You might be interested in hearing an interview I did for the Theological Graffiti podcast. It was a joy to talk with a young thinker and church planter, T. C. Moore. I was in his position some 25 years ago! Listen when you’re able. Perhaps you’ll be blessed by some of the other podcasts and writings that this young man has put together.

I didn’t know if it was appropriate to mention the genocide, or to comment about “Hutu” or “Tutsi” designations while I was in Rwanda. From what I read before I left, as well as my own sensitivities, I decided it was more my place to listen and learn than to talk about something of which I had no first-hand knowledge. The other speakers at the conference did not share my apprehensions, however, and freely commented on the genocide of 1994. One speaker even went so far as to say that the genocide was due to the failure of the Christian Church in Rwanda. All I keep thinking was: “I am among people who must be carrying a great deal of pain.”

Rwanda has experienced many times for reflection this week, and we in the USA have also been remembering the genocide. For about the last week or so NPR has been broadcasting stories about the 1994 genocide as the 20th anniversary is being recognized (extensive killing started on April 7, 1994 and lasted about 100 days. Around 1 million people were killed). I was especially intrigued by the interview given by Rwanda’s Foreign Minister Louise Mushikiwabo. Minister Mushikiwabo tried to downplay the designations we know as “Hutu” and “Tutsi” and to focus on the need to rebuild. She said:

Whatever is known as Hutu or Tutsi was just used by people who were power hungry and who weren’t ready to share with anybody, and they took it to the extreme. And there are a number of Rwandans, of course, in our society that had nothing to do with that. There are a number of people who went along and later on regret it. There are a number of Rwandans who actually disobeyed the orders to kill their neighbor.

So that’s the kind of country we inherited. And again, to balance all this, to bring sanity, to bring normalcy, to get our economic development going, to open up to the world, it’s not an easy task.

Not easy—indeed!

As we were driven along the wonderfully clean streets of Kigali, I could not imagine that human bodies were piled up throughout the city 20 years ago. Susan and I visited the Genocide Memorial and were moved to tears. How does anyone recover from such pain?

Here’s another thing that Foreign Minister Mushikiwabo said:

You know, as we mark 20 years after the genocide, we realize that on one hand, we have done so well as a nation. But we are still a long way. We live with an inbuilt fragility, having to do with the dark history of the genocide. So I’ll say it’s a very difficult balance. If you consider the whole justice versus reconciliation, for us it cannot be versus. It has to be justice and reconciliation.

It is worthwhile to think about what justice and reconciliation can mean for any people—not just the Rwandese. That is something that I think about even here in the USA regarding multi-ethnic ministry and anti-racism work. But right now I am moved by that expression: “inbuilt fragility.”

I am a pastor partly because I know much of life is about all of us having an “inbuilt fragility.” I think of myself as helping people manage their fragility through faith in God and the love of Christian community. Of course, lots of people’s inbuilt fragility shows up as meanness—even toward those who are trying to love them and help them, such as pastors and other church members. We would do well to understand that we all have an inbuilt fragility.

My sisters and brothers in Rwanda, whose entire country has an inbuilt fragility, are teaching me that love can indeed cover a multitude of sins. I don’t know what that will mean for Rwanda as time goes on, but I hope that real love can conquer fear, suspicion, anger and whatever other negative attitudes that might be present. And I hope that more of us throughout the world can learn the same lessons about love. Love is the way that we’ll be able to handle the inbuilt fragility of life.

As I approach Good Friday and Easter—(that is, Resurrection Day)—I am challenged to believe that the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus was about love, a love that is meant to heal my inbuilt fragility. And that love is meant to be shared.

Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins (1 Peter 4:8).

I recently spent several days in Rwanda as part of a teaching team for the Shepherd’s Leadership Conference, a weeklong conference for Rwandese pastors and other church leaders. There is much to share, especially having been there so close to the 20th anniversary of the genocide (April 6th). I hope to post several reflections on my time in Rwanda. This first is not about the genocide, but about my interactions with a pastor who attended the conference.

Pastor Vincent sought me out after one of the teaching sessions. He appeared to be young, maybe not yet 40 years old. He smiled broadly, eager to greet me. I listened as he reflected, in English, on the session entitled, “The Church and Social Justice,” where I had been the speaker. Pastor Vincent embraced the ideas of my message and wondered how he could help his many members who struggle just to survive. Pastor Vincent serves people who barely have enough food and whose daily lives are more difficult than most of us can imagine. I felt somewhat helpless at that moment. I thought about the things we often talk about in the USA regarding urban ministry, such as strategic partnerships where churches with more resources can share with those who have less.

