beyond Wright and Wrong

The most terrifying moment of my ordained ministry (so far) happened a few years ago in my previous congregation.

I had given a sermon several weeks before about something undoubtedly fascinating and important, but which somehow slips my mind at the moment - though actually, upon further thought, I suspect it was on this troublesome text in Luke 13:

At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, ‘Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.’

There's probably a whole post on that thing, but we'll pass it by for now. In the sermon, I quoted another sermon, this one by William Sloane Coffin. If you have any interest at all in a conversation about God and human suffering, read this sermon. I think it should be required for all pastors.

At any rate, I used one particular line in it which struck me like a bolt of lightning the first time I heard it in seminary. The sermon was given by Coffin at the funeral of his son Alex, who had died in a car accident. The line was this:

The one thing that should never be said when someone dies is "It is the will of God." Never do we know enough to say that. My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God's heart was the first of all our hearts to break.

Cut to a few weeks later. I was sitting in my office doing office-y stuff, and I heard a parishoner come in and start chatting with the secretary. My office was tucked away in a corner in such a way that I could hear conversations out there if I wanted to listen, but usually didn't. I wasn't eavesdropping, but suddenly I paused in whatever I was doing long enough to hear the parishoner mention "a sermon Pastor Shalom preached a few weeks ago." I perked up at that. I listened unabashedly. (A little abashed. Not too much.) She went on to talk about her brother, who had died in a car accident years before. "I blamed God for a long time," she said. "But Pastor Shalom said..." - and then she quoted, word for perfect word, the exact quote I had borrowed from William Sloane Coffin. She had heard this quote one time, and one time only. And apparently it was significant enough to her that she remembered it perfectly, even weeks later. (I give Coffin all the credit for this.)

Then two things happened. First I smiled and thought briefly, "boy, she was really listening that day. I'm glad that sermon was meaningful to her."

The second thing happened immediately afterward. It was almost like everything slowed down as I realized the import of what I had quickly smiled about to myself. I realized that one brief ten-second portion of one small sermon had mattered tremendously to this person. I thought about how many ten-second portions I had already preached in my scant five years of ordained ministry so far. Then I got a little lightheaded because it occurred to me for the very first time:

MY GOD, THEY ARE ACTUALLY LISTENING TO ME. OH. MY. GOD. HELP.

I find myself baffled most of the time by all the attention given to Pastor Jeremiah Wright and his relationship with Barack Obama. I suspect it is primarily the result of 24-hour news stations who need something to talk about all the damn time, and a situation like this one is much sexier than talking about a dreary war, or global poverty, or all that unsolvable stuff. I find it baffling that no one can articulate what the relationship between pastor and parishoner is like, or seems to have any interest in doing so. I find it baffling that people seem to expect faithful churchgoing from all the candidates, but seem to have no idea what churchgoing actually entails. What do we think preaching is about, anyway? Is Osteen-Homiletics now so engrained in us that we think pastors are just supposed to get up there and make us feel better about ourselves and our American-dream lifestyles? Has anyone ever heard of the prophets? Good thing CNN wasn't around when David was king. They would have had a field day with Nathan.

David Moyer pointed out in the April 22 issue of Christian Century that the 15-20 seconds of Wright's preaching currently at issue is no more than .0000012th of his entire preaching ministry in thirty years at Trinity UCC. He also points out what I find exquistely important and roundly ignored: that we who righteously claim we would not have chosen Wright's words also have not ministered regularly to people in terrible poverty who live with the daily reality of racism, who read texts about God's gracious abundance and the mercy of the kingdom and wonder what happened to all that on the south side of Chicago.

As a voter, I find this 'controversy' completely ridiculous. As a pastor, I find it mostly ridiculous, but there is a tiny part of me which is still as terrified as I was the first time I realized the weight which preaching can bear, and the bare reality:

They are really listening. Oh, my God, who promised to send out your word so that it would not remain empty - you who promise to work your wisdom through human foolishness: are you sure this whole preaching thing is such a good idea? Really?

I don't think anyone in the media ever listened to Wright. What this ratings-induced storm will mean for the election is anyone's guess. It's a largely foolish waste of time to be sure, but it does remind my preacher-self of something no less than terrifying: words matter. Preaching matters. Not just on the off chance that one of your parishoners runs for office and you get judged in the national media based on .0000012th of your preaching: but for the people you will never realize remember a snippet, a ten-second bit, .0000012th of a sermon which sticks with them. What preachers say matters to people. Which is both the best and worst news any preacher can hear.

All those late nights, the imperfect phrases, the unfinished sentences; the childhood stories, the frail metaphors, the stammering proclamations - they bear the weight of eternity, of God's fullness of life. It's a wonder any of us can step into the pulpit without shaking uncontrollably. It's so easy to forget, when you have to fit sermon preparation in between counseling sessions, plunging the toilet, singing with the preschoolers, leading a bible study for the retired folks, having lunch with a woman whose alcoholic husband spends all day on the computer, trying to fit a whole curriculum on the bible into 18 lessons, and calling the guy whose daughter is in the hospital.

It's easy to set aside the weight of the sermon because thinking about it would either make you cry or throw up, which be neither attractive nor homiletically useful. But there you have it. Every once in awhile we remember it, perhaps only as often as we can bear to, much in the way that Moses could only look at God's behind because the rest of the Almighty was too much to handle. Maybe you can only preach as long as you keep your gaze slightly sideways.

Maybe it's no wonder the media doesn't get this. I can't get it myself, not even .000012th of the time.