It will surprise no one to learn that on some weeks, the sermon flows easily, almost writing itself; on other occasions, I wrestle for some time before a message emerges, something finally clicks, and the sermon gets written. On occasion, though, the paper remains blank no matter how much effort I put into coming up with something.
Like many ministers in mainstream Protestant denominations, I follow what is called the Revised Common Lectionary. It was compiled some thirty years ago by a panel of experienced scholars, theologians, and preachers and covers a three-year cycle. Each week, the RCL presents an Old Testament reading, a psalm, a New Testament reading and a gospel reading. In years A, B and C, the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, respectively, are highlighted. Because John's gospel is so very different, readings from there are sprinkled throughout, including one six-week period in (I think) Year B where the readings are on Jesus as the bread of life for six Sundays straight. There are only so many metaphors.
I'm in one of those weeks right now. The sermon for this Sunday is complete, and I feel pretty good about it - as good as I can feel, seeing that sermons are dynamic composition. They don't truly come to life until I have delivered them and the congregation has heard them. It's next Sunday that has me wishing for a freak blizzard, or some other act of nature that will cancel Sunday services.
The reading is from John, as it happens, chapter 1, verses 29 through 42. Here, John proclaims (twice) that Jesus is the Lamb of God. Two of his followers respond by following Jesus. When he asks them what they seek, they respond with a question: Where are you staying? Come and see, he replies. The followers then invite two more to come and see.
It ought to write itself, one would think: the fleeting moment in which invitational Christianity is born. One look, and they are hooked, and what's more, they invite others to see for themselves that they have found the Messiah.
One would think.
Normally, when I'm stuck, I go to the Internet and read other sermons on that passage, hoping to find an idea that will serve as a springboard to give me somewhere to begin my own composition. Normally I find a few ideas after looking at a page or two of other sermons. Not this time. I went through eighteen pages. Eighteen! I went through all the pages there were. I actually reached the end of a Google search. Not one of the sermons I read spoke to me, which makes me wonder whether it's the passage or whether it's me.
I plan to bring the vexation to my text study group this week, in the hope that someone will have an idea. Our son suggested walking away for a while, which is never a bad idea - but in the meantime, I doubt that inspiration is likely to strike.
The good news is that I have never yet failed to come up with something. The bad news is that on occasion what I come up with is watery gruel, stuff that dribbles off the spoon and fails to provide the nourishment I have been called to provide.
Maybe I'll be struck with laryngitis. Or maybe - just maybe - time will work its magic, something will come, and a new sermon will be born.
