"Never put a sock in a toaster." - Eddie Izzard

The Death of the Prophet(ic Voice)

Back in the day, pre-1970 or so, preachers were orators. They stood behind 4' pulpits, wore a suit, white shirt, and ambiguous tie, and delivered a sermon that had been crafted during hours in their study. Their words were chosen carefully, the rise and fall of vocal intensity plotted deliberately, and the point driven home with a fist on the pulpit or the index finger stabbing at the congregation. "Thus saith the Lord!" characterized the tone, if not always the content of the sermon.

The really good preachers drew us along on their homiletical track, taking us to joy, fear, sorrow, shame, and when appropriate (or not), guilt for our failings. We had the sense we sat in the presence of the Almighty whose word came to us through the voice of his spokesman, the preacher.

There were certainly bad preachers, men who couldn't hold anyone's attention to save their soul, never mind ours. They delivered Sunday sermons without discernible aim or focus that rambled on too long and followed the same form every week: a story, a passage, and a poem. But if you had the blessing to grow up hearing a good one - and I did - the skill and power of their oratory did the work of God.

We call it the prophetic voice. That term recalls the prophets of the OT who delivered the Word of God to Israel in all its power. Sometimes that word condemned, sometimes comforted, sometimes warned, and sometimes promised. But it was always, "Thus saith the Lord" and left the listener or reader, even if that word was rejected, aware that they had been in the presence of something greater than themselves.

Preachers used to do the same thing as those men of old, though without the direct word from God. They proclaimed "Thus saith the Lord" from Scripture, and did so with a transcendent delivery and tone that gave it authority and power. It was the preacher as prophet, enabled with oratorical skill to do God's work within us.

Then came casual Friday, which morphed into casual everyday. Our western culture went informal from the office to the marketplace. Rare is the restaurant where a sign on the door says, "Coat and Tie Required." The new standard is "resort casual," now considered dress-up. Surnames have been replaced by familiar forms of first names (we had a president named Jimmy) and "hey" has replaced, "Good morning."

This spirit of informality entered the Sunday morning worship service, as evidenced by every aspect of the hour. Blue jeans, untucked shirt, coffee cup in hand. And that's the preacher. The service leaders talk with us and we talk with each other. The pulpit has been replaced by a music stand and oratory dumped in favor of something more resembling a fireside chat. The major difference between a Sunday morning worship service and a gathering in your living room is the number of people in attendance.

The sermon is now conversational in content and delivery. It's impolite to raise one's voice and pounding a pulpit is harsh and authoritarian. The goal is to bond with the listeners and persuade them. It's the preacher as paraclete (one come alongside to help or assist), not prophet. And too often "thus saith the Lord" has been replaced with "I want to you consider" or "It seems to me."

Full disclosure: I'm guilty. I grew up in the age of the preacher as orator and for the vast majority of my ministry was the preacher as friendly conversationalist. I talked with, not to. My homiletics prof in college taught us to say "we" and "our" not the first person "you" lest we isolate ourselves from our listeners. A year or so before I retired I decided on a whim to wear a tie to church. One of my elders jokingly asked me before the service started, "What, you have a job interview afterward?"

My concern: in our informality have we lost the prophetic voice? Has the preacher, despite his intent, moved from the power of "Thus saith the Lord" with all its implications for necessary response to a yoke so gentle and easy that the listener can walk out without conviction or persuasion that something needs to be different in his/her life? Has the transcendent been replaced by the imminent to the detriment of the Spirit's work through the Word?

It's probably a moot question inasmuch as there's no going back. At best there can be a shift of degrees, minor course corrections that return the preaching event to a place of power and persuasion.

It's too late for me to do anything about this as a preacher, but I've been thinking about my response as a listener. Our church meets in a H.S. gym, and at each entry door is a table with coffee and another nearby with cookies. A few weeks ago I decided to stop getting a cup of that coffee on the way to my seat (or a totally unneeded cookie). I wouldn't take a cup of coffee into a courtroom, and the place where I hear God's Word proclaimed in song and voice is at least as weighty as that locale. This small change is my personal commitment to reclaim in some degree the transcendence of that hour when we enter into God's presence to praise him - the creator and judge of the universe - and hear him speak. I know I'll get a sermon from his Word (we're going through 1 Thess. now), and I should give that Word the attention and reverence it deserves. Somehow sipping on a cup of coffee during the message seems like it compromises that reverence.

And yes, I'm giving consideration to my attire, too. They're my "Sunday blue jeans," but jeans nonetheless. I only own one suit and just purchased that to do the wedding I officiated last month. However, I'm thinking slacks and a dress shirt make a statement to God, and maybe more importantly to me, that I come into his presence with reverence (Ps. 5:7), prepared to hear Vox Dei.