sermon

Planning the Flow of Worship

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To enhance the flow of worship, a leader should work on acquiring the necessary skills. Of particular importance is learning how to master the timing of worship. Well-planned transitions help the congregation to sense the intended purpose of each act of worship. Included here is a detailed outline of worship designed to go with Isaiah 6:1–8—Isaiah’s encounter with God and the prophet’s subsequent call to ministry.

An important aspect of the planning and leading of corporate worship is the creating of a sense of meaningful flow from the beginning of the service to the end. A flow of worship that effectively engages the attention of the worshiper and facilitates meaningful participation can be attributed to several factors.

First, it may appear that the control of this aspect of worship lies solely in the ability of the leaders to provide spoken and musical transitions with spontaneity and a masterful sense of timing. As important as these skills may be, there is more to it than that. The effective handling of transitions is contingent upon the structure provided by an order of service that progresses in a logical manner, facilitating the expression of thought and feeling. A matter of primary importance is sensitivity to the leading of the Holy Spirit in both the planning and the leading of worship. The mastery of timing is an essential part of all temporal art, including the drama of worship. For example, there are times when the Spirit would prompt a relaxing of the pace or the repetition of a song to provide a sense of resolution or closure. We want to avoid moving through the parts of a service as if they were items on an agenda to be completed within a fixed amount of time.

The primary focus of this entry is the creating of transitions against the underlying structure of the service. The need for emphasis on transitions can be seen more clearly if we consider a basic difference that exists between a worship service and a gathering of people for a drama presentation. In worship, everyone has lines to speak or sing, not just those on the platform. Words of introduction and transition help the people sense the intended purpose of each act of worship.

To show how words can create a meaningful connection for the parts of an established order of worship, several examples are offered here. The paradigm selected for the structure of the service is the written account of Isaiah’s encounter with God at the time of his call (Isa. 6:1–8). God initiated the dialogue by revealing himself through worship (vv. 1–4). In contrast to God’s holiness, Isaiah saw himself as one who needed cleansing from sin, and he confessed his unworthiness (v. 5). In response to his act of contrition, God pronounced forgiveness (vv. 6–7). After this opening dialogue (consisting of revelation, confession, and forgiveness), God spoke to the prophet, and Isaiah responded. The opening part of the dialogue serves as the basis for a Service of Entrance, and that which follows forms the basis for the Service of the Word. Although this model is usually associated with worship in so-called “liturgical churches,” it may also structure worship that is freer in style.

Service of Entrance

Prelude Music. The service begins with an instrumental arrangement of congregational songs designed to (1) invite people to worship (e.g., “O Worship the King”); (2) express the corporate nature of the gathering and its need for the enabling power of the Holy Spirit (e.g., “Brethren, We Have Met to Worship,” “Spirit of the Living God,” and “Set My Spirit Free to Worship Thee”), and 3) draw attention to the object of our veneration (e.g., “Holy God, We Praise Your Name,” “I Adore You,” and “Fairest Lord Jesus”). An admonition, written or spoken, might be given to the worshipers to reflect on the words of the hymns listed as preludes (include the numbers of the hymns to be used on an overhead projector).

Hymn of Adoration. In addition to labeling the hymn according to function (Hymn of Adoration), words of introduction help to facilitate the desired focus of attention, for example, for the hymn “Fairest Lord Jesus,” we could say, “As we lift our hearts and voices in this song of adoration, may we see beyond the beauty of creation. Beauty was never intended to be an object of veneration, but he who creates and sustains is worthy of our praise.”

Prayer of Adoration. The theme of the hymn is carried forward in prayer: “Lord, God, you have spoken to us through your Son, Jesus, who is the radiance of your glory and the exact representation of your nature, who upholds all things by the word of his power. Truly, he is the Lord of creation, and we offer you, through him, all glory, honor, praise, and adoration. Give us eyes to see and ears to hear as you reveal yourself in all your splendor and glory, majesty, power, and redeeming love. Amen.”

Corporate Prayer. Confession and forgiveness are highlighted in a prayer such as the following: “We are not, by our own nature, worthy of you, but through your Son, who died and rose again, we are made righteous in your sight. Thank you for the assurance that if we confess our sins, you are faithful and righteous to forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. Hear, O Lord, the confession of each heart before you now” (silence). (The act of confession can be intensified through singing. After a moment of silence, the worship leader could invite the people to continue in prayer, seeking personal cleansing as everyone sings “Create in Me a Clean Heart,” or the first stanza of “Search Me, O God.” The service of confession concludes with a responsive reading and a hymn of assurance.)

Leader:     Thank you, Lord, for your forgiveness. In Jesus’ name,
People:     Amen!
Leader:     People of God, we are forgiven.
People:     We are forgiven. Thanks be to God!

Hymn of Assurance. Words of transition: “The truth that God has forgiven our sins must penetrate our hearts as well as our minds. As we sing of his marvelous grace, may each of us appropriate his forgiveness and receive rest for the soul.” The desired outcome of confession is forgiveness, a sense of resolution (denouement). It is helpful to reinforce this through a hymn (such as “Grace Greater than Our Sin” that facilitates the internationalization of the truth that we are forgiven.

