Should We Expect Sermons to be Perfect?

The preacher was almost trembling at the pulpit. He mumbled more than he spoke. The message – or what little I can remember these many years later – was based on a few verses in John, and had very little structure. I only clearly remember how challenging it was to follow his line of thought. It consisted mostly of repeating the same words in the text over and over. The pauses were awkward. His eyes darted in unpredictable directions. His nerves got the best of him. The sermon seemed far longer than it really was. He seemed to be bracing for something.

On the drive home after the service, the first words my friend spoke were “I’m sorry.” My friend was quick to explain that this preacher was very new, and had preached maybe two sermons in his entire life, that my friend assumed the senior pastor would be preaching. 

My friend was afraid, I suppose, that somehow this sermon was a reflection on him or his taste. My friend and I hosted a Bible study in our college dorm room years ago, but now I had started seminary and our conversations had changed. 

His apology startled me for several reasons. As a seminary student, had I been carrying myself in a way that suggested to others that studying at a seminary gave me not only the ability but the right to scrutinize the sermons of others? Had I really become so critical, as if those in the pulpit were performing musicians and I somehow had their sheet music? If my friend had listened to any of my sermons (which, even in my final year of seminary, were probably not much better in tone or substance than the sermon we both just endured), would he have felt a similar impulse to apologize on my behalf?

I assured my friend that there was nothing for him or the preacher to apologize for. As far as I could tell, the preacher had not uttered a single heretical word. He had not tried to place in the sermon things that did not belong there. Though repetitious and hard to follow, he spent most of his time repeating after Jesus. If that can even be called a mistake, there are certainly far worse. 

Preaching is Difficult

There are many such episodes in churches every Sunday. As I have made the transition from primarily listening to regular preaching, I have realized two things. First, preaching is far more difficult than it looks. Sermons are delicate creatures, and there are a million ways to kill them. Second, preachers and listeners place great significance on different aspects of the exercise, with both groups liable to latch onto details that have very little to do with faithful preaching. 

Consider the ultimate measure of a sermon (as explored by Christopher Ash and Philip Ryken). Clumsy attempts to state the truth are preferable to elegant half-truths. When James warns his readers that teachers will be judged “with greater strictness” (3:1) he makes it clear that this exactitude will be applied to sin, a “restless evil,” specifically the proclivity to curse others (3:9-10). When Paul outlines the qualities of an elder to Timothy, there is a mention of an ability to teach, but the greater emphasis is on how a man treats his family or deals with challenges or outsiders (1 Tim. 3). Forced illustrations, flat jokes, irrelevant asides, and spoiled ends of films or books are indeed distractions, but they are counted nowhere in that tally. Our words and actions must correspond with truth.

Popular Preachers Cause Unrealistic Expectations

As gifted speakers continue to make preaching look so natural, it is hard not to get lulled into the belief that listening ought also to be a simple or comfortable task – a far cry from the pages of the New Testament, in which the declaration of God’s good news of salvation provoked every imaginable response except passive acknowledgment. 

As a preacher, it is easy to internalize unrealistic expectations. Even those with an established record of speaking well cannot maintain a perfect 1:0 ratio of good to mediocre/bad (here I am speaking of “good” and “bad” in relation to mastering the techniques that hold people’s attention). For every sermon that lands with powerful effect, because all of its parts seem to line up, there are far more that simply become background noise. 

There is of course nothing inherently wrong with pursuing polished and professional excellence, or even hiring someone to help with that pursuit. Whoever delivered the sermon(s) that became the basis for the Book of Hebrews carefully edited them for flow and artistry. The Psalms are works of art, as is the book of Ruth, Ecclesiastes, or the Song of Solomon. Jesus’ sermons were relatable, clear, and masterful, and preachers should strive to be like him. Yet the terabytes of closely curated sermons nowadays cultivate a sense of refinement, even entitlement. Listeners morph into consumers to be entertained or critics to be appeased rather than sheep of the flock being taught or transformed. This often turns ugly. Social media never for a moment suffers from a shortage of those eagerly waiting to write off well-known authors over the slightest missteps. Preachers aspire to influencer status, closely monitoring the reactions of their flock as if God’s holy word were nothing more than an ad campaign. 

We should be cautious that in our attempts to be like the faithful and commendable Bereans (Acts 17:10-12), that we do not inadvertently become cynics. The impulse to question everything did not plague the Bereans’ interaction with Paul, who, by all indications, probably did not approach them with smooth rhetoric anyway (2 Cor. 11:6). 

Quick to Listen, Slow to Speak

Alongside calls to discern like the Bereans, there ought to be an accompanying caution extended: “…let every person be quick to listen, slow to speak” (Ja. 1:19). There is ample opportunity for deliverer and listener to “outdo one another in showing honor” (Rom. 12:10), even in midst of the most poorly executed or heavy-handed sermon. God’s people are encouraged to dwell on whatever is true and noble, whatever is beautiful and excellent and praiseworthy (Phil. 4:8).

Annoyances and grievances have a way of distracting us from the valuable truths on offer when preachers do indeed speak the truth in less than stellar ways. When we hear something in a sermon that makes us question, it is worth the pause to ask: is the disagreement about doctrine or merely presentation? Have we rooted out a heretical idea or something more relational, like a personality conflict? Some preachers, much like Apollos in his early years, need to be questioned or confronted. But others struggling with delivery probably just need patience, and there is often a way to encourage and remain constructive even when heresy does show up, or at least inquire without criticizing. Priscilla and Aquila did not accost Apollos from the outset, they invited him over for a meal (Acts 18:26).

Preachers, regardless of their experience, will continue to get delivery wrong. Even the very best and brightest will occasionally disappoint. Yet the Gospel’s truth and relevance never rested on the talents of its temporary stewards. Listen anyway, and listen with grace. 

Posts You May Enjoy