Steve's Letter: "It's Friday, but Sunday's coming!"

I'm writing this on a Monday morning. And this evening I'm preaching at Northland Church here in Orlando. I am a sort of stand-in for the pastor, my friend Joel Hunter, when he is gone or needs the rest. And he needs a lot of rest because the church has seven services every weekend and three satellite services on top of that. That means there are a whole lot of people worshiping at this very large church.

The first service is Saturday night, there are three on Sunday morning, two on Sunday night and one service on Monday night. If the sermon is okay on Saturday night, the preacher can kind of relax and it will get better as he goes along. In fact, if you're ever in Orlando on Monday night and I'm preaching/teaching at Northland, be sure to come. If it started right, by Monday night and after practicing the sermon for six times, I sound sort of like Charles Spurgeon or Billy Graham.

On the other hand, if Saturday night's sermon is bad, the preacher must “buck up" because he knows that he is going to have a very bad weekend.

That's what happened to me on Saturday night. I'm not saying that I made a fool of myself...but I could see it from where I was. Just as I started preaching, Jesus left the building. Once He left, I wanted to leave myself. He left me “swinging in the wind" and it was a terrible experience. Preaching was like walking through molasses. Nothing came out right and every good point on which I had worked so hard never got “off the ground." I lost the congregation early on and there was no way I could get them back.

(Frankly, I don't know why preachers can't leave when Jesus leaves. It would seem to me that it would be healthy for the congregation for the preacher to say, “Hey, this thing stinks. Jesus is gone. Let's have a closing hymn and go have dinner." But nooooo. The preacher has to stay for another thirty minutes in agony...knowing that the congregation is in agony too.)

Why did it happen on Saturday night? I have no earthly idea. Maybe it was my sin; but, when I think about it, my sin was just as great at times when a sermon was used by Him in a wonderful way. In fact, I've preached some of my best sermons when I was sinning the most. Maybe God decided that I was so full of myself that I needed to be disabused of my arrogance and pride. (“Therefore let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall" 1 Cor. 10:12.)

Then again, maybe God thought it was funny.

I didn't.

Do you know why? It's because I define myself in terms of communication in general and preaching in particular. That's who I am and it's what I do. Not only that. It's what I teach seminary students to do too. I'm not very good at most things, but preaching is the one area where I sort of shine...at least sometimes. God has called me to do it. For reasons that only He knows, He has given me some insight into what the Bible says and the ability to teach others about what I have found.

But not Saturday night.

Only the preachers who are reading this will understand. There is hardly anything worse than sitting at your desk looking at the notes of a sermon that didn't make it. You think about those who yawned, those who looked out the window and those who looked down at their watches and then shook their watches just to make sure they still worked.

I went to the first of five services on Sunday fully prepared to “bite the bullet" and get through all five services...and then get drunk. (It's a joke. I don't drink...but sometimes I want to.)

When I got up to preach for that first service on Sunday, the feeling I had was not altogether different than a man facing his execution. There wasn't a thing I could do except to do what I had to do. I was there, but I would have rather been anywhere but there...including a dentist chair.

And do you know what happened?

As soon as I prayed the prayer before the sermon, I knew something was different. I had a sense of freedom and excitement. There was a feeling that everything was going to be okay and that I had a powerful message for the congregation. The words tumbled out of my mouth without effort. I sensed the power of the Holy Spirit in the congregation and in me.

Again, if you're not a preacher, you won't understand this. But, if you are, you know those times when the “wind lifts your wings" and you know it isn't you. You are saying things that are so good and powerful—things you didn't plan to say—and that you could, if you were able, just leave the pulpit and sit in the front pew and listen to what God is doing. I often tell students that, until they have been blessed by their own sermons, they won't know that it's God and not them.

The first sermon on Sunday morning was so good I was taking notes on myself!

How about that?

Steve, why are you telling us this?

Well, first, I had to tell someone and you're it. But, secondly, my experience this weekend is a kind of metaphor for the Easter season.

We live in a very depressing world and, if you let it, it can rob you of your joy. Some of you are going through very difficult waters right now and your only prayer is, “Lord, the ocean is so big and scary, and my boat is so very small. Have mercy on me." Some of you have lost loved ones, lost jobs or lost face. Maybe you've been shamed or abandoned. It could be that you're facing your own death or that of someone you love. The world can be a very dark place.

But during this season we remember that He is risen. At Easter, Christians understand that it isn't a fond hope, a nice religious thought or a bit of positive thinking...but that a dead man really got out of the grave and said we could too. During this time, things get put into perspective and the small stuff is seen for what it is...small stuff. As my friend, Tony Campolo, puts it, “It's Friday, but Sunday's coