The Preacher's Toolbox: Passion Trumps Polish
But what God’s people want and need more than a perfect sermon, or even necessarily a polished one, is a true one.
I hope you will forgive Detroit Lions fans if they relish this moment just a bit. For once, I am unashamed to acknowledge myself as a lifelong devotee to the Honolulu Blue & Silver. In fact, as an eight-year-old I attended the last Lions playoff victory, the final one, that is, before their defeat of the Los Angeles Rams this past Sunday (cue-up “Gridiron Heroes,” it is a classic).
Even if you have not yet squeezed a seat onto the Detroit bandwagon, though, you have to root for their heart-on-his-sleeve, guts-on-the-field coach, Dan Campbell. His infamous introductory press conference three years ago this month, in which he promised the Lions would “bite a kneecap off” their opponents, is a cautionary tale for preachers of the lasting impact that too-vivid imagery can have. But patella-suppers aside, the fiery football coach is a splendid example of a truth preachers can and should take to heart: Passion Trumps Polish.
When you watch Dan Campbell address his players, you immediately understand:
- This guy is not a trained public speaker, and...
- Why his players would run through a brick wall for him.
For instance, take his postgame speech from Sunday about the Detroit fans from this link:
Or if you want to look at what were surely some more prepared remarks, watch some of this video made by the team after they clinched the division championship.
What you see is a man who is not exceedingly eloquent (and who, like most football coaches, is fond of cussing), but who connects with his hearers at a visceral level. They know he is all-in. You cannot listen to him for more than thirty seconds without recognizing it. And when it comes to your leader, the one who seeks to move you with his message, that is a trait which is far more valuable than (in the immortal words of Uh-Huh from Little Rascals) “a rather extensive vocabulary and a superlative command of syntax.”
You do not have to preach a perfect sermon.
Now, a couple of caveats. First, passion and polish are not mutually exclusive. In fact, when they come together, they can make for a particularly potent brew. For example, our nation just commemorated Martin Luther King Day. The good Reverend is a sterling example that when passion and polish are held together it leads to inspiring results.
Secondly, preachers are not coaches, and Sunday morning is not a pep rally. Furthermore, I certainly do not mean to commend the kind of campy, manufactured excitement which sometimes passes for genuine conviction. But if it is true that passion for the message and the mission is essential for a coach trying to motivate his players to win a game, then how much more should it be the case for a preacher seeking to move his parishioners to run the only race that ultimately matters?
But if it is true that passion for the message and the mission is essential for a coach trying to motivate his players to win a game, then how much more should it be the case for a preacher seeking to move his parishioners to run the only race that ultimately matters?
So, my point is neither that you choose passion to the exclusion of polish, nor that you affect the fired-up persona of a Peloton instructor. My argument is more basic, and (I hope) more encouraging: You do not have to preach a perfect sermon to connect with your people. For myself, I aspire to the perfect message every Sunday, and every Sunday I manage not to hit that mark; perhaps this is true for you, too. And far too often I feel as though, unless I nail every homiletical jot and tittle, I am a failure, as though the sermon had to be perfect.
But what God’s people want and need more than a perfect sermon, or even necessarily a polished one, is a true one. The goal is a sermon rooted in the all-availing passion of Christ and brought forth in the passion of the preacher. That kind of passion trumps polish every time.
Hand over what you have received.
I recently came across a downbeat confession from Augustine which, in a roundabout way, I actually found to be encouraging.[1] He wrote, “I am nearly always dissatisfied with the address I give... and when I find my actual address fails to express what I have before my mind, I am depressed by the fact that my tongue has been unable to keep up with my intellect.” Even our guy Augie, arguably the greatest preacher in the Western tradition, more often than not stepped out of his pulpit thinking about how he whiffed.
Now, we could find this discouraging. “If even Augustine cannot get it right, what hope do I have?!” Or... it can show us that NO pastor gets this preaching thing dead-on right every week, and at times we all feel inadequate and insufficient to the task (paging the Apostle Paul and his Corinthian correspondence). It is okay. God uses imperfect preachers. In fact, it is the only kind He has ever used.
But like the dumbfounded scribes and elders who witnessed the heartfelt passion of the unpolished apostles Peter and John, your hearers can tell when you “have been with Jesus” (Acts 4:13).[2] That handing-over from the Lord what you yourself have received, the Spirit-filled zeal, this is what really resonates, more so than refined rhetoric or impeccable exegesis.
By all means, aim to be polished. Put the work in to bring a nourishing meal of the Word to God’s people. They will appreciate the effort and be blessed by it. But know that even if your sentences do not come out as clearly as you would like, if the story’s punchline does not land, if you think of a brilliant gospel-hook the second you say “Amen,” your labor is not in vain. This is because our hope is not in the perfection of the preacher, but the passion of our Savior.
And because of Him, we can take a page out of Dan Campbell’s playbook and leave it all out on the chancel, proclaiming with a passion which proves even more compelling than the most polished message.
But do go easy on those kneecaps.
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[1] Curiously, this confession was not in his “Confessions.” I read it here.
[2] The word in Acts 4:13 is παρρησία (parrēsia), a kind of blunt boldness (also see Acts 4:29, 31; 28:31).
