by Mike Glenn

I remember watching Jackie Gleason in a movie called Gigot when I was a child. It’s a comedy film made in 1962, and Gleason plays a mute who lives in the basement of his landlady’s apartment building. He squeezes out a meager living working as a janitor and doing odd jobs around his neighborhood in Paris.

Early in the movie, Gigot finds a woman and her young daughter huddled in a doorway trying to keep out of the rain. Gigot brings the woman and her daughter to his small basement apartment and over time, becomes very fond of the little girl. When he takes her to church, he realizes Nicole, the little girl, has no understanding of God or church. Frustrated by his inability to communicate with her, he begins to slap himself in the face. Nicole finally calms Gigot by showing she’s beginning to understand. 

I saw that movie over fifty years ago and for some reason, as I started thinking about preaching to our post-everything world, I remembered Gigot’s frustration at his inability to communicate the great things of God to the little girl. Like Gigot, I felt as if I was mute trying to communicate the glory of God and the wonders of His love to a group of people who didn’t understand God language at all.

I could describe the story of God in theological terms. I could lay out the philosophical foundations for the existence of God and the reliability of the Bible. What I couldn’t do was help my friends see the difference, the real difference, Jesus could make in their lives. In church we talk a lot about when Jesus will return and how it will be in heaven. What we don’t talk enough about is how Jesus is with us now and how much better life is when we live in His presence.

With us? How? Through the ministry of His Spirit. Remember, Jesus promised His Spirit would walk alongside us and continue to teach us the ways of Jesus. The Spirit would be our encourager, our teacher and if needed, our disciplinarian.   When things get hard, the Spirit will give us strength. When we are confused, He will give us wisdom. When the storms threaten to sink our little boats, He’ll be the anchor that holds us fast. Why couldn’t I find the words?

Because we don’t start with words. We start with silence. All the great conversations begin with silence.  We start with the silence that comes from a heartache that can’t be spoken in words. This heartache can only be expressed in the deep sighs of prayer and meditation. In the long moments when we bring the names of our friends before the Lord and ask for some way to reach them. This process begins with a heartache. When I was younger, it wasn’t unusual for pastors to break down in their sermons, overcome with concern for their lost neighbors and friends. Pastors don’t cry that much anymore. Maybe we should start. 

In chapter 9 of his gospel, Matthew records one of the most poignant moments in Scripture. Jesus is observing the crowds that are following after Him and as He looks at them, His heart begins to break. They are like sheep without a shepherd. Jesus was moved deeply (the Greek terms can be roughly translated “he felt compassion for them down in his bones). Jesus is so moved He asks the disciples to pray that the Lord of the harvest will send workers to the field.

I’ve always found it interesting that Jesus, the Son of God, would ask His disciples to pray. Not only was Jesus asking the original twelve to pray, but He was also asking us to pray. In a weird way, we’re now the laborers Jesus prayed for being sent into the field. 

Our work always begins with a burden. Pastors have known this for a long time. Sermons always begin with a burden. At least, the good ones do. Some sermons are preached simply because it’s Sunday morning and the preacher has to say something, but the best sermons start as dull aches in the chest, like a toothache in the soul that won’t go away. They start as small pricks in the preacher’s consciousness.  Perhaps the preacher will hear something in a conversation. No one else will notice it, but the preacher won’t be able to forget the little lie that went unchallenged. Only the preacher’s ears will catch the false teaching that was quickly assumed to be true by everyone else around the table. The preacher will try to pass it off, saying to themselves they can’t fix everything, they can’t talk about everything. So, they’ll try to let it go. 

As we’ve tried to professionalize the ministry, we’ve lost some of urgency in our preaching. Too many pastors never preach with a broken heart. There’s no urgency in the call, no desperation in the words. This heartache can’t be manufactured in the moment of the sermon. The preacher isn’t an actor delivering a lecture or performing an entertaining monologue. The pastor is a witness. The pastor is someone who knows what can be but must live with what is. 

Soon, the pastor can no longer live with the pain of the growing gap and realizes something must be said.  The moment will come when something has to be said. When a word of warning must be said or the preacher is a coward. When a word of hope must be proclaimed or the preacher doesn’t believe. Something has to be said because that’s the only way meaning is found. When an inner beast is named, it can now be confronted and conquered. When a past sin is spoken in confession, it can be forgiven. The word must be found. The word must be spoken. The gap must be closed.

The first step after prayer – much prayer – is to help our friends see there is a gap. There is a gap between the life they’re living and the life that is possible in Christ. There is more to life – much more. There is a better way to live, and the name of that way is Jesus. The first step is to help our friends understand there’s a gap to begin with. How can the preacher close the gap between what can be and what is if no one believes there’s a gap in the first place? What if no one believes there is a better way? What if no one believes in what could be? What if they’re convinced that all there is might be all there is? 

To do this, we have to crawl into the gap between the lives our friends are living and the lives they want to live. Our friends want better and deeper marriages, but they don’t know how to build marriages like that. Too many of our friends grew up in broken marriages or single parent homes. Young men are trying to be good husbands and they’ve never seen a husband. Young women are trying to be good wives and they’ve never seen one. How can you be a good parent if you didn’t have good parents? How can those stories be rewritten? How can we change how the stories end? Are we chained to the destiny of the narratives we were born into? Trapped by our own mistakes? In the power of Christ, no we aren’t. 

There is good news, but we will have to earn the right to share that good news. People have become very jaded and suspicious of each other. Covid and the intense polarization of our nation has made even the most superficial conversations difficult. People don’t trust each other. Why should they? Trust, today more than ever, has to be earned.

