Our Hope Anticipated | Before I Began

Something rather remarkable occurs right at our church every Tuesday afternoon.  Three or four, or sometimes five, of the brightest, well read, and best looking men in our church gather to discuss the next sermon to be preached.  And for some reason, certainly not any of those I just mentioned, they invite me to join them.  This past Tuesday was no different. 

There we sat in Phil’s office, our lead pastor, the four of us pastors, along with one uniquely and pastorally gifted young man, discussing our text for the coming Sunday, Luke 1:26-38.  Each of their profundities amounting to far more than my two cents, though kindly never leading on as such.  At the end of an hour “swimming in the deep end of the pool,” if you will, and feeling like we (and I include myself here sparingly) have helped Phil gain a solid foundation on which to craft a sermon for the church body on Sunday, Phil glances around the room, gives us one of those “na-na-na-na-na” grins and says, “Okay…any of you want to preach this on Sunday?”

You know those moments when you wish you could disappear?  I’m sure you’ve had one or two?  This was one for me.  “Are you kidding me?” I thought to myself.  “He must be kidding us.  Four days to prepare a sermon from a text I have not preached on before to present to 400 people.  Impossible.  Nope, not I.”  I did what perhaps you would do or have done in a similar situation.  I pretended I was mute and tried to avoid eye contact.  This is as close as we come to disappearing in these situations.  “Impossible!” I thought, “I have so much to do this week.” 

On my way home that night I sent Phil a text message:  “Hey Phil, let me touch base with you tomorrow about possibly preaching Sunday.  No promise right now.  I need to check with Amy and look a bit more closely at my week.”  That should express a meaningful interest, I thought to myself, with little more than an inkling that I may actually do it.  However, in that moment, a battle began to wage. 

I was up plenty that night.  Most of that time I was praying, though the more I prayed, the more my heart was stirred to do it.  Morning came quicker than usual.  I was up early.  I sat with the text open on my lap and read it over and over.  As I did, ideas and points and illustrations popped off the page.  Nothing I could shape into a Sunday sermon though, that would be impossible, I thought, so I tried to bury the idea of stepping up to the task.  But the statement of Mary in Luke 1:38 began to wreck me:  “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” 

Wednesday plodded forward and the more I got entangled in the duties of the day the more I convinced myself I shouldn’t…couldn’t…wouldn’t do it.  I called Phil and told him such.  Silence on the other end.  We talked at length about ministry and last minute opportunities.  He told me occasions like this have proved over the years to be some of the most rewarding occasions for him in ministry.  His words were kind and non-compulsive.  I left the call with a promised intention to read up on the text from a few commentaries and get back to him in three hours.  Then I called my wife, Amy.  She was great.  She gently nudged me toward what felt like a cliff.  But she never pushed me or used words that would wound.  When we were done, I knew I would do it.

I spent the next three hours, as promised, reading various translations of and commentaries on the text.  It – the text – came alive.  I think people were praying.  I called Phil back.  Twenty-four hours after the near convincing lie that the task was impossible I told him, “Yup, I’ll do it.”  And those assenting words triggered the launch of a humbling and beautiful, joy filled week, the details of which are too many to recount here, but the product of which may be read by clicking here:  Our Hope Anticipated (or by going to the page tab with the same title above)