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"On Preaching" by Scott Hoezee
Reflections on Preaching from the Center for Excellence in Preaching.
Speak the Sermon into Being (Posted on January 11, 2006)
In recent months I have become more self-conscious about something that has been my standard practice for at least fifteen years. To understand what I am going to say here, you need to be able to picture where I sit and work. Here at Calvin Theological Seminary, I have an office that looks out onto a nice courtyard. Directly across from my office are other windows, including those of two people in our development office, a large bank of windows in the student quiet study area, and the windows of a small lounge area where twice a day a dozen or more staff people gather for coffee.
It’s the presence of those windows—and particularly of the people on the other side of those windows—that has made me self-conscious. For a dozen years before coming to the Center for Excellence in Preaching, I worked out of the study located in the parsonage where I lived. I was connected to the larger world through my telephone and email, but I spent most days well out of the sight of any other person. There, in the splendid quiet of that study, I wrote my sermons. But I never really just “write” my sermons—I speak them into being. Even those of us who write out full sermon manuscripts (as I have long done) recognize that sermons are finally oral (and aural) pieces of communication. Hence, the preacher must write for the ear, not the eye. Long-ish sentences with several subordinating clauses may work well in print but are at best clunky when read aloud to someone.
Let me try an example. Here is a sentence you could get away with in printed form: “When Jesus took his disciples aside in private for conversation and instruction—and the gospels often tell us that he spoke to just the disciples as opposed to the larger crowds—it is clear this was done in order to avoid having the crowds too quickly seize on him as the promised Messiah and thus making him fall prey to their overly political notions of what the Christ was supposed to do.”
Now, you just read that sentence in printed form and, as such, it probably made good sense to you. But now go back and read it out loud. I trust you realize it’s too long for oral communication. In a sermon, you would have to translate that sentence into something like, “Jesus often took his disciples aside for conversation and instruction. The gospels often distinguish between what Jesus said to all the crowds and what he said to just his closest followers. When Jesus did this, it’s clear that he was preventing the crowds from too quickly seizing on him as the promised Messiah. Jesus knew that they had overly political ideas about what the Christ was supposed to do. So to avoid falling prey to that, Jesus spoke some things to the disciples in private.” This example may be a bit strained, but most preachers know what I mean.
But now back to my recent sense of self-consciousness. When writing sermons, I have developed the habit of stopping every few sentences—or at least after a paragraph or two—and going back to read aloud what I have just written. Typically this also becomes the first time when I quite naturally (almost involuntarily) begin incorporating also the appropriate gestures for that portion of the sermon. Back when I was in my study all by myself, no problem. But every once in a while now—usually following a part of a sermon-in-process that involved some serious waving of my arms or punching of the air with my hands—I glance out my window only to see some people looking at me from the other side of the courtyard! Who knows what they are thinking, but if you’ve ever looked in your car’s rearview mirror only to see the driver behind you imitating Madonna while she loudly sings along with her radio, you have an idea of what I must look like when speaking my sermon into being!
But I have decided that it doesn’t matter. Speaking a sermon into existence is the only way I know how to construct a message that will be understandable when the congregation actually hears it. Reading aloud helps me to detect sentences that are too rambling, dense, or complicated for easy listening. I’ve also developed the habit of not starting a sentence over in case I make a verbal slip-up. Instead, I force myself to find creative ways “on the fly” to make up for verbal glitches.
For example, perhaps I had meant to say, “When you go to friends for help, they listen to you.” But let’s say I accidentally said, “When you go to a friend for help . . .” Clearly I can’t follow the singular “friend” with the pronoun “they.” But rather than start the sentence over by saying, “Um, oops, what I meant to say is when you go to friendS for help,” I will instead go with my mistake and force myself on the fly to make the rest of the sentence fit. “When you go to a friend for help, he listens to you.” If you force yourself to correct mistakes often enough when reading your sermon aloud, eventually you find that such self-correction is easy to do when you are in the pulpit as well, thus making for a smoother presentation.
Writing for the ear may well be the best way to prepare sermons that are, after all, meant to be heard, not read. Speaking the sermon into being allows your own ears to become your first, best testing ground to make sure your words will fall pleasantly on everyone else’s ears come Sunday!