Greeting. Between the Service of Preparation and the Service of the Word, the historic salutation may be used or it could be substituted with a welcome, followed by an encouragement to greet one another.

Service of the Word

Preparing to Receive the Word. If a hymn that is directly related to text and sermon is not available, a general hymn on the theme of God’s Word, such as “How Firm a Foundation,” is appropriate. If a special musical selection precedes the sermon, it should be related to the message.

Sermon and Hymn of Response. An opportunity for response to the proclamation of the Word is an essential ingredient of worship. The pastor’s introduction to the hymn at the close of the sermon is an effective means of assuring that the hymn’s function as a vehicle of response will be understood.

Offering. Although the receiving of an offering in the free church tradition usually occurs earlier in the service, a case can be made for including it later. There it would serve as another means of responding to the proclamation of the Word. (In the paradigm from Isaiah, verses 1–4 are revelation, and most of the concluding verses are response.)

Service of the Table

An example of a meaningful flow of worship is provided by the following excerpt from a Communion liturgy:

Leader:     The Lord be with you.
People:     And with your spirit.
Leader:     Lift up your hearts.
People:     We lift them up unto the Lord.
Leader:     Let us give thanks unto the Lord our God.
People:     It is meet and right to do so.
Leader:     It is meet, right, and salutary, that we should at all times, and in all places, give thanks unto thee, O Lord, Holy Father, Almighty, Everlasting God. Therefore with angels and archangels, and with all the company of heaven, we laud and magnify thy glorious name, evermore praising thee and saying:
Leader and people (spoken or sung):
Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Sabbaoth;
Heaven and earth are full of thy glory;
Hosanna in the highest.
Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord;
Hosanna in the highest.

The above exchange of thoughts between the worship leader and congregation not only engages the worshipers in meaningful dialogue but also creates a sense of eager anticipation that finds fulfillment in the heartfelt release of worship in the singing of “Holy, Holy, Holy.”

Prior to the Words of Institution (1 Cor. 11:23–26), an instruction such as the following could enrich the people’s understanding of the breaking of bread as a symbolic act of worship:

As Christians in the early church broke bread and ate together, they did it “with glad and sincere hearts” (Acts 2:46). As we break bread from a common loaf, may we experience true joy and unity of spirit, as brothers and sisters in Christ. The common loaf from which we take and eat is a symbol of the unity we have in Christ. These lines from a first-century hymn may help us to see an added dimension to the breaking of bread:

Leader:     As grain, once scattered on the hillside, was in this broken bread made one,
People:     So from all lands the church be gathered into thy Kingdom by thy Son.

(The Didache)

Another act of worship that can be a meaningful part of Communion is congregational worship in song during the distribution of the bread and cup (or as the people go forward to receive Communion). In addition to uniting the people, this provides a means of releasing joy and other emotions that are integral to meaningful worship. Songs of praise and adoration may be combined with traditional Communion hymns. As the service of Communion ends, the joining of hands could contribute to a sense of oneness as a song such as “One in the Bond of Love” is sung.

Dismissal. A good benediction provides more than a sense of closure to the service. Prefaced by remarks drawn from God’s Word for the day, our going out into the world is given new meaning and purpose, for we are to be salt and light and extensions of his unconditional love for all humankind. Announcements pertaining to the work of ministry that continues through the days ahead may be included in the service of dismissal.

Things That Short-Circuit the Flow of Worship

A meaningful flow may be short-circuited by a number of factors, one being a lack of preparation with regard to logistics. All worship leaders (pastors, lay readers, musicians, and soundboard operators) should have a copy of the worship bulletin in advance of the service. The awkwardness of waiting for a microphone to be turned on can be avoided by noting when movement to the microphone is to occur. This is particularly helpful to less-experienced members of the ministry team.

Another factor that must be considered as an integral part of directing the flow of worship is the body language of the people on the platform. To avoid distracting the attention of worshipers from the significance of what is happening at each moment, all leaders must be attentive listeners.

A third factor is the thoughtful preparation of introductions to hymns, modulations, and other musical sequences. Without proper introductions and interludes, the worshipers cannot be expected to begin and continue confidently. The worship leader who rehearses musical transitions with the keyboard musician(s) will aid those who rely on their leadership.

Finally, an integral part of each of the above considerations is the matter of timing. A readiness or eagerness on the part of one who is about to move to the microphone could detract from the ministry in process, if that eagerness is expressed through body language. On the other hand, lethargic movements when the liturgical action calls for purposeful movement are, likewise, distracting. Audio cassettes and videotapes of services can be studied as means of assessing the effectiveness of our leadership. The senior pastor who values meaningful congregational participation in worship will need to provide opportunities for worship leaders to receive instruction in this important area of ministry. Effective leadership does not just happen. It is the result of prayer, study, planning, practice, and evaluation.

Jewish Storytelling

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Christian storytelling is rooted in the ancient Jewish tradition of telling stories. In telling the story, its reality and power are made present to the hearers, so that by entering into the story they experience its significance and power to shape their perspectives and the living out of their own stories of faith.

