Parish, the Thought. David B. Bowman

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      Straight Talk from the Pulpit

      It is possible to think of the Gospel and our preaching of it as . . . above all, and at no matter what risk, speaking the truth about the way things are.

Frederick Buechner, Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale1

1. Buechner, Telling the Truth, 7.

      What Shall I Preach?

      My experience as a young person in the pew, listening to the sermon of the day, yielded no sense of pattern for expectation. After all, the pastor or evangelist would offer “what God had laid on his heart” in his private devotions. In other words, I grew up used to topical sermons, only related to the church year at Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost.

      It puzzles me that I never questioned this pattern until well into my career. The homiletics class at Nazarene Theological Seminary offered no enlightenment on the yearly pattern from the pulpit. I only remember offering “practice sermons” to the class. I doubt I would have gone around the corner to hear Professor James McGraw preach anyway.

      In my Associate capacity at First (Park) Congregational Church (Park), Grand Rapids, Michigan, where I spoke from the pulpit only occasionally, I continued to speak out what was on my mind. This means finding a topic or theme, then going to scripture to proof text one’s point. The Congregational tradition, loose in its observance of the Christian year, offered me no encouragement to change.

      When I arrived at my first singular pastorate at Community Congregational Church, United Church of Christ (CCUCC), in Pullman, Washington, in 1971, nothing changed. In fact, the pattern intensified. I determined to preach on Sunday what rose to my attention in the course of a week of pastoral duties. In retrospect, my effort reflected the “what God laid on my heart” pattern in a more secular vein. Sometimes this worked when my mind and heart were flooded with ideas. At other times I came to Friday, and sometimes even on Saturday, with a certain panic. “Opening my mouth to let the Spirit fill it,” appealed to me not at all.

      Speaking of spontaneous pulpit patterns, I followed in a parish a man who bragged that on Sunday mornings he walked over to the church, from the next–door parsonage, in those moments pursuing his only preparation of the day. As often as not he would refer to the week’s sports events, speak personally of someone in the congregation (usually in a jocular vein), and draw out some spiritual or moral insight. Some folk liked it. Others were skeptical. Count me among the latter.

      Only when I came to my second singular parish ministry in Tacoma, Washington, United Church in University Place (UCUP), did the light begin to dawn. While attending continuing education events at the Vancouver School of Theology, the virtues of lectionary preaching, concurrent with the church year, hovered into view. With determination, I began weekly study of the lectionary texts in order to find grist for the Sunday message. I experienced this new orientation as a sort of personal grace. Indeed, as the years incorporating this pattern moved along, I found my personal life revolving around the Christian year much more than around the secular calendar. That remains true to this day.

      As with any virtue there exist deficits. The passing scene at times calls for attention from the pulpit. If a tornado roars through town, one may not stand behind the sacred desk and expound on the beatitudes, if that gospel lesson is assigned for the week.

      I recall that once, following the impeachment of President Clinton, I spoke on the non–assigned gospel text, “So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known” (Matt 10:26). Also, speaking to certain social issues prove somewhat difficult if the scriptures scarcely raise the subject, e.g., the societal scourge of gambling.

      Another detriment to lectionary preaching occurs. Sometimes on a Monday one comes to the readings for the week and discovers no movement of mind or heart. That presents a challenge to be met and overcome. If hard work and prayerful diligence take place, perhaps someone will say after the service, “That word meant a lot to me. One of your best messages.”

      One must not leave the subject of pulpit patterns without dealing with the issue of relevance. It is true that occasions have risen when concerns, spiritual or social, occupy mind and heart while the assigned readings seem far afield. At that point one remembers the nature of Protestant preaching, namely, that the word comes from the sacred text, not one’s own private preoccupations. One hopes that the faith, hope, and love presented in the text, and “poured through human personality” from the pulpit, will bear all the relevancy any faithful listener might need. Leave it to some other occasion for the man or woman of the cloth to share fondest ideas or personal hobby horses.

      Publish Glad Tidings

      A central feature of communication in the parish continues to be the newsletter. Announcements of parish events, presentation of the parish calendar, listing of parish staff, reports of births, baptisms, weddings, and deaths consume much of the content. Often these days the newsletter arrives on–line.

      The parish newsletters adopt a tradition of titles—“The Chimes,” “Good News,” “Voice of Faith,” “The Messenger,” etc. In large churches these appear weekly. In smaller churches once a month publication appears to be the rule.

      One other feature, not mentioned above, is the article written by the minister, or in larger parishes, by rotating ministers. The content of these articles, read over time, reveal much about the author. For the most part these pieces render Dullsville exciting. Often one detects the minister sensed the publication deadline rushing down. Something must be said. Occasionally one finds someone who writes well about significant matters. I remember with pleasure a regular monthly piece from Rev. Richard Coombs, Dean of the Episcopal Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist, in Spokane, Washington.

      Too often one encounters those clergy who use the newsletter space to talk about themselves ad nauseum. They speak of their trials, their joy in the ministry, their renewed spiritual insights, and on and on. It’s as if the parish world spins around them, and for them it does.

      On a somewhat higher scale one might discover the cheerleader. I recall a piece by a colleague, Rev. Larry Alland, speaking about the season of Lent. He referenced a Creative Churchmanship Conference, a Women’s Lenten series on the parables of Jesus, Sunday afternoon experimental worship, the solid Sunday morning attendance—all in the six weeks of Lent. He closed by saying, “This vitality is a reflection of the commitment to ministry you, as a member of the church, have made. Let’s keep up the good work!”

      Sometimes the “Minister’s Minute,” which unfortunately for a few years I called “Bowman’s Aim,” seeks to persuade folk in the parish to a certain point of view. I recall once I called attention to an upcoming Youth Sunday in which the youth had helped to shape the liturgy. Seeking to appeal to adults, I wrote:

      You need to know some of what you have come to understand, but you need them to remind you of what you once knew, but have forgotten or cast aside. Both need God in order to learn what is not yet known.

      Sometimes I tried to do serious theology in several paragraphs. One of these efforts appeared at the onset of Eastertide, April 1, 1970:

      Often at Easter we hear three commonly accepted myths which have infiltrated the teaching of the church: the myth of progress, the myth of the “immortality of the soul,” and the myth of the hope of spring. All deserve a severe analysis. I can only suggest here.

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