Pastor Vincent said that his small church outside of Kigali does not have a “mother” congregation and he often feels isolated. Much of what he was saying reminded me of my first church-planting experience. Twenty-five years ago, I struggled to start a church in Brooklyn, NY. My wife and I burned out trying to meet the practical, emotional, and spiritual needs of a young congregation with limited resources. I developed some partnerships with suburban churches so that some money came in to help us, but I still had to work as a teacher to supplement my income and not be a burden to my congregation. My struggles in Brooklyn allowed me to relate—even if just a bit—to Pastor Vincent’s predicament, yet I knew his situation was much harder than mine was.

Sadly, much of my experience with churches in the USA reflects how spoiled many American Christians are. We fuss over things like musical styles, the color of walls and carpets, and whether we were duly entertained on some particular Sunday. Church has become—at least in many evangelical sectors—a contest. Church leaders struggle to be hipper, cooler, and more entertaining than other churches so they can find their niche in the marketplace formed by Christian consumers. At times I have become very cynical over such ways of doing church. Many American Christian writers and bloggers pontificate over how the contemporary church needs to be more like the early Christians seen in the Book of Acts, but honestly, we are far from that picture. We are simply too affluent and self-centered to be like that community of sharing, caring, learning and growing that we read about in the New Testament.

This is not to say that contemporary churches lack charitable enterprises. Some give a good deal of money, food, clothes, and other practical things away to those who have less. But even in the midst of our generosity, we are slow to share our lives with others—particularly with others who are different from ourselves racially, ethnically, and economically. Sometimes even our financial generosity is a way of saying “You stay over there, while I stay over here.” The power dynamics are reinforced even though we think we are helping.

Perhaps the simplest thing is for me to send Pastor Vincent some money. But I know from my experiences that money is not always the best solution. The real solution, the biblical dynamic that is often missing from our contemporary churches when compared to the early Christians, is community. It is connection. It is being sister and brother, across the lines of geography, ethnicity, nationality, gender, economics—whatever.

Pastor Vincent and I have already been in email communication. His broken English is better than my non-existent Kinyarwanda. Am I willing to see how God will let us be brothers, and not just me be a benefactor? Am I willing to learn from Pastor Vincent and not assume that I have answers to his questions?

I never got to take a photograph of Pastor Vincent, but in my mind’s eye I see his smiling face and how happy he was to have a conversation with me. I know how it feels to have someone listen when I am struggling in ministry—especially someone who has been speaking to a large group and appears to be an expert. Those sorts of people never had any time for me when I was a younger pastor. I wanted to make sure Pastor Vincent had my time and interest. Maybe that’s the place to start. I will trust God to guide Pastor Vincent and also to guide me. But at this moment, I am simply grateful that God allowed me to meet this brother in Rwanda.

In light of the 20th anniversary of the genocide in Rwanda, we will likely hear more news over the next few days. As you do, please take that as an opportunity to pray for Rwanda: the nation as a whole, the leaders, the churches, and for pastors like Pastor Vincent.

It seems that this is the time for profundity. Coming to the end of the year encourages reflection on life—our own lives as well as the lives of others. This is the time of year that we get lists (the top… or the best… or the worst…). This is also the time of year that we resolve to take up something (like a new hobby) or put down something (like the fork!). I’m not sure if what I’ll say is profound or not, and I won’t share any “top 10” lists or anything like that. Instead, I want to offer a word of encouragement and hope.

With the transitions, triumphs, trials, and thrills of 2013 now behind us, I offer an encouragement to be thankful—and express that thanks in a variety of ways: Pray to God, share parts of your life with others, give generously, and do whatever you can to express gratitude. It will not only make you feel better, it will go far in helping others to be thankful. And I am encouraging thankfulness no matter what has happened this year.

But to do that requires a different focus. Certainly we cannot be thankful for the terrible things that happened. I would never encourage such masochism. I am rather suggesting an attitude of gratitude—a shift in perspective. Stop looking at what you don’t have, but like the classic 70s song by William DeVaughn says: “be thankful for what you’ve got…”

I tend to be self-critical while simultaneously being very accommodating to others (“accommodating” was the word that someone else used to describe me). I feel that I have not given myself much grace, so consequently I am not always thankful for the blessings that God has given to me. So I encourage you as I encourage myself: be thankful for 2013 and look positively toward 2014.

