Speaking for God - Part 1

By now, you’ve gathered that my first year at seminary was rather eventful. But as my second year got underway, things seemed to be falling into place for me. After two rough work experiences, I had landed the perfect job. After rooming with Rambo wannabe Ernie, I had moved in with my good friend Mike. And I had found a good church home. These small victories gave me the confidence to do something that scared me to death.

I signed up for Preaching 101.

Of course, I dreaded public speaking of any kind, but the idea of trying to speak for God left me with a particularly queasy feeling. And to pass the preaching course, you had to deliver two practice sermons in front of the class, who then provided you with immediate feedback on your efforts. I found this requirement intimidating, even if the audience was just a bunch of seminarians who already knew that I was a little shaky in the piety department.

Fortunately, the seminary provided us with several weeks of classroom instruction before we entered the pulpit, during which time we heard lectures on preaching principles and analyzed taped sermons of well-known preachers like Billy Graham and Martin Luther King, Jr. This latter activity did little to boost my fragile confidence, as it seemed to set the bar rather high. But I tried to digest whatever helpful tips I could while there was still time.

Once the actual preaching got underway, the first guinea pig was Charlie, a stocky student in his mid-thirties who was already pastoring a church. From the get-go, it was obvious that Charlie was a “yeller.” This breed of Baptist preachers is commonly found in the South, where they like to pound the pulpit with their fists, point their fingers, and shout themselves hoarse over the course of a one-hour sermon. Usually, though, the yelling is interspersed with brief periods of quiet—almost whispered—tones, so as to give the shouting phases greater impact. But Charlie was a different sort of yeller, as he kept the volume at full blast the whole time.

During the feedback time, Charlie was first asked if this performance was representative of his usual style—perhaps in the hope that we had just heard some sort of experimental sermon designed to “push the emotional envelope.” But a perspiring Charlie simply said, “Pretty much.” Then a second student cut straight to the heart of the matter.

“I feel violated,” he said flatly. “When you yell, you make people feel attacked. Is that what you want?”

Here, Charlie just shrugged his shoulders. One got the impression that he wasn’t inclined to heed the criticism of a bunch of pansies who had never even pastored a church.

Me? I said nothing. My turn was yet to come, and there was no sense making any enemies.