Yesterday I preached a sermon which clearly had impact.  On the way out of the sanctuary a larger than usual number of people said that I’d really challenged them to think; others were quite clear that they wanted me to know that they disagreed (some quite vehemently) with what I’d said; still others wished there was a way to get together with other folks to discuss the ideas I raised further.  (I’ve even received some email from people who, after having a chance to think about it, wanted to tell me their thoughts.)

There’s a classic definition from within the Christian traditions that an ordained minister is called to be, “pastor, prophet, and priest.”  I would add, “provocateur.”  I don’t believe that preachers should intentionally throw out controversial ideas just for the sake of evoking a response, but neither should we shy away from it.  In our tradition, no preacher speaks “Truth” — with a capital “T.”  Instead, we are charged with speaking the truth as we understand it.  That’s our part of the bargain.  The congregation’s part is to reflect on the things the preacher says, and to try to discern their own understanding of the truth of things.  It’s sometimes said that a sermon is only half finished when the preacher steps away from the pulpit; it’s not finished until congregants have danced with it on their own.

All of that said, though, I would like to be clear that my sermon changed between the first service and the second.  I received some very helpful feedback on what I’d said that helped me to see that I hadn’t said what I’d intended to say as clearly as I’d hoped.  There’s a problem all writers face.  We know what we mean to say — having played with our ideas for a while we can make connections, or interpret things, in ways that seem obvious to us yet which really aren’t.  The people who listen to — or read — what we’ve written do so without the benefit of all of that background thought, so they are in a much better position to comment on what we actually said.  (This is why I’ve always been so grateful to editors!)

It became clear from the feedback following the first service that I had not been as clear as I’d hoped, and that I’d said some things that I hadn’t intended to.  I’d overlooked the need to clarify, and be explicit about, some of my thinking.  The result was that at least some of the critiques people have expressed are things I, also, would disagree with myself about.  So I re-wrote the sermon between services, and if you were one of the people who attended the first service I would encourage you to read the version that benefited from this further reflection.

You still might not agree with me, and that’s fine.  I know of a congregation that each week said, as part of their Unison Affirmation, “We respect differences of opinion.”  From time to time their clergy person challenged them by asking, “How do we know that we really do respect differences of opinion if we never allow ourselves to have any?”

So it is right, and good, if you find yourself disagreeing (even vehemently) with something I’ve said or written.  I do hope, though, that our relationship is based on mutual respect and trust, so that if you think I’ve said something really off the wall you’ll talk with me about it.  It’s possible that I’m simply wrong, of course, and in that case I welcome the opportunity to learn from you.  It’s also possible that what you heard is not what I’d intended to have communicated, and we might not actually disagree as much as it might seem.

Pax tecum,

RevWik