The Old Testament Background of Jewish Storytelling

Jews have always loved a good story. The Old Testament itself embraces hundreds of stories of every kind, and, almost without exception, they are told well. Plots are carefully worked out, there are surprises and clever turns, there is a relish for description and for fine points of psychology and motivation.

The story of stories was the Exodus, Yahweh’s liberation of Israel from Egypt. Many books of the Old Testament (and the New Testament, for that matter) recount or allude to this central event in Israel’s constitution and self-understanding. The rescue from Egypt and the crossing of the Sea was the great saving act of God that made Israel a people. It was an event through which all subsequent acts of Yahweh would be understood and reflected on, and it would affect Israel’s own response to God as his covenanted people.

The story of the Exodus and what Israel’s response to such salvation should be was to be repeated from generation to generation with loving fidelity. No detail of the story was to be lost. “Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them” (Deut. 4:9). “In the future, when your son asks you, ‘What is the meaning of the stipulations, decrees, and laws the Lord our God has commanded you?’ tell him: ‘We were slaves of Pharaoh in Egypt, but the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand. Before our eyes, the Lord sent miraculous signs and wonders—great and terrible—upon Egypt and Pharaoh and his whole household’ ” (Deut. 6:20–22).

The Role of Anamnesis: The Remembered Story

Deuteronomy: A Biblical Paradigm of the Remembered Story. This retelling of the story constitutes one feature of anamnesis (Hebrew: zikkaron, “remembering”). There are many elements to anamnesis. The Exodus was not conceived of as only a past event. It was somehow an everlasting event that continued to operate in Israel’s history, and each succeeding generation was called on to “witness” for itself this event as a living reality.

The book of Deuteronomy is the best Old Testament example of this reality. In an atmosphere of growing despair, the Deuteronomist preached reform and renewal to the people. The book says, in effect, that the covenant made in Sinai with Yahweh after the passage through the Sea never really took hold, that the promises of the covenant had not been fulfilled by Israel. Instead of asking the people to return to remembrance of the Exodus and to the fidelity that should have sprung from that experience of Yahweh, the author brings his hearers directly into the events themselves, saying that it is now happening in their midst and that they must respond to an activity of God that is present, not past. The Deuteronomist takes his listeners up Mount Nebo in Moab, on the border of Canaan, side by side with Moses, looking down into the Promised Land and demanding a response.

The words he puts into the mouth of Moses are not necessarily meant to record Moses’ preaching to the Hebrews of old. They are his own preaching to these people about their own lives, and he means to strike a response deep in their hearts to stories that he and his people really believed were the words of Moses. When the Deuteronomist has Moses speak to his people about being eyewitnesses to the Exodus, he also means for the people of his own time to see themselves as eyewitnesses of, and participants in, this saving event, since for him the redeeming power of Yahweh in the Exodus remains a present and urgent reality (Deut. 11:2–5, 7).

Present and Future Reality of the Remembered Story. Part of anamnesis, then, is not just a recollection of the past, but a drawing of past events into the present as still effective. As Johannes Betz puts it, “Anamnesis [in the biblical sense] means not only the subjective representation of something in the consciousness as an act of the remembering mind. It is also the objective effectiveness and presence of one reality in another, especially the effectiveness and presence of the salvific actions of God” (“Eucharist I,” Sacramentum Mundi [New York: Herder & Herder, 1968], 2:264).

One sees something similar in Joshua 24. When Joshua meets the Hebrews in Shechem who had not been in captivity in Egypt, nor experienced the Exodus as Joshua and his people had, he draws them into the covenant by making them acknowledge that the Exodus is an event for them, too—not just a thing of the past that they must accept as part of their own history, but an ongoing event that they now profess to, and witness in, their own lives. They become, by free choice, the dramatis personae of the constitutive saving act whereby Israel draws its being as a people. “Far be it from us to forsake the Lord to serve other gods! It was the Lord our God himself who brought us and our fathers up out of Egypt, from that land of slavery, and performed those great signs before our eyes” (Josh. 24:16–17).

This pulling up of the past into the present takes on greater definition in Isaiah 40 and the following chapters. While bringing the people the message of consolation that there will be restoration after the terrible experience of the Exile, the author tells the people that they must not think about the Exodus as merely a remembrance of the past. No, they must realize that the power and reality of the Exodus is still present and working in their midst and is forging their restoration. The coming restoration is but an extension of the Exodus itself. “This is what the Lord says—he who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters, who drew out the chariots and horses, the army and reinforcements together, and they lay there, never to rise again, extinguished, snuffed out like a wick: ‘Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland’ ” (Isa. 43:16–19). He is not telling the exiles to forget the Exodus—he is urging them to see the Exodus as still working in their present. Indeed, he goes on to describe the return and restoration precisely in terms appropriate to the Exodus.

The Incarnation of the Remembered Story. There is one final aspect of biblical anamnesis, the reenactment of the event, a bringing of the past into the present, not just in memory but also in ritual, a sort of reincarnating of the event in symbol—or better, allowing the event to continue its incarnation forward in space and time. “You shall observe this as a perpetual ordinance for yourselves and your descendants. Thus, you must observe this rite when you have entered the land that the Lord will give you as he promised. When your children ask you, ‘What does this rite of yours mean?’ you shall reply, ‘This is the Passover sacrifice of the Lord [Yahweh], who passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt; when he struck down the Egyptians, he spared our houses’ ” (Exod. 12:24–26, nab).