I offer motivation with both a biblical word as well as a “secular” word. That latter word is from a psychotherapist, Dr. Mark Hansen, who seems to understand how powerful it can be to have the right attitude even in the face of what could be traumatic. He writes of lessons from a dying man.

The biblical word is rather straightforward:

“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18).

susandennis2013

With Susan in October 2013

So I end the year thanking God for being gracious to me. I also express thanks for my lovely wife, Susan Steele Edwards, a social worker, who also patiently works alongside me so we can both be the best that we can be.

I am grateful for my talented, bright, and generous children:

erica and jon 2013

Jon and Erica: A holiday picture! Such a great couple!

Jonathan, an artist, who uses his MSW degree to serve children in Atlanta while his wonderful wife, Erica, works on her PhD at Georgia State University.

JasonJoannaJessica 2013

Joanna, Jessica, and Jason in Houston around Christmas 2013

Jason, a musician, who teaches middle school children in the heart of Washington, DC while also serving as the Worship Director at the church I founded, Peace Fellowship Church.

Joanna, an interpreter for the deaf, lives in Brooklyn and serves deaf students in NYC.

Jessica, a teacher, serves economically-challenged middle school students in Houston, TX.

I am also grateful for my church community, The Sanctuary Covenant Church in Minneapolis, MN. God is doing some wonderful things among us, and I am looking forward to us growing deeply and broadly in the coming year. I am honored to serve as the senior pastor and thankful that despite all my imperfections—or perhaps it is more accurate to say with God working through my imperfections—I am allowed to develop along with every other member of this fellowship.

I end with the words of an ancient hymn that might offer hope to someone (please pardon the lack of inclusive language in this English translation):

Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;

Naught be all else to me, save that thou art;

Thou my best thought, by day or by night,

Waking or sleeping, thy presence my light.

 

Be thou my Wisdom, and thou my true Word;

I ever with thee and thou with me, Lord;

Thou my great Father, and I thy true son,

Thou in me dwelling, and I with thee one.

 

Riches I heed not, nor man’s empty praise;

Thou mine inheritance, now and always;

Thou and thou only, first in my heart,

High King of heaven, my treasure thou art.

 

High King of heaven, my victory won,

May I reach heaven’s joys, O bright heaven’s Sun!

Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,

Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

So it’s been about 17 months since my wife Susan and I relocated to Minneapolis, MN.  We are still getting adjusted to all the changes: new church, new denomination, new city, new relationships, etc (and I won’t speak of winter!). I know we haven’t moved to a foreign country, but I don’t think we anticipated how challenging our move would be after so many years in NY and DC. We miss many people that we love, miss the convenience of traveling familiar routes on streets that we know, and certainly miss our children! Our four adult children (really five, counting our terrific daughter-in-law), are in GA, DC, NY, and TX—all pretty far from Minneapolis, MN! Skype is nice, but not quite the same as real life!

I suspect it is normal when one is in a new place to search out what is familiar. (I’m still searching for good NY-style pizza!). I recall being in Palestine and Israel with a group of people several years ago and at one point seeing the ubiquitous golden arches of McDonald’s. I didn’t want to eat there (but I had to go in just to see what it looked like). The same thing happened when we visited our daughter who was studying abroad in Italy a few years ago. The golden arches made me smile, probably because they are symbols of something familiar in a strange place (I also shook my head as I wondered if we are making other countries as fat as our own; but that’s for another discussion).

In my head I know that change is part of life, but when everything seems new, my emotions can make me feel anxious and uncomfortable. I long for something that is stable. Something that is constant. Something that is familiar. I find those things through my faith in Jesus. My faith in Jesus as Lord, reminds me to consider and reconsider an image of God that is pervasive in the Hebrew Bible (the Old Testament). That image is of God as a rock. And that rock is not a pebble or small stone. God is pictured as a massive place of stability—like the Rock of Gibraltar that Prudential Insurance uses in its logo.

I have found myself refreshed recently by the image of God as rock. As a rock, God is consistently just:

The Rock, his work is perfect,

and all his ways are just.