We begin earning that trust by listening. We must listen deeply enough to hear the pain behind each word and to hear the silences of those things not spoken. One of the first things I learned in my ministry is that the reason people told me they needed to talk to me was rarely the reason they wanted to talk to me.  Sometimes, the reason people tell you they’re angry isn’t the reason they’re angry, but you’ll have to listen to the stories and then, hear the story behind the story, to begin to understand. 

Indeed, one of the highest callings we have is to give words to those things that can’t be spoken. In the creation story, God gives Adam the ability to name the animals. One of our most important powers is the ability to name something. All of us have either had the frustration or know someone who had the same frustration of having symptoms, but no doctor is able to give them a diagnosis. There is such a relief when the illness is finally named. 

And we’re called on to name the experience at all kinds of times. Friends gather for a funeral. Something about the deceased person’s story makes the funeral one of those when no one knows what to say. Christ followers have words for that. We can speak light into darkness and hope into despair. The risen Christ gives us a new ending to all of our stories.

Yet, it’s more than that. Many of our heartaches have theological origins. That is, our suffering and pain have sin at their root and we can’t find healing until we deal with those roots. Most of us don’t have a theological language to effectively name our pain. This, of course, means we can’t find a remedy because we can’t’ name the illness. 

This sermon can’t be preached from the pulpit in the sanctuary. There’s no three points and a poem here. This conversation happens on the third hole of the golf course or week after week in the same booth for a Saturday morning breakfast. It happens in the boarding area of the airport – any place where the person we’re with will feel safe enough to talk about what really matters in their lives. These conversations happen in the middle of our friend’s lives. 

This is where every sermon has to be preached, where every gospel conversation has to happen. Not in exalted language, but in everyday language that can be understood by any fifth grader. These conversations are personal, up close, across a table or in conversations walking – the sermons of the future won’t just be preached on Sunday mornings, but in conversations every day of the week. 

This doesn’t happen when people go to church. This happens when the church goes to them and the pulpit is no longer at the front of the sanctuary, but in the middle of the world. Why? Because that’s where the people are. Even a basic skimming of the New Testament will show us how few times Jesus spoke inside a formal religious structure.

Jesus did speak at the Temple and in several synagogues, but most of his conversations and sermons were in the open. He talked with Peter on the shores of Galilee. He talked with a woman at a well and Zaccheus at the bottom of a tree. Jesus found Cleopas and his friend on the road to Emmaus and Nicodemus visited Jesus in the middle of the night. One of the greatest worship services in history was led by Paul and Silas in a Philippian jail. 

Why am I writing this? Because every denomination is beginning to see a decline in church attendance. For too many reasons to name, people aren’t coming to church the way they once did. After Covid, this trend became very evident during and after COVID. Recently, we’ve seen a rash of accusations against pastors and other religious leaders for inappropriate sexual behavior – everything from rape to sexual assault to inappropriate comments made in the workplace. What made it worse was the reaction of church leaders when these crimes were brought to light the institution of the church either ignored the reports or actually protected the accused. People gave up on the institution of the church. 

The second reason people stopped coming to church is families are overcommitted. From parents who are working 60 to 70 hours a week to children who are having to do homework after ballet lessons, piano lessons, the sport of the season practice and after school extra-curricular activities, Sunday mornings have become the only time the family can be home and relax. That’s assuming, of course, one of the children isn’t on a travel ball team. Church doesn’t seem to be necessary to the average American family. The additional things the church used to provide such as friendships, social connections and support during tough times are all found somewhere else. 

In short, people aren’t coming back to church. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but the United States isn’t a Christian nation. We may have been founded on Judeo-Christian principles, but we no longer abide by those principles. Time magazine produces a list of the 100 most influential people every year. In this edition, they’ll feature musicians and writers, politicians and activists, business leaders and computer geniuses. I can’t remember the last time a religious leader was featured. I can’t remember the last time a Christian was featured for living out their faith in our world.  There are few Christian voices in the public square. Two thousand years later, we found ourselves right back where we started – a fringe group of society. 

Now, before we start ringing our hands and how our nation has turned away from God, let’s remember there was a time when no one came to church. In the first century, what did the early church do? The church went to them. They met in people’s homes. They met in local markets and town centers. They would talk to people. They would talk to anyone who was near. They would talk to Roman soldiers and jailers. They would talk to women in the marketplace. They would visit neighbors in their homes.  They would, like Philip, go to a road in the middle of nowhere to meet an Ethiopian who was reading the Bible while he was traveling in a chariot. We’re no longer chaplains of the status quo. We are either missionaries or we aren’t anything at all. 

Nashville is filled with world class musicians. As a rock and roll junkie, I’ve had the privilege of meeting some of the best players in the world. In getting to know these musicians, I’ve noticed a particular trait among the truly great ones. They love music – all kinds of music. Conga drums? They love Conga drums and can probably tell you a song where the congas were featured in a solo. Or better, tell you a story about a producer who fought with the artists to bring in a conga player to make the song a hit. They will listen to any instrument played by anyone. World famous keyboardists will watch with fascination as a child plays “Chopsticks” on a piano. Afterwards, the musician will be the most excited fan of the child.

When I asked one of my friends how they could enjoy such amateurish efforts, he looked at me and smiled, “I’m listening for the joy,” he said. Any true musician, he says, plays with joy. A child who’s forced to take piano lessons plays very differently from a child, who while not as talented, loves the piano and plays with a fierce gusto. It’s the same with every musician he told me. The great ones never lose their joy. 

I know. Living as a Christ follower in these times can be almost impossible. Trying to find a sermon to reach someone in these cynical times can be heartbreakingly hard. Do it anyway. We may think we’re never getting it right. Don’t worry about any of that. Just be you. Just tell them what you know about Jesus. They’re not listening to your words. They’re listening for the joy.

Mike Glenn is founder and president of Engage Church Network in Nashville, Tennessee. He is a Contributing Editor of Preaching.