I’m not sure how many sermons I preached before it dawned on me: not everyone was listening.  In the first church I served, I knew Mr. Leighton Bennett was not listening: he went to sleep during every sermon with his mouth open.  No matter how much I increased the volume, he slept right on, waking up when the introduction to the final hymn was played. 

In my second church, one deacon, Mr. E.C. Carrithers, wore hearing aids in both ears.  When he got bored with my sermons, he reached up with both index fingers and cut both hearing aids off.  He would continue to stare straight at me, not reacting to any attempt at humor or any convicting point.  It was unnerving.   

One Sunday, I preached on stewardship.  A woman came out the back door, enthusiastically shook my hand, and said, “Pastor, that was the best sermon on marriage I ever heard.”  It was then I began to learn it’s not what you say; it’s what they hear.   

I had been taught by my preaching professors that I should tackle issues head-on in the pulpit.  So I did.  I would preach convicting truth as plainly as I could.  I remember a sermon I preached on gossip, vividly describing the behavior of three women in the church.  I did everything short of calling them by name.  During the Invitation Hymn, not one of those women came forward to repent.  Instead, one of them shook my hand afterward and said, “Pastor, I sure hope people who gossip heard that message.  So many of them need to hear it.”  I then realized most people think the message is directed at “them (whoever they are),” not “me.”   

It is hard to preach well forty-eight Sundays a year.  By the time I arrived at my third church, I knew when I preached a “stinker.”  Stinkers are sermons you know are awful about halfway through.  You want to quit in the middle and confess to the congregation that the message is awful and promise to try harder next week.  Instead, out of some sense of obligation, you press on, hoping the Holy Spirit will rescue you.  Sometimes the Holy Spirit says, “I am just going to let you drown on this one.”  It is God’s way of keeping you humble.  After preaching a stinker, the people of the church would lie to my face: “Good sermon, Preacher.”  I knew it was a lie, and I think they knew I knew it was a lie.  Christians break the ninth commandment often in the name of being nice.   

I have stood to preach, knowing I had a message people needed to hear, and preached my heart out, only to feel like I was speaking to an empty room.  No one was engaged, no one responded, and people avoided looking me in the eye as they left the worship room.  It can be discouraging.  One preacher friend told his wife, “The only thing you are allowed to say to me about my sermon on Sunday and Monday is, ‘It was terrific darling.  You are an amazing instrument of God.’  On Tuesday, you can tell me the truth.” 

In these turbo-charged political times, I have been confronted about not endorsing politicians, having a secret agenda, and not preaching from the Bible.  When I was first accused of preaching “woke,” my response was, “How do you expect me to preach when I’m asleep?”  People have gotten mad at me for things I did not say and for not saying things they think I should say.  The preacher’s temptation is to say too little or to over-explain and say too much.  I fall into the latter category.  Those closest to me have told me the more I talk, the deeper the hole I dig. 

Jesus, quoting Isaiah, once said, “They have ears but do not hear…”  Apparently, he had the same frustrations about people getting the point of his messages.  He got frustrated with the disciples because he taught them for three years, yet they continued to impose their own fantasies of power and status on his teaching.  He was downright angry with the Pharisees and teachers of the law.  Read Matthew 23; when was the last time you heard a sermon like that?  I wonder if the Pharisees and teachers of the law thought his words were directed at the ‘other’ Pharisees and teachers of the law.  Surely, Jesus didn’t direct his words at them? 

My Aunt Neta used to say she never heard a sermon she didn’t get something out of.  I heard some of those same sermons, and I got nothing from them.  I think Aunt Neta was trying to teach me something: when you are listening to someone who is doing their best to share God’s word, ask God to help them.  Then, and most important, ask God to still your own thoughts and listen.  It might be there is something in the sermon God really does intend for you.