This is an excerpt from my book, "Just Me: Humorous, Helpful & Odd." It is a fictional piece about preaching for the first time.
Report for My Homiletics Class
A record of my assignment to preach
for my church back home over Thanksgiving break
Ever since my pastor had asked me to fill
the pulpit because he was going to be out of town over Thanksgiving, The
upcoming message insisted on my attention and dominated my prayer life up to
this point. I had to fulfill the assignment for homiletics class to preach for
a church over the holiday break. What do I preach to people who know me,
especially my family?
Doomsday eventually arrived. I had prepared
my message, proofed it and polished it. Yet, I couldn’t convince myself that I
was ready. During the song service the
butterflies fluttered ruthlessly throughout my entire abdomen, not just my
stomach. My sweat glands functioned over
abundantly by saturating my clothing. No matter how hot I felt, I knew I could
not remove my jacket during the message without revealing wet armpits. Each
congregational song, each announcement, each “special” sung by the choir and
individuals, just marked time toward the inevitable, the indescribable, the
excruciating moment when I would have to open my mouth and utter something
beneficial for these people – this assembly who would be expecting something
fantastic from a college student - and some might even take notes!
The assistant pastor introduced me - my time
had come. My nerves had been snapping
one by one. When he mentioned my name, a flurry of nerve destruction occurred,
leaving only one nerve between a nervous breakdown and me. As he talked, the words became indiscernible
vocalizations like the sounds Charlie Brown’s teacher made in the television
shows. All too quickly, he finished and invited me to the pulpit to preach. I
wondered if my ability to walk would fail and I would fall on my face as I
stepped up onto the platform. Had anyone ever actually died of embarrassment? No,
probably not, embarrassment just maimed, mutilated and marred their mind until
they melted into a mound of mush. As I made my way to the podium, I pictured
myself living in a padded room hidden from society, never to be heard from
again.
Suddenly, I found myself behind on the
platform. I placed my Bible on the pulpit and opened it, knowing that I would
have to look up at those faces – all those faces expecting profundity. I tried
to think of a joke to set the audience at ease, but I couldn’t remember where I
put my memory. I took out my notes. The
paper amplified my shaking hands by making a loud rattling sound. I forced
myself to look up at the people. I tried
to talk, but nothing happened. I had
never realized how loud silence could be! I want to say that I spit out
something, but I didn’t have enough saliva to do so. I learned why preachers want a glass of water
when they preach.
I turned my gaze to my notes and stared at
them. Have you ever experienced the
uneasy feeling that someone is watching you?
Amplify that by one hundred. One
hundred? That equals two hundred eyes;
no wonder uneasiness prevailed! I told myself to stop thinking and start
reading. As I struggled to find the
first page, I realized that putting page numbers on my message would have been
a good idea.
Once I started and discovered that the
audience was interested and attentive, my uneasiness - persisted. I picked out one person to preach to, but she
fell asleep. That irritated me. I
preached louder and she woke up. At that
point, I realized that I was preaching!
The liveliest, most animated preacher was bounding about - on the
inside, while on the outside I sounded as excited as my eighth grade accounting
teacher (I know because I listened to the CD afterward).
Somehow I reached the end of my
message. Did I preach too fast due to
nerves? Did I actually preach the entire thing?
Did I go overtime? I knew I had bombed.
I wanted to sneak out the side door without talking to anybody, but I
still needed to conduct the invitation (a common procedure in Baptist services).
This meant applying the point of the message to the individual and inviting
them to the front altar to spend time with God in prayer.
How do I give an invitation? I hadn’t written out my invitation. I figured
that would be a no-brainer, but I couldn’t remember what to say. Good night, how
many times have I heard Pastor and preachers at my college give an invitation? The flutterbies returned. I stuttered and stammered something and let
the vocalist sing. I wanted to cry. I wanted to hide. I wanted to die - until I
looked up. People had come to the altar! How did that happen?
Then
I realized it wasn’t me; it was God!
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