knocked on my open door. He spoke in rapid phrases that never quite formed into complete sentences. He immediately took to calling me “Bowen,” I suppose because he spied my last name on the nameplate next to the door. He sat down without being asked (not that I wouldn’t have offered) and proceeded to tell me about his prison time, how he did not deserve the manslaughter rap or sentence, and many more things that all came out garbled and rushed despite his friendly, talkative demeanor. For the life of me, I cannot remember what he said his name was.

I think it is depressing that I knew almost immediately why he was there – money. He told me several times that he had talked to the pastor, whom he called “the rev.” However, a few times before he could get in to see anybody, security had escorted him off the premises (please remember, this is also a school). I think it is even more depressing that often while he spoke, I was thinking about how I was going to get out of giving him money. Now, this was not necessarily because I did not want to give him money. In reality, I had no money on me (unless you count the forty or so euro I have leftover from the honeymoon in a envelope in my desk). Also, since the main church offices have been relocated during a remodeling project, I had no idea where the safe is even if that was the procedure when people come asking for money.

He circled the point several times, that he was asking me to place my trust in him and give him something so he could go get some food. He smelled distinctly of alcohol – at first I thought I was imagining it, but there was no mistaking the odor as he talked on and on. Finally, after bouncing back and forth between his incarceration, receiving some sort of help from Jeff Bagwell and Ken Caminiti (before he died), and the stingy ways of people in River Oaks, he finally laid it all out and asked for money. I shrugged regretfully (only halfway an act) and told him I had no money to give and that, when the pastor returned from the trip he is currently on, he might come back and speak with him. However, I mentioned that I did have some snack food, being a youth minister and all, and I led him out of my office and to the youth room refrigerator, where I gave him a root beer, and then to a closet where I found – it’s lame, I know – an unopened jar of peanut butter. I apologized to him that I had no bread or crackers, but, though he seemed annoyed, he thanked me nonetheless, and I followed him to the door. After noticing some of the Hispanic remodeling workers, he made some crack about immigration and how he needs a job too, then left.

I returned to my office and to the e-mail I had been composing, and I felt like a failure. For several reasons, I guess. I know, obviously, what I could have done and what I couldn’t have, but I work in a place that, simultaneously, people try to take advantage of (inside and out), and people look to for help when no one else wants to provide.

What do you do when you can’t tell the difference for sure? How far do you reach out? How close can someone come to actually doing the things Jesus did?