Well, it’s that time in Holy Week when I’m staring down the first draft of my Easter sermon, considering throwing the whole thing out, googling “great Easter sermon illustrations”, going back and reading awesome Easter sermons from the Great Masters and wishing I could be like them, and wondering if we could get away with a Lessons and Carols Easter.
No, too late for that.
So this is the point where I remember that I am called to serve a particular congregation, and while others whom I don’t know will show up, this is a Sunday for the congregation. And as I always do when I write a sermon, I picture these people in my mind’s eye.
I picture the family and friends of two members who died today, and wonder what on earth I could possibly say that could give them any measure of comfort, and remind myself that the best comfort comes not from words but from the community itself.
I picture my friend who comes to church on Christmas and Easter, and maybe once or twice in other times of the year, and wonder why she is there, and what she is looking for, and if any part of the service will find her.
I picture some folks who I think will worry that I’ll get political in the Easter sermon, because they brought their relatives who would disagree with anything I might say, making for an uncomfortable Easter brunch.
I picture those who don’t think a woman should ever be in the pulpit, and I don’t give them a second thought.
I picture my daughter, who has told me that our sermons lately have been downers and could I please say happy things this week since it’s Easter?
I picture the choir, sitting through the sermon twice, looking at my back for the whole of the sermon, and I say a prayer of gratitude for them, and for George Friedrich Handel, who wrote a pretty good piece called the Hallelujah Chorus.
I picture other members, getting on in years or fighting some crappy disease, knowing this may be their last Easter.
I picture the families, the parents who struggled to get their daughters into scratchy Easter dresses and their sons to wear clip-on ties because Grandma would like a cute picture, parents who worry about their kid acting up, or throwing a fit, and I want them to know that we understand kids get fussy and act out and we’re still so glad they are here.
I picture the staff and the volunteers who have worked so hard this week with extra services, doing so much to be hospitable and offer some spiritual depth.
I picture Jesus and Mary in the garden, and regret that that image is too informed by Warner Sallman and the pre-Raphaelites.
I picture the stranger who has come out of obligation.
I picture the friend who has come despite her grief.
I picture that faithful saint who has come because he believes all of this so deeply.
It’s a good audience, that crowd in my mind as I face down the lap top.
Who do you see when you write your Easter sermon?
3 thoughts on “Whose face do you see when you write the Easter sermon?”
I haven’t replied for a long time, but this one will get forwarded to my pastoral colleagues in the First Pres church where I play the organ, Mary Jane and Gary. I can well imagine that every one of those thoughts goes through someone’s mind while they’re trying to decide what to say, knowing that a fair number of the people haven’t even been in the church since Christmas. It is important, I think that it is tailored to the congregation who is there week in and week out, as well as Church musicians. Thanks for something inspiring as I have just gotten done with the community Good Friday service.
Good to hear from you – and Holy Week/Triduum blessings to you!
I think you just wrote yours! That is beautiful. And I’m sure what you actually preached was beautiful, too.