The Preacher, Not Preaching

It is Saturday evening.  I'm not preaching again this weekend.  It feels odd, not exactly like a vacation (which it is not) but more like my job description suddenly changed, or someone moved around the days of the week without telling me, or I have forgotten a large appointment in my weekly calendar.

The first time it felt odd was when the preaching schedule came out.  A whole month without preaching.  My knee jerked.  "What am I going to do?" was the first thought in my head.  Not that there isn't plenty to do, even without preaching, but I have grown to believe that preaching regularly sort of justifies my existence.  The reading and the studying and the thinking and the conversations all give shape to my week.  I end up seeing the world in a different way, bringing the scripture readings to the world and the people I know.

The second time it felt odd was on Wednesday, when I realized that I hadn't really studied the scriptures for a few days.  This should not be so, I thought; the discipline of scripture reading is not only for the sake of preaching.  But what should I study?

Why not the scripture readings for this week? I answered, after a short period of angst.  So there I was, at noon on Wednesday, sitting in the common area at our local mall, eating my tuna sandwich and reading the Beatitudes that I would not preach on, hearing the words in my mind, not just the familiar words of uncommon blessing, but also the words about the salt and the light and how our righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and the Pharisees, which sort of blows my mind, no matter how many times I read it.  I have a hard time quantifying righteousness, I realize.  I actually don't think you can measure righteousness.  I don't think you can measure grace either.  I just think this.  I wonder if I am right.

And now, here I am, on Saturday night.  I am not praying for the Holy Spirit to enliven the words I have written, and I am not wondering whether I should re-write a few of them.  I am not struggling for a little last-minute inspiration.  I am not wondering whether I missed the Spirit this week.

It feels different:  not good, not bad:  just different.

There are times when I wonder what it would be like to have a different weekly schedule, and a different Sunday discipline.  I wonder how it would feel to get up and turn on the radio, and open up the newspaper and fix a pot of coffee, to sit around in my bathrobe and fix scrambled eggs and cinnamon rolls for my family.  Or, I wonder what it would be like to go the bookstore instead of the sanctuary on Sunday morning, to commune alone with books and other people and a gourmet coffee.  I don't say this with judgment, and not a wistfulness either.  It is not that I wish for anyone else's life.  I am just curious sometimes, about how it would feel to have a different rhythm, with no preaching.

Lex orandi, lex credendi -- as we pray, so we believe -- I learned this saying long ago in seminary, but I wonder if it applies to more than prayer, or if prayer is perhaps more expansive than I used to think.  How do the rhythms of my life define what I believe, who and what I trust, and what are my priorities?

All these questions I am considering in the darkness of a Saturday evening, when tomorrow I am not preaching.

6 Monologues from John's Passion: #1

"A Disciple"

I have never felt so close to Jesus as I did on that night.  It was a calm and peaceful evening, full of prayer and singing, full of light and teaching.  Jesus told us many things that evening, while we ate and after dinner.  He even prayed for us.  I remember that he prayed for our protection, and he prayed that we would be united with one another.  I remember that he also told us always to abide in his love -- to love one another.  I remember later thinking it was so strange, how he prayed for us.  We should have been praying for him!  Of course, we never would have thought of that.  We left our dinner with a warm glow in our hearts, but also with some uneasiness.  It was a beautiful, clear evening as we crossed the Kidron Valley.  Then I saw him.  Judas.  And he had with him soldier and police officers from the chief priests.  Their torches lit up the night.

Looking back, you would think that Judas, walking with all those soldier, would have been the strong one, and Jesus the weaker.  But that has never been my impression.  Even when he was arrested, Jesus seemed to be in charge.  And Judas just keeps getting smaller and smaller whenever I remember him.  It didn't take courage to betray Jesus.  It was really an act of a coward -- someone who saw where everything was headed and wanted to cash in early.  He was afraid of what following Jesus really meant, and decided to follow something else.

But we were all afraid of following Jesus at one time or another.  We just didn't take such drastic measures as Judas did.  Some disciples fell away early.  Something Jesus said or did offended them, and they just stopped listening.  Others hung around, but kept their distance.  But Jesus still saw something in us, something worth protecting, something worth saving.  I'll never forget his words that evening, when the soldiers and the police came.  We were all so frightened, wondering what would happen to us.  We we all be arrested, and beaten or killed?  We weren't sure about the intentions of the soldiers.  Then Jesus said, "If you are looking for me, let these men go."  We were free!  We would not be put on trial -- only Jesus would.

Now I hear them saying about Jesus, that he died for me, that he is the Lamb of God that takes away the sin of the world.  I know just one thing for sure -- he died for me.  His word set me free.  That's how I felt that night.  And later on, when he returned, he told us that us that we still had a job to do -- to set other people free as well.