It was my birthday recently, and I received a birthday card
from a retired friend in Florida. Ruth used to be a Sunday School teacher in my
church years ago. She was cleaning out her house and ran across some notes from
a sermon that I preached on June 26, 1988. So she sent them to me with the
card.
Actually they were notes that her four-year-old granddaughter
Amber wrote. Of course Amber could not write much at that tender age. They were four pages ripped out of a small spiral notebook. Each one was covered in
scribbles. Some of it looks vaguely like writing. The first page looks it might
depict stick people … sort of.
On the front page Ruth had recorded her granddaughter’s explanation:
“I’m writing down everything he says, Nana!” Indeed she did. Of course no one
can read it. The actual words I spoke are lost to history, but that is okay. It
is not important what I said that morning.
I can hardly remember what I preached on last Sunday, much
less twenty-five years ago! One would be hard-pressed to find any parishioner
who can remember what I preached further back than last Sunday. Realizing that fact
keeps us pastors humble.
It is not about words or even ideas. It is about sensing
that something important was happening in church. It was worth Amber writing it
down for Nana. In the end, worship services do not translate well into words.
Do not get me wrong. I believe in words. It is what I do. Preachers
deal in words. I write sermon manuscripts, which I take into the pulpit. And I stick pretty close
to the text. Afterwards I clean them up and post them on the internet along
with videos. I even rework some sermon series into books.
My life as a pastor is filled with words. But in the end ministry
is not about words. Words can celebrate God. Words can direct our attention toward
God. But words always fall short of the glory of God. They can never capture
God.
Words are nothing more than scribbles on paper and
vibrations in air. At best words refer to something unwritable and unspeakable.
When used well, words can point to the wordless Presence of God.
Amber’s notes are better than words. A four year-old sat
next to her Nana in church one Sunday, and God was present. She wrote it all
down. We just need to read between the lines.
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