I’m for a multi-laypreacher system, yet not a
multi-pastoral system. That would surely
mean many needs would get dropped.
After almost nine decades of listening to sermons, I
think I have a right to express an opinion. My
first sermon-listening experiences took place in the little Mennonite
Brethren Church at Laird, Saskatchewan – but only during the summer. During the winter we children attended the
United Church of Sunday school and a worship service only rarely. A frozen river
between where we lived and the church meant winter travel was impossible.
This Laird congregation was a small group of Kanadier, Mennonite descendants of the first wave of immigrants to Canada in the
1870s, and a smaller number of Russian Mennonite Brethren, who came in the
1920s. Services were held in German in
the mornings and English in the evenings – a good tradeoff.
“Do you have a word from the Lord for us this
morning, Brother Funk?” the church
leader asked my father when our family entered the small entry way. Long distance telephone calls were too expensive in the early 1930s and
letters too uncertain. A good preacher
always knew if God had been speaking to him during the week, knowing he might
be asked to preach.
Yes, Dad a message from the Lord in his Bible and
his heart. He had wrestled it out for
several weeks, maybe even months, while stocking shelves in his grocery store,
dusting cans, waiting on customers, watching the weather.
He worked at it like I do a blog – while baking
chicken for lunch, knitting a square for an afghan, walking, resting. His sermons came out of his life experiences
with his customers and his early life in the Ukraine. I have only one of his
sermons one he preached to me one Sunday afternoon in Edmonton
before his death, while he was sitting on the living room couch and I took
notes.
This sermon came out of his life and had to do with
how the wind affected the the windmill his father owned and operated high on
the hill in Rosenthal near Chortitza. It
had to do with the similarity between the wind and the Holy Spirit, and that
he, as a miller, couldn’t control the direction of the wind. The application
was clear: you can’t control the working
of the Spirit. Don’t force the mystery of how the Spirit works.
I grew up when Bibles got worn out – literally. I
showed my father’s Bible to my son James recently. The cover is crudely patched
with tape and artificial leather. I can
still see him, sitting at the table,
wetting his thumb with this tongue, before turning the page, which
resulted in deeply gouged pages. Passages are underlined, explanations added in
the margins, and the book itself full of
clippings. A Bible used this much fell apart.
The Bible was my father’s source of inspiration, and
he worked hard to connect it to life – to discrimination, prejudice, and the need for
making personal peace with Christ as Savior. After all, he had been an ordained
deacon/evangelist in Russia. Whether he succeeded is not for me to judge. He preached what he thought he had to say.
To preach every Sunday with a message that
enlightens, inspires, challenges, comforts, is a tall assignment – especially one that meets the specific needs of the congregation for that time.
I have been reading Jeremiah, the weeping prophet. I
was struck again by how rich his language was – studded with gems of similes,
metaphors and symbols arising from the
life of the Israelites. He spoke to a specific situation: Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon will capture you and take you away, don’t flee to
Egypt, you will return. Jeremiah knew his God and knew his people and
he tried to bring a message from the Lord for the people.
The lectionary is a good idea – but not when it
binds the preacher. The present professional pastoral system is a good idea –
but I look for the surprise sermon by
someone who has been working on a word from God for weeks, maybe months. I keep looking for the church leader to ask a
man or woman coming into the building, “Do you have a message from God for the
people today?”
No comments:
Post a Comment