This ritual reenactment of the Exodus was gradually built on an earlier agricultural festival, which was then given a new meaning—the idea of “transignification,” which is used in contemporary eucharistic theology. This ancient feast was called the pesach in Hebrew and originally, apparently, was an ancient celebration that marked the spring yeaning, or birthing, and in which a lamb was killed as a sacrificial act.

This ritual was taken over as a structure to celebrate all events of the Exodus, and the individual rites were modified and given new meaning such that their original meaning was lost from consciousness, and they became symbolic reenactments of different facets of the great story. They were made into an anamnesis of the Exodus. The word pesach, which seems to have meant “leaping” and which possibly referred to a liturgical dance, now was given the meaning of “leaping over,” the “passing over” by Yahweh of the houses of the Hebrews when he visited the firstborn of the Egyptians with death.

The killing of the lamb no longer was a yeaning sacrifice, but a symbolic substitution for the firstborn of the Hebrews, who were spared. Similar embodiments of the Exodus story were attached to the ancient symbols of the unleavened bread—“there was no time to make leavened bread in the flight from Egypt”—the bitter herbs, the wine, etc. Anyone familiar with the contemporary Passover service will instantly recall the questions “Why is this night different from every other night” and “The unleavened bread which we eat, what is its reason?”

The Passover service is called the Haggadah, “the prayerful recital,” or the Seder, “the ritual order.” The ritual is an anamnesis, a zikkaron. It involves not just a recital of a past event, the Exodus, but brings it into the present, symbolized through liturgical reenactment. We read in the Haggadah, “In each and every generation, it is a man’s duty to regard himself as though he himself went forth out of Egypt.… Wherefore we thank him who performed all these miraculous deeds for our fathers, but also for us. He brought us forth out of bondage.” At the raisings of the second cup, this is recited: “Blessed are you, Lord God, king of the universe, who redeemed us and redeemed our fathers from Egypt, and enabled us to reach this night whereupon to eat unleavened bread and bitter herbs.”

Thus the saving will of God, prototypically incarnated in the Exodus, reached into the present day as an ongoing saving reality. What is more, it will reach into the future: “So also, God of our fathers, may you enable us to reach holidays and celebrations to come, when we partake again of the Passover offerings.”

The Exodus reaches upward in history and expands its effect by further realizations in changing circumstances—the restoration after the exile, the rebuilding of the cities in the Promised Land, liberation in any struggle or darkness. These are all the Exodus at work in the midst of Israel. By ritual reenactment of the event and by the remembrance of it, the partakers of the Passover feast celebrate the continuance of Yahweh’s saving grace.

Jesus’ Use of Anamnesis/Remembered Story. In the New Testament, Jesus’ passage from death to life in his passion and resurrection are not only frequently described by means of Old Testament paschal typology, they are explicitly called an exodus. In the Transfiguration scene, Moses and Elijah appeared in glory and spoke of [Jesus’] exodus, which he was about to fulfill in Jerusalem (see Luke 9:31). In the Last Supper, Jesus, of course, celebrates precisely the Passover service with the disciples. One by one he takes up the elements of the exodus-anamnesis and proclaims that his approaching passion, death, and resurrection are the renewed exodus, just as the return from exile was for Isaiah. As the earlier Hebrews transfigured an earlier rite, now Jesus takes the exodus-anamnesis and makes it his own story. The tale is not of what has happened; it is the story of what is now happening. He himself is the paschal lamb that is killed so that others might live. The wine is no longer the sign of the sprinkled blood to seal the Sinai covenant; it is his own blood in a new covenant.

This thanksgiving of Haggadah, or Eucharist, becomes for the covenanted people formed by Jesus’ death and resurrection the celebration of the Exodus from Egypt precisely as this grace from the Father was at work in Jesus, leading from bondage to freedom. But as the Jews celebrated the Exodus as a continuing event in their own time, so Christians celebrate the passion and death of Jesus not as a past reality, but as the Passover of Jesus, as a present reality, extending from Jesus to the believer through the power of Jesus’ Spirit. Those who partake of this paschal banquet celebrate Jesus’ exodus from death to life as working in their own lives, and they proclaim his death until he comes again in glory. They confess that it will reach its fulfillment even in the future when they sit with the Lord at the heavenly banquet.

Developing the Art of Storytelling

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Storytelling is an art that needs to be developed in today’s churches. Storytellers succeed through using dialogue, developing action and plot, opening up the imagination, and learning how to tell the story well. The following entry is one pastor’s account of the transforming power of story in his own preaching. Its original title, “Spinning Yarns,” suggests the necessity of retaining the first-person perspective because the best stories are our stories—stories told from personal experience.

Spinning Yarns

Throughout his conquests, Alexander the Great read the Iliad, a book that kindles martial zeal. He often placed his copy, annotated by Aristotle, under his pillow at night alongside his dagger. It’s not stretching it to say this one story’s effect on Alexander may have changed the course of history.