A faithful God, without deceit,

just and upright is he (Deuteronomy 32:4)

As a rock, God is a place of refuge when all seems chaotic:

The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer,

my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge (2 Samuel 22:2-3a)

 This week I have been reading Psalm 19 every day. It ends:

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart

be acceptable to you,

O LORD, my rock and my redeemer (Psalm 19:14)

My encouragement is that we meditate on the image of God as a rock. Think of the strength, the constancy, the stability, and the reliability that the image evokes. Consider that no matter where we are, no matter what we are called to do, God is ever-present and reliable. He is our rock.

Finally, let me share a song, I Go to the Rock, sung by the late Danniebelle Hall

(There’s another version by the late Whitney Houston for The Preacher’s Wife soundtrack).

 

“Where do I go, when there’s no foundation stable, I go the rock, I know he’s able…”

Did I do enough? I’ll always wonder that. Did I do enough with my four children to help shape them into the adults that they should be? I did the “normal” stuff: diapers, baby food, soccer practices, basketball games, volleyball games, track meets, football games, dentist appointments, school performances, heart-to-heart talks, book-reading, punishments, movies, bedtime prayers, game nights, road trips—you get the picture!

I was tired at points. I recall the line that Steve Martin’s character gives in the movie Parenthood. When his wife reminds him of something that he has to do, he responds, “My whole life is ‘have to.’” I confess there were times I felt that way. I was a young dad, just 19 days shy of my 23rd birthday when my first son was born. My wife and I were just 17 days shy of our first anniversary! I felt heavy with obligation because of so many things tugging at me as a husband, dad, worker, etc. But I was so thrilled to see my healthy baby boy! I didn’t want to mess up anything. I wanted to be everything I could be for him.

And each subsequent child brought a new sense of joy and profound sense of increasing responsibility.

Daddy1995My own father, Thomas Oscar Edwards, wrote me a letter on my 37th birthday telling me, among other things, that I had just reached the age he was when I was born. He confessed in that letter that because his own father died while he was an infant, he did not really learn how to be a father.

Yet my dad taught me so many things. It’s easy to list what he didn’t do, but I am amazed at how much he did do. He grew up a Black man in America during a miserable time in our country’s history, but still had hope for the future. He served in the army during WWII. He took care of his mother, a widow all of his life, up until she died—a month before I was born. My father raised the five of us siblings plus our two older half-brothers. My dad worked crazy hours at the Post Office in NYC—often leaving our house in Queens well before the sun rose. He was the one, contrary to stereotypes, who dragged us to church while my mother stayed home. He did the best he could with us when my mother died of cancer at just 52 years old, the age that I am right now.

My dad was a brilliant man—especially with numbers—who graduated from the famous Stuyvesant High School in NYC, but never got to finish college. But I only found out where he attended high school after I announced to him that I was planning to take the entrance exam to Stuy. When I told him my plans, he asked, “What made you want to go to Stuyvesant?” I told him my answer and then he told me that he had graduated from there! Later on he showed me his diploma from the class of 1940! He graduated before his 17th birthday.

My dad wasn’t perfect, but he was great. When he died in 1999 I preached his funeral. My youngest sister testified at the service. She was only 11 when our mother died and at the funeral she commented, “Mommy taught us how to be strong, and daddy taught us how to love.” I can only hope that my children will one day say such things about me.

The Hebrew Bible, the Old Testament, says this:

Children are a heritage from the LORD,

offspring a reward from him.

Like arrows in the hands of a warrior

are children born in one’s youth.

Blessed is the man

whose quiver is full of them.

They will not be put to shame

when they contend with their opponents in court (Psalm 127:3-5)

I have indeed been blessed by Jonathan, Jason, Joanna, and Jessica. I trust that despite my limitations, God has been at work to make them into the great people that they presently are and even greater yet to become.

I have worn many hats. But two big hats have been those signifying “husband” and “father.” I don’t think I’ll ever feel that I did enough in either job. But I have faith that God has honored my efforts.

I wish all the dads out there who have been learning as they’ve been going along a Happy Father’s Day, and the peace to know that God is pleased as we try to do our best.

 

Lots of people enjoy pastries, and they can be even more tempting when they are fruit-filled. The fruit at the core is a flavor enhancer, making the pastry all the more attractive. You see where I’m going with this metaphor! My plea is for Christian communities to strive to keep their “fruit-filling.” The teaching in Galatians 5 includes this observation and admonition:

But the fruit  of the Spirit is love,  joy, peace,  forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit. Let us not become conceited, provoking and envying each other.

