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Why a Sermon Works
We cannot rest and rely on our various strengths to make the sermon “work.”
A recent sermon I gave reminded me why sermons “work.”
I was preaching on how to experience Jesus, how to enjoy him, rejoice over him, and “extol his love” (Song. 1:4). And at the apex of the message, as my soul was stirring and spilling over about the amazing love of Jesus, I saw a man dozing off.
He had the airplane head-bob going. This brother was out. I felt so discouraged. The thoughts rushed in: “Well, this sermon is horrible. I’m horrible. Should I talk louder? Vary my cadence? Ugh.”
But before I did any of that, my eyes left the sleepy-head and found someone else.
One row up, and at the opposite end, there was a woman with her hands discreetly extended in front her, resting on her lap, and she was worshipping. Her head was nodding in agreement, tears on her cheeks, and I could tell she was saying, “Thank You, Jesus.”
I felt the same. Thank You, Jesus. Thank You for your death and resurrection. Thank You for loving me. And thank You for blessing this woman.
What makes a sermon work is a who—the triune God.
Power Struggles in Preaching
I was reminded how we cannot rest and rely on our various strengths to make the sermon “work.” It’s easy for preachers to subtly transfer dependence from God to our own:
- Intelligence
- Bible knowledge
- Study
- Insights
- Illustrations
- Word choice
- Articulation
- Tone
- Posture
- Volume
- Quotes
And not only are these things powerless, Paul reminds us of the danger of eloquence—“lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power” (1 Cor. 1:17). This is a great warning for all preachers and teachers of God’s Word.
But let’s back up for a second.
Preaching skills are not totally powerless.
They have the power to get people to like you, to cultivate compliments, and have people say, “You’re a good speaker.” They have the power to get speaking invites. And, they are powerful enough to trick you into forgetting the supernatural aspect of preaching: God.
Paul is teaching us how our skills are powerless for achieving the work of God. Our skills can do “natural” things. But we need the Spirit of power for the supernatural.
The Draw in Preaching
What do we really believe will draw people?
Our skills, our shoes (God help us!), our branding, or that bloody man on a cross, buried, raised, ascended, and returning? “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself” (John 12:32). Recall what Marin Luther said about the Reformation and why it happened:
“I simply taught, preached, wrote God’s Word; otherwise I did nothing. And then, while I slept, or drank Wittenberg beer … the Word so greatly weakened the papacy that never a prince or emperor did such damage to it. I did nothing. The Word did it all.”
Paul warned us to not fall into thinking we have the power—which is revealed in how we prep, pray, and preach. He reminds us:
- The gospel is the power of God for salvation (Rom. 1:16; 1 Cor. 1:18).
- Christ is the power and wisdom of God (1 Cor. 1:24).
- We must depend on God’s power, not ours (1 Cor. 2:5).
- Our weakness, inability, and unimpressiveness is part of the design “to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us” (2 Cor. 4:7).
As J. I. Packer taught us, “Weakness is the way.” Even though Spurgeon put a premium on preaching with skill, he also articulated this dynamic of depending on God:
If you preach the Word of God, if you lift up the crucified Christ on the pole of the gospel, you need not be very particular about the style of your speech. You need not say, “I must be a first-class speaker; I must be a trained rhetorician.” I believe that a great deal of that first-class speaking is simply the means of veiling the cross of Christ, and that fine talk about Jesus Christ is about the last thing that poor sinners need.
I sat at a hotel table, in Mentone, one evening at dinner, and I wanted to speak to a friend who was sitting opposite to me, but someone had put a most magnificent bouquet of flowers in a very splendid vase between us. I was grateful that those flowers bloomed in the middle of winter, and I was pleased to see and to smell them; but, by-and-by, I moved them on one side because they stood in the way of my view of my friend’s face.
So, I admire fine language, nobody enjoys it more than I do in its proper place; I even think that I could manage a little of it myself if I were to try. But whenever it stands between a poor soul and Christ, I should like to say, “Break that vase into a thousand pieces, fling those flowers into the fire; we do not want them there, for we want the poor sinner to see Christ.” It is the Word of God that converts the soul; not our pretty figures about the Word; not our fine talk about it, but the Word itself. So, dear teachers, and dear brother-ministers, let us give them the Word.
So, what makes the sermon work? God and His Word.
“I did nothing. The Word did it all.” — Martin Luther