I confess I had been preaching for years before I realized that well-told stories wield this kind of power, that they can actually change people’s lives. I happened onto that realization the hard way. My college degree was in accounting, and I’ve always felt at home with facts, analysis, and principles—the abstract and conceptual. I would have been embarrassed to simply tell a Bible story in a sermon; that was for children. I thought adults needed a quick summary of the story followed by cogent lessons from it.

But then I became pastor of an inner-city church in Chicago. I began to notice my sermons had less impact than in my previous location, a college town. I wasn’t shirking on preparation. I painstakingly studied and outlined each text. But my people too often had blank looks. So I set a goal to learn how to communicate to my people, none of whom were college graduates, and a few of whom couldn’t read.

Other inner-city pastors emphasized oratory and delivery, so I bought a book on classical rhetoric and tried becoming a flame thrower. Blank looks became surprised looks.

Then I read Triumphs of the Imagination, by Leland Ryken, which discusses the nature and value of fiction. Frankly, I hadn’t read fiction in eight years. But Ryken argued that a story has power—in itself. Hearing one, we enter the experience of others, feel what they feel, learn firsthand.

So I tried recounting Bible stories in my sermons, accenting dialogue, building suspense. I began woodenly, then loosened up and found I actually enjoyed telling the stories. Best of all, my people now had interested looks. They were enjoying the stories, too.

Since then I’ve read many more books on storytelling and fiction writing. I’ve found the same principles these yarn spinners use to make characters appealing and to heighten suspense have aided my preaching.

Characterization

People love people. Many magazines exist solely because of this fact. We are inspired by others’ accomplishments. We are curious about their secrets. We are attracted by their virtues and repelled by their flaws. For good or ill, we are never neutral about people.

Fiction writers know that, and they labor to create characters that will bond with the readers’ interests. If we care about their character, we will keep reading their book.

God has filled his Book with fascinating people: Joab, a no-holds-barred pragmatist; Abigail, an unflappable crisis manager; Jonadab, a crafty schemer; or Jonathan, the greatest friend someone could have.

In order to spotlight characters in a Bible story or modern-day illustration, I must come to know them. Fiction writers spend days imagining their characters’ habits, emotions, weaknesses, abilities, ambitions, and fears. As I prepare to tell a story, I take the time to ask myself, Were these people extraverts or introverts? What was their relationship to God? Were they assertive or passive, impetuous or controlled, can-do or defeatist? Because people are complex, that sort of thinking takes time. But if I don’t do it, I end up with cardboard figures that are indistinguishable from each other and boring.

One way to bring biblical characters alive in my mind is to find contemporary parallels. Recently Jeroboam took off his sandals and put on black wingtips for me. Here is the consummate one-minute manager, high on the list of corporate headhunters. He is ousted from management only to return to claim the presidential suite. Yet he compromises principles and loses out with God.

Another way to ensure the characters in my sermons are vital is to concentrate on the universal elements of their personalities: ambition, loss, romance, unfulfilled desires, success, stress, and so on. Last year I preached an expository series through the life of David, and I wrestled with the text where David feigns insanity. Then I spotted the common denominator—when facing a crisis, David was resourceful. The text sprang open.

I have also found that Bible characters are more interesting if I portray their possible thoughts and motivations. My listeners know the complexity of their own inner lives. They identify with the Bible character when they discover his or her personal struggles.

For example, I imagined Sarah’s reaction when the Lord promised Abraham, “I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife will have a son,” something like this:

“Sarah was speechless. Then came a sudden association, a memory sadly pushed to the back of her mind years ago: God had promised they would have offspring as numerous as the stars of the sky. She had never known what to think of that. And now, at this word from these strangers, she did think, “After I am worn out and my master is old, will I now have this pleasure?”

It’s easy to slide into the rut of characterizing by adjectives only. Though adjectives are useful, especially when time is short, fiction writers use many means to make each person in the story vivid and memorable.

• Dialogue. We get to know others by overhearing what they say.
• Actions. Play-by-play is perhaps the easiest way to inject life into a sermon.
• Thoughts. “As water reflects a face, so a man’s heart reflects the man” (Prov. 27:19).
• What other characters say. One person brings the best out of our character; another the worst. Together they give the whole picture, like a statue viewed from different angles.
• Description of appearance. We discern much about others just by looking at them.

Dialogue

Of those methods for enlivening a character, dialogue is perhaps the most powerful. Some fiction writers advise that dialogue should make up one-third of the novel.

Some of the most memorable words in the Bible come from dialogue. What preacher would want to do without Moses’ answer to God at the burning bush: “O Lord, please send someone else to do it”? or Abraham’s words to a curious Isaac as they climb a mountain of Moriah: “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son”?

I have found using dialogue in my sermon stories helps in several ways.

Dialogue Invites Immediacy. It beckons the listener to eavesdrop on each conversation. The storyteller gathers the listeners and the characters into the same room by using direct quotations rather than indirect. If I quote only indirectly, I put myself between the listeners and the scene: “Jesus then told Nicodemus that unless a man is born again … ” However, when I quote directly, I let the character do the talking: “I tell you the truth unless a man is born again … ” A subtle change, but a noticeable improvement in immediacy.