“Fruit” is the apostle Paul’s metaphor for what Christians ought to be producing in our lives. The fruit stands in sharp contrast to attitudes and behaviors that most often lead to the destruction of healthy relationships and also tend to damage our own psyches. Yet the list of fruit doesn’t appear to be very electrifying; there’s no emphasis here on miracles or flashy signs of any sort. In fact, there is much here that all people, even non-Christians would admire. But Paul is clear that these virtues flow from the Holy Spirit of God. Evidence of the presence of God’s Spirit among the Christian community include such virtues that are easy to pronounce and define but difficult to practice.

Although this list seems simple and even somewhat unexciting for some Christians, I maintain that the practice and growth in such virtues is critically important. We need to keep reflecting on this list, especially in our politicized culture with its highly contentious issues. We’ve all seen the war of words on social media between people claiming to be brothers and sisters in the faith. At times it can be quite disheartening.

I recently came across this blog post, exploring why Christians “don’t play nice.” The author deals with how Christians can disagree on such tough topics that face us today by emphasizing love, which happens to be the first on the list of fruit of the Spirit.

I suggest that all these virtues need to be at the center of our community’s life, like a bowl of fruit as the centerpiece on the table–visible for all to see. To that end I am starting a new sermon series on May 12 on the Fruit of the Spirit at my church, Sanctuary Covenant Church. My hope is that we can encourage each other to put ourselves in the best environment so that we can allow the Holy Spirit to make our lives more fruitful. Just as fruit trees grow not by their own effort, but by being in the right environment (e.g., with light, nutrients, water), Christians can see fruit grow in our lives not simply by trying harder (a recipe for failure), but by putting ourselves in the right environment so that God will bring about growth. It’s that environment, among other things, that I want to examine in my sermon series.

Hopefully, as we mature in our faith, we will be more known for the fruit of the Spirit in our lives than for what we don’t like about the culture. After all, a fruit-filled center is delicious.

My wife Susan and I went to see 42 a few days ago. I confess that I am neither a baseball aficionado nor expert on the life of Jackie Robinson, but having been an avid baseball fan as a kid, I very much enjoyed watching the story. And as an African American, I was moved while being let to reflect on a time in history not too much before my time, and certainly during the time of my parents.

The movie focused on Jackie Robinson’s transition from the Negro Leagues to the Brooklyn Dodgers. Jackie Robinson is a hero. I’m glad that his story continues to be told and that Major League Baseball will let no one else wear #42, except when all players simultaneously wear the number as a tribute to Jackie.

Several years ago, when I was a church-planting pastor in Brooklyn, NY, a friend was about to interview for a teaching position at The Jackie Robinson Middle School. He called me the night before and asked, “Dennis, who was Jackie Robinson?” Yes, it was years before the Internet, Google, etc, but it was still amazing that someone–especially someone living in Brooklyn–could not know who Jackie Robinson was! Yet, I am not totally naive; I do understand how such ignorance is possible.

But we cannot afford to ignore trailblazers, especially when it comes to truth and justice. The movie 42 illustrated why Jackie Robinson is a hero because of his attitude, along with his talent. Jackie Robinson’s displayed a true Christian attitude while under the heat of vicious racism. It was hard for anyone to miss–especially us pastors–the role that Christian faith played in the lives of Jackie Robinson and also Branch Rickey, the general manager and president of the Brooklyn Dodgers, who signed Robinson. According to this online biography, Branch Rickey’s religious faith “would become a distinguishing trait of his later baseball career.” In the movie, Harrison Ford’s Branch Rickey quoted Scripture, especially with reference to the ethics of Jesus. Notions such as “turning the other cheek” were tossed about in Rickey’s appeals to Robinson.

I suspect it is possible to have a cynical view and see in Rickey’s use of Scripture a similar dynamic as to what happened in the days of American slavery. In those days overseers selectively quoted Scripture to slaves: “Obey your master.” The goal of slave owners was to create a docility borne out of the perverse notion that God had ordained the roles of master and slave. Slave masters wanted strong bodies but weak minds. However, in the case of Branch Rickey’s use of the teachings of Jesus, the goal was not to create a docile Jackie Robinson. The goal was to help the talented young ballplayer to stay in baseball and lead a revolution. Jackie Robinson was not being taught to approve of any notions of white superiority, or to accept segregation or Jim Crow. Instead, he was being called to be like Jesus, who had the power to fight back on the same terms as his accusers, but chose a different way.

