Modern Preaching: a study in ensnarement between Enlightenment and Postmodernism

So I've (finally) finished grad school, moved into my church (yes, you read that right), am finding my place within the strata and tangle of this fascinating community, and am now sorting out how best to do the visa thing so that I can stay, which will probably involve going back to Oz for half a year. So that'll be nice. I have failed to update this blog in ... um. However many months. Even though there has probably been (and will be) plenty to tell you about. All of this is true. But can wait.

Oddly enough, the subject of this post follows on, thematically at least, from my previous one. Never let it be said I don't value continuity. I have now spent three years in seminary, which has included one semester of studying didactic preaching (which was the sum total of what was taught in the class called "Communication of Biblical Truth", and if that doesn't give you pause, the rest of this post is for you; likewise, if you find the "P" word up there in the title a dirty one), along with I don't know how many years of sitting in church listening to preaching. I am no expert. But I am a heavily experienced observer. And now, you are going to get My Opinion.

Brace yourself.

Modern preaching, more or less, sucks.

Does this sound interesting to you?

Hello, yes, it's been a long time. Sorry about that. Life happened, and incidentally, is still happening.

Part of that whole business of life happening is that I am currently, against my will, taking a preaching class. Well, "Communication of Biblical Truth", but it's preaching. And homiletics. Which is kind of interesting, sure, but if you'd given me a choice between three credits of preaching and three credits of an elective class (which would have doubled my elective options), I would have chosen the LATTER. Emphatically.

However, being that I have to do this, I am taking what I can from it. A lot of it has to do with communication theory, which is fun enough, but then I do keep finding myself wanting to colour outside the box. In any case, tonight we all have to give the introduction to our sermons, a kind of warm up thing, to get us in the groove of standing up in front of each other and, well, preaching. And since I have to write out this introduction, which is feeling awkward, I thought I'd do it here, so that you can all share in my frantic attempts to be relevant, engaging, interesting, simple and challenging. And still remain somewhere in shouting distance of orthodox.

It's on James 3:13-18, and I'm kicking off with Peter Anspach's Evil Overlord List, and I just don't know how well that's going to fly. But here's what I've hammered out:

I'm a ramblin (wo)man

It's my last night in Bend. I'm packing, burning cds for a car trip (iPod? what's that?), wondering how I fit so much in my bags on the way out here. Also wondering how I managed to pick up ten extra books, and also wondering if that indicates I've actually learned restraint. I probably won't get much sleep tonight (we leave town at 5 AM), but that's par for the course when I travel.

The moon is a heavy yellow crescent, drifting languidly through the green remnants of sunset, Venus trailing to the north. Above, the stars are beginning to emerge; at dark, you can even see the belt of the Milky Way. You can see satellites roaming across the starfield, and the occasional shooting star. Last night was the peak of the brief Perseid season, but most of the nights I've spent stargazing, I've seen one or two.

Only the moon and Venus will be visible in light-saturated Chicago, with its dull rosy underglow on the clouds and clear sky stained purple by golden streetlights. And that's beautiful, too. Much like beauty, God can be found anywhere and everywhere. This time of official solitude is at an end, but its effect is ongoing; it's played its part in refining me, shaping me as an instrument in God's hands. Blacksmiths smith their own tools, and so does God.

I still don't know exactly what to tell people about "solitude", which I foresee being a problem, going back to school. I'm going to have this conversation a lot. Hopefully by the tenth iteration, I'll have figured out what to say. Or perhaps not knowing will be part of the fun.

learning through meaning, experience, and story

Something that's been coming up a lot in conversation this summer are the interrelated topics of meaning and experience, and story, by which they are connected. These topics have been coming up in relation to two different things: how the head and the heart learn differently (head through meaning, heart through experience, and you can connect the rest of the dots there on your own); and the rather extraordinary imbalance of experience and meaning in our present culture.

book review: "Reaching Out" by Henri JM Nouwen

I have not been having much success in figuring out what I want to say about solitude so far. Even amongst the three solitude interns, the experience of solitude has been varied, because it is such an individual thing.

In fact, I don't think I can put it better than I did in a skype chat with my friend Tim, when he asked how it was going: "This is going to get hackneyed, but I don't know how to talk about it. It's so subtle. Also, hard. Also, I don't know what the hell I'm doing half the time. I am now certain that everyone will have a completely different experience of solitude, so giving the particulars doesn't help give the real sense of it."

So having (mostly) finished the two books that we intended to read through (which means we get to do another one – GK Chesterton's Orthodoxy, huzzah!), I thought I could review each of them, and perhaps doing so will give some feel for what it has all been like.

fires not quenched

It's the fourth – or the end of it, anyway. (Timezones can be tricky.) People are still letting off the occasional firework, legal (stays on the ground) and illegal (shoots into the air and explodes). There's a wild kind of permissiveness in the air; the heady aroma of booze, barbeques, fireworks and patriotism. Hell of a combination. America ... is a strange place. And sometimes I feel very strange in it.

Here in Bend, they let fireworks off a butte which is kind of central to the town and surrounding suburbs. However, what people really look forward to is the butte catching fire, which it does almost every year. Tonight was no exception; I was with a bunch of other interns at a host's house, right at the foot of the butte, and we spotted (and cheered) two blazes before they were put out by the fire department, standing by.

My friends, what more could you ask for entertainment?

In fact, there was something today that simply made my heart soar. I was almost moved to tears, in fact. And fell in love with God's truth all over again.

after God's own heart

I just love the discourse going on at this church. And that it's going on at the head, heart and life levels, often simultaneously. There's some good stuff to absorb here, and I am so grateful that God has cleared a season in my life to do it.

This is Ken, the pastor of the church, hitting the nail with his usual incisiveness.


How was David a man after God's own heart? from :redux on Vimeo.