Dialogue Heightens Emotion. Which has more drama: to say, “Elijah sat down under the broom tree and felt depressed,” or “Elijah sat down under the broom tree and said, ‘I have had enough, Lord. Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors”?

Dialogue Reveals the Person. We learn much about Naomi through these few words: “Don’t call me Naomi. Call me Mara, because the Almighty has made my life very bitter. I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty.” In a sermon, I could say, “Naomi had been through great hardship and felt self-pity and bitterness,” but her own words reflect that truth much more powerfully.

Because my listeners intuitively gauge the character from his or her words, I am particularly careful how I paraphrase and deliver a Bible character’s dialogue. Slang and regional accents can add humor and contemporaneity, but they can also mislead or distract when used indiscriminately.

Action and Plot

When we recount a Bible story in a message, we obviously do not write the plot, nor do we alter it. The same thing applies to illustrations from books, news events, or our own lives. But learning what makes for a good plot has attuned me to the crescendos and decrescendos of a story. I want to be like the pianist who interprets a song more sensitively because of his or her grasp of music theory and composition.

When I was a teenager, I bought a classical music album entitled Fireworks, a marrow-throbbing collection of zeniths from various pieces. We owned other classical music, but I got every last spark out of Fireworks. My tastes have matured; I now enjoy the quiet and subtle movements as much as the grand finales.

My storytelling has followed a similar path. At first, I told stories like one long finale, trumpets blaring from beginning to end. But I’ve grown more sensitive to downs and ups. Now I reserve my highest intensity for the climax.

The key to understanding a story’s plot, and where the climax falls, is identifying the conflict. Whenever I prepare to tell a story, I consider: What problems is this person trying to solve? What adversity is there to overcome?

I had told the story of Isaac’s birth many times before I recognized and developed one of the subsidiary conflicts: Would Sarah ever laugh again? Would her life ever take on joy? This problem isn’t verbalized until the end of the story. At the birth of Isaac, Sarah says, “God has brought me laughter, and everyone who hears about this will laugh with me.” I decided to tell Sarah’s story, basing it on the problem of her lack of joy.

Since conflict sparks interest, I usually begin my story with it. Normally I don’t launch the story with an eloquent description of a person, landscape, or background events; I unload that cargo as the plot progresses. With Sarah’s story, I had to establish from the start her lack of laughter, unstated in Genesis until the end. I imagined her reaction to someone else’s celebration:

“A new mother giggled with her family and friends. Sarah smiled too, but she couldn’t laugh; she hadn’t really laughed in years. She was glad for the mother, but it was a hollow gladness and a Mona Lisa smile. Would Sarah ever laugh again?”

Sometimes, feeling pressure from the clock, I rush the beginning of the story to get to the climax and make my point. Taking time to establish the person’s struggle is difficult for me, a get-to-the-point person. But by slighting the conflict, I defuse the climax, leaving myself with an emotional dud.

For example, the parting of the Red Sea is a moving climax, but only if you’ve been through Pharaoh’s repeated refusals and the ominous charge of the Egyptian cavalry. So when I told the story during a series in Exodus, I didn’t skip a single plague. The greater the struggles, the more powerful the victory.

Sensory Description

The doorways into the imagination are the five senses. By appealing to the senses, the storyteller takes the listener by the hand and leads him across the threshold into the scene. Notice how the following sensory-filled introduction involves you in Joseph’s experience.

“Joseph’s head pounded as he looked at the crowd of buyers and wondered, Which one will be my master? He wanted to get off his feet, blistered by the desert trek. Raucous, foreign tongues filled his ears, but he longed for the voice of Jacob.”

During my sermon preparation, I close my eyes, place myself in the scene, and use my imagination. What do I see? What do I hear? What do I touch, smell, taste? When I put myself into Elijah’s place at the ravine of Kerith where he was fed by ravens, the brook didn’t just run dry. Stones hurt the back of my cupped hands as I pressed them into the riverbed for the trickling water. In the message, I won’t use all these perceptions, just enough to satisfy a healthy imagination.

Of the five senses, sight is the most influential. Storytellers are like filmmakers, who search for meaningful, emotive images: David twirling his sling; Abraham lifting a knife over his son; Adam hiding in the bushes from God.

Lengthy descriptions slow a story, so whenever possible I embroider descriptions with action. For instance, instead of saying, “Goliath’s sword was heavy,” I would say, “David strained to raise Goliath’s sword over his head.”

When we taste, touch, sniff, observe, and listen, we tell the story freshly even to those who have heard the story ninety-nine times before.

Delivery

Rushing a story is like gulping down a Sunday dinner. It takes time to set the mood, to expressively speak the dialogue. Our listeners will not get emotionally involved in thirty seconds, nor can we build suspense in that time. We need pauses … silence.

There are occasions to speak rapidly, to increase the sense of fast action. But in general, a hurried story says, “Just get the facts.” A slower pace says, “Feel this; live this.” I used to balk at spending a large amount of time on a story because I wanted to get to the point. Now I realize the story gets the point across better than my factual, declarative statements.

By trial and error, I’ve developed a storytelling style that works for me. I write out the story in my own words, then read as little as possible, because when eye contact is broken, the mood evaporates. And I tell the story without pausing for principles or application. I want people to experience the story itself in a powerful way first.

Telling a story well requires extra preparation, and when a story is long or I don’t manage time well during the week, I read more during the sermon. And I’ve faced those dreaded moments in which I am a few feet from the pulpit, with solid eye contact, and can’t remember what’s next. But those blunders are forgotten when a story hits home.

Surprises

As I increased the amount of storytelling in my preaching, I didn’t have to jettison principles and propositions. But instead of the traditional format of ideas, then illustrations, I first tell the story or paint the image, proceeding from known to unknown, concrete to abstract. This gives the listener a solid box for storing sometimes wispy principles.

Recently I preached on how we often push God to the side during the week and live for our own pursuits. But I began by telling of King Ahaz, who was charmed by a pagan altar he saw in Damascus and then carved a copy in Jerusalem. He took the liberty of moving the furniture in God’s house, sliding his new altar into the center and the bronze altar to the side. Ahaz instructed the priests to sacrifice on his altar. At God’s altar, he would seek divine guidance.

Only then did I raise the question, “Aren’t we like Ahaz if we devote time, energy, and thoughts to personal ambitions but seek God only when we can’t pay the bills?” Weeks later a member confessed, “Pastor, that story showed me exactly what I was doing.”

A second surprise to come out of my increased yarn spinning is that Bible stories have become my main resource for illustrations. The Bible is packed with stories—adventures, mysteries, romances. It has heroes, villains, suspense. I never had enough illustrations before. Now I’ll often use Bible stories to open windows on a subject.

Through these stories, Bible events and characters are becoming symbols for my people, things by which they interpret their lives. Recently Mary told me, “I used to complain a lot: ‘Why do I have to go shopping today?’ ‘I hate to clean the bathroom.’ But when you preached on the desert wanderings, and I saw the Israelites grumbling all the time, I just couldn’t complain anymore. And if I catch myself complaining, it hurts me inside because I don’t want to be like them.”

As I tell stories, I am affected as deeply as the listeners. Some time ago I sat with my boys at bedtime reading the story of David and Goliath from a children’s book. I came to David’s famous line: “All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the Lord saves; for the battle is the Lord’s, and he will give all of you into our hands.”

For the rest of the story I fought back tears … just reading a children’s book.

I’m not given to tears, but pastoring in Chicago, toe to toe with Goliath, I identified deeply with David. Suddenly I was ready to fight again.

Preaching That Involves the Congregation

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Preachers can prepare their sermons with respect to the needs of their people by engaging a representative group of people in conversation on Sunday’s text. Guidelines for group preparation and feedback are outlined below.

Method. A number of churches are offering Bible study on the texts their pastors intend to use in future sermons. Beginning ten days prior to the preaching of the sermon, the group meets to study the text. The preacher either leads the study or participates in the group, asking a layperson to lead. He or she listens closely to the questions and issues that emerge from the group’s discussion of the text. The minister listens for ideas and attitudes that will influence the development of the passage into a sermon. The preacher avoids explaining to the group the way he or she intends to treat the passage. The preacher is there to learn from the group, not to hint at a plan he or she has already developed for preparing the sermon.

In addition to the congregational study of selected texts prior to the sermon’s preparation, a sermon response group may also prove helpful. Members of this group should be chosen from a broad spectrum of the congregation and should meet at regular intervals—whether monthly, bimonthly, or quarterly—usually for about thirty minutes after the church service.

The pastor does not attend the sermon feedback discussion but instead asks that it be taped for him or her. A lay leader can enable the group to move through the process in the time allotted. Michael Williams, in his helpful book Preaching Peers (Discipleship Resources, 1987), suggests the following questions for the listening group to discuss: (1) What words, images, or ideas in the sermon had meaning to you? (2) Was there a clear relationship between the Scripture text and the sermon? (3) Did the sermon and the rest of the worship service tie together? (4) Was the sermon consistent with the person you have experienced the preacher to be? (5) Did the sermon’s delivery support or detract from its content? (6) What was the word of God for you in the sermon?

Using the Lectionary. The study groups and listening groups are especially fitting for lectionary preaching since the lectionary leads the congregation through the church year. For example, the study of Advent texts prepares the group both for the sermon and for the general celebration of Advent. If study group members use material based on the lectionary in their church school classes, this enriches their teaching as well as their listening to the sermon.

When the preacher and congregation follow the lectionary, they move together through the seasons of the church year, preparing for and celebrating the central events of the Christian faith. This is a learning opportunity for all ages as the congregation reflects on the two great cycles of salvation: Advent—Christmas—Epiphany and Lent—Easter—Pentecost. The congregation may want to learn more about the origin of these celebrations, and about ways to make them more meaningful today. Developed by Hoyt Hickman and other leaders in the contemporary liturgical movement, the Handbook of the Christian Year (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1986) is a comprehensive guide to an ecumenical series of services for the renewal and deepening of worship. The book offers background, services for Sundays and special days, and texts and pastoral commentary. It can help each congregation develop its own traditions and unique ways of celebrating the various seasons of the Christian year.

The lectionary gives a focus and discipline both to preaching and to the church’s life. Unchanneled energy is easily dissipated, but energy channeled through the lectionary can enable Christians to relate their faith to the world in which they live, to relate preaching, worship, and the seasons of the church year, and more effectively to anticipate and celebrate the festivals of the Christian year.

Preaching Lectio Continua

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Preaching through a biblical book, also known as lectio continua (Latin, meaning to read continuously) is presented here from the Reformed perspective as a viable option to preaching through the lectionary or preaching topical sermons.

The History of Lectio Continua. Almost five hundred years ago in the city of Zurich, Ulrich Zwingli, inspired by the preaching of early church fathers Augustine and John Chrysostom, preached through the Gospel of Matthew. Reformer John Calvin enthusiastically adopted Zwingli’s lectio continua approach to preaching. During his long ministry in Geneva, Calvin followed this ancient liturgical practice, preaching through most of the Bible. After eighteen years of using the lectio continua method of preaching, I am confident that this approach has as much value for our congregations as it had for the congregations of Calvin and Zwingli. I’m also convinced, however, that it is important for the twentieth-century pastor to carefully adapt this Reformed tradition to today’s culture.

Fewer Sermons. In the first place, I preach through a book of the Bible (or a major section of a book) in fewer sermons than most Reformers did. I rarely preach more than a dozen sermons on a book in a series.

It is important to remember that, because the Reformers often preached daily, they were able to accomplish in a month what might take today’s minister a half year to complete. For today’s congregation, a series of twenty-five sermons on a book like 1 Peter, for example—a series Calvin might have preached—is too much. It becomes the preacher’s job to interpret the book, outlining its major divisions and themes, and then to decide which of those themes are most appropriate to the needs of the congregation. One congregation might benefit most from sermons on the more theological concerns of the first chapter of 1 Peter, while another might appreciate the emphasis on the more practical moral concerns in the remaining chapters.

The first time I preached through 1 Peter, the congregation I was addressing had been long accustomed to a strong emphasis on Christian ethics and had little understanding of the basic affirmations of the faith. I, therefore, dwelt at greater length on the themes of saving faith in 1 Peter 1:3–9, the Christian hope in 1 Peter 1:13–21, the new birth in 1 Peter 1:22–2:3, and the spiritual worship of the royal priesthood in 1 Peter 2:4–10. In contrast, I covered 1 Peter 2:11–3:12, the long passage on rules for the Christian household, in a single sermon.

If I had been preaching to another congregation, my focus might have been altogether different. For example, I might have preached separate sermons on the Christian’s duty to civil authority (1 Pet. 2:13–17), working for hard masters (1 Pet. 2:18–25), and husbands and wives as heirs to the grace of life (1 Pet. 3:1–7).

Planning sermons according to the lectio continua approach, then, does not imply being insensitive to the needs of the congregation or plodding through a book three to six verses at a time without ever looking at the book as a whole. The approach has often been misused in this way, to be sure, but does not have to be. In fact, one of the greatest advantages of lectio continua preaching is that it recognizes that there is more than one way of dividing the Word of Truth.

Organizing the Year. Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost are poles around which I organize my preaching. Since Reformed tradition emphasizes Christian feasts rather than liturgical seasons, I often do a short lectio continua series for these feasts. For example, I have done four sermons on the nativity narrative in Matthew at Christmas and a series of six sermons on the servant songs of Isaiah at Easter. The use of the lectio continua approach, then, does not mean one has to neglect the evangelical feasts.

In the course of a year, I try to treat many different types of biblical literature. I always try to do a major series on a Gospel, a major series on another New Testament book, and a major series on an Old Testament book.

I have never been so bold as to try to preach through a whole Gospel in a single series. Instead I usually focus on a section of a Gospel—such as the ministry of Jesus in the Gospel of John, the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew, or the passion narrative in Luke. Also, I try not to let the Pauline Epistles overshadow the rest of the New Testament. Certainly one of the most positive discoveries of contemporary biblical research is the rich diversity in the various strands of biblical literature. All of the books have distinct messages that need to be heard.

One of the strengths of Reformed Christianity is its appreciation of the Old Testament. A minister needs to give much attention to the various genres of Old Testament literature. The insights of the historical books, the Prophets, and poetry all need to be explored.

Organizing a series on one of these books can be difficult. For example, how does one do a lectio continua series on Jeremiah with its fifty-two chapters? Again, selection is essential to interpretation. With the aid of John Bright’s commentary on Jeremiah, I selected the ten most important passages in the book—that is, the passages I thought had the most significance for my congregation, the most vivid and preachable chapters in the book.

I usually treat the historical books through personalities. I have done a major series on the Abraham cycle in Genesis and another on the David cycle in 1 and 2 Samuel. One time I did a short series of five sermons on Elijah. However, I’ve occasionally departed from this pattern. For example, after discovering Brevard Child’s commentary on Exodus, I preached one whole summer on the Christian interpretation of that book.

Discipline and Adventure. For me lectio continua preaching has been both a scholarly discipline and a spiritual adventure. It is the secret behind my enthusiasm for preaching.