I am concerned that some might miss Jackie Robinson’s heroism, along with that of others who peacefully go against oppressive systems, because we have been conditioned to think that fighting back must happen in the way that the oppressor fights. The line in the movie about Jackie Robinson being “strong enough NOT to fight” might be interpreted to say that he wasn’t a fighter or that fighting oppression is wrong. Not so. It is just that the fight must be fought with different weapons than might be expected; that is the way of Jesus.

I hope that instead of looking down on Jackie Robinson’s self-discipline, we can appreciate his quiet strength. Quiet strength does not mean weakness. “Quiet strength” has been a term used to describe the late Rosa Parks, another icon of the Civil Rights Movement. Some have tried to characterize her quiet strength as weakness, but apparently historian Jeanne Theoharis points out that Parks had a track record of fighting segregation. I’ve not yet read Theoharis’ book, but perhaps we can see that quiet strength and fighting are not oxymoronic. Indeed, the kind of strength displayed by Jackie Robinson and Rosa Parks takes fighting to a different level.

Several months ago there was much furor over the movie Django Unchained. The story of an intelligent, confident slave devoted to one woman appealed to many. The idea of a skilled, gun-slinging slave, who could take it to the owners, overseers, as well as the weak-willed, appeals to some Americans’ view of justice. Maybe they would admire Jackie Robinson more if he were “Djackie,” physically taking on those who heaped abuse on him. But Django is fiction, not a documentary.

My father grew up in the Bronx and was 4 years younger than Jackie Robinson. I remember as a young boy I had a few chances to go to baseball games with my father, and we typically went to see the New York Mets, as we were living in Queens then. I remember asking my father if he had grown up a fan of the New York Yankees because he lived in the Bronx. He said “no.” I asked “why not?” He said because the Dodgers had Jackie Robinson.

While the credits were rolling at the end of 42, when most people had left the theater, the soundtrack shifted to Count Basie’s “Did You See Jackie Robinson Hit That Ball?” The only people left inside besides my wife and me were a group of African American women, one of whom was elderly. That woman came up to Susan and me, bopping her head to the music, and saying, “that [the story of Jackie Robinson] happened during my time!” She said it with pride.

My friend Scot McKnight’s recent blog post on plagiarized sermons got me to thinking. We pastors operate under a fair amount of pressure and stress. I won’t elaborate on that now, but it is a topic worth examining (especially since there are statistics on how many of us burn out and/or feel that our lives are worse off for being in the ministry. Check out the stats toward the end of this post on Pastor Stress).

Yet even with all the stress we face–and I certainly have my share–I can’t imagine preaching someone else’s sermons! It’s not surprising that plagiarism is easy in this digital age. As an adjunct instructor for many years I know the pressure on students to copy someone else’s work. I just never thought of doing that as a preacher! Scot wrote about preachers who use the sermons of other preachers–and pass them off as their own!

Part of the pressure we pastors face is not to be boring! We have to be entertaining, relevant, relational, informative–and not too long! I am sure that some of my colleagues would agree that it is difficult at times to be what people think they want. We often feel that we are competing with a TV preacher, some mega church pastor in the next town, or perhaps even the memory of a beloved pastor who baptized some of them or dedicated their children. Sermon prep and delivery is not a simple or insignificant task.

Yet, as Scot noted, “the sermon is highly biblical, highly personal, highly local, and highly temporal: it is the individual preacher engaging God and Bible and congregation, in that specific location, for that time.” I agree. As I noted in my comment on Scot’s blog, my sermons have to touch on OUR life together. While what is preached in some mega church somewhere in a fancy suburb may generally apply to us, telling OUR story while studying the Scriptures connects us together. I have to try my best to do at least that.

Actually, in this era of church as “production” more than “community,” with podcasts and video by celebrity pastors, local sermons may be starting to die anyway. That too, is something that will need some further scrutiny and discussion. Maybe I can copy somebody’s thoughts on that…just kidding.

 

Over on my church’s blog site I reflected a bit on the desire of some to get rid of Black History month, suggesting that it has outlived its usefulness. Maybe you can check it out.