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revdorothyl at 07:31pm on 09/10/2005
revdorothyl at 07:31pm on 09/10/2005I filled the pulpit for a vacationing minister at a new (to me) church this morning: an Egyptian Revival church dating back to before the Civil War.
They made me feel as welcome as could be, and the young man who had been acting as liaison between me and the church was both cute and very helpful in getting me prepared for the service. They even got one of their members, a local NPR personality, to do the children's sermon in my place, since I told them I was sadly out of practice with children's sermons and felt that little kids got more out of a message delivered by someone known to them and who knew them. I went to bed last night thinking of ways to make my sermon more relevant and helpful, and I got up early this morning to sit down at the computer and work out a new introduction and approach for my message. And the end result was, apparently, coherent enough to elicit basic compliments from the people who spoke to me on their way out the door. I managed to get through their very different-from-what-I'm-used-to pastoral prayer without making too many mistakes, I thought. And the hymns and prayers that the laypeople had chosen to go with my scripture readings and sermon title really fit well with my sermon theme.
And yet I left the church feeling slightly let-down, like I'd failed to measure up or connect with the people of that church. Maybe that was partly due to the unfamiliarity of the place and the order of service (adjusting to something different puts a strain on even us old, experienced preachers). And maybe it was partly due to the fact that almost none of the lines that I expected to get laughs did get laughs from the congregation (doesn't help with the self-confidence much when you hear crickets chirping in the congregation right after you've said something you thought was witty). And maybe getting used to a different microphone set-up and different acoustics (bit of an echo in that old sanctuary, so I tried to speak more slowly than my usual warp speed and break up my sentences into smaller bites, to allow the reverb to die down -- but I suspect I ended up talking faster than I should have, once I got revved up) put an extra barrier between me and the congregation. I don't know.
But it felt like what I imagine unsatisfactory sex must be like: that sense of never quite connecting with the other party, and having to go away unsatisfied and wondering why it just didn't seem to work.
The good side of that coin, I suppose, is that reflecting on what I seem to have missed today has made me appreciate just how often it does work between me and the congregations I visit. Even when I don't preach a barn-burner of a sermon, I've gotten used to worship as an exchange and renewal of energy: I put as much as I can of myself into the words I say and the way I respond to the congregation, and, in turn, I receive from them a revivifying dose of affection and solidarity, making me feel as though I belong, as though I've made a positive contribution to the lives of others. And I really miss that when, on days like this, I put my heart into reaching out and end up feeling that people are just being polite to me.
Of course, I probably shouldn't expect to make a strong connection with a new group of people, first time out of the box. And I have to take into account that this was the first downtown/city church I've preached for in at least 13 years -- a serious, urban professional, mission-oriented church like the one this morning might well react differently than the more elderly (or at least easy-going) rural/suburban churches I've been used to.
In any case, next Sunday I'm back among the people I know in the little church that's always delighted with me for just showing up, much less preaching a good sermon.
They made me feel as welcome as could be, and the young man who had been acting as liaison between me and the church was both cute and very helpful in getting me prepared for the service. They even got one of their members, a local NPR personality, to do the children's sermon in my place, since I told them I was sadly out of practice with children's sermons and felt that little kids got more out of a message delivered by someone known to them and who knew them. I went to bed last night thinking of ways to make my sermon more relevant and helpful, and I got up early this morning to sit down at the computer and work out a new introduction and approach for my message. And the end result was, apparently, coherent enough to elicit basic compliments from the people who spoke to me on their way out the door. I managed to get through their very different-from-what-I'm-used-to pastoral prayer without making too many mistakes, I thought. And the hymns and prayers that the laypeople had chosen to go with my scripture readings and sermon title really fit well with my sermon theme.
And yet I left the church feeling slightly let-down, like I'd failed to measure up or connect with the people of that church. Maybe that was partly due to the unfamiliarity of the place and the order of service (adjusting to something different puts a strain on even us old, experienced preachers). And maybe it was partly due to the fact that almost none of the lines that I expected to get laughs did get laughs from the congregation (doesn't help with the self-confidence much when you hear crickets chirping in the congregation right after you've said something you thought was witty). And maybe getting used to a different microphone set-up and different acoustics (bit of an echo in that old sanctuary, so I tried to speak more slowly than my usual warp speed and break up my sentences into smaller bites, to allow the reverb to die down -- but I suspect I ended up talking faster than I should have, once I got revved up) put an extra barrier between me and the congregation. I don't know.
But it felt like what I imagine unsatisfactory sex must be like: that sense of never quite connecting with the other party, and having to go away unsatisfied and wondering why it just didn't seem to work.
The good side of that coin, I suppose, is that reflecting on what I seem to have missed today has made me appreciate just how often it does work between me and the congregations I visit. Even when I don't preach a barn-burner of a sermon, I've gotten used to worship as an exchange and renewal of energy: I put as much as I can of myself into the words I say and the way I respond to the congregation, and, in turn, I receive from them a revivifying dose of affection and solidarity, making me feel as though I belong, as though I've made a positive contribution to the lives of others. And I really miss that when, on days like this, I put my heart into reaching out and end up feeling that people are just being polite to me.
Of course, I probably shouldn't expect to make a strong connection with a new group of people, first time out of the box. And I have to take into account that this was the first downtown/city church I've preached for in at least 13 years -- a serious, urban professional, mission-oriented church like the one this morning might well react differently than the more elderly (or at least easy-going) rural/suburban churches I've been used to.
In any case, next Sunday I'm back among the people I know in the little church that's always delighted with me for just showing up, much less preaching a good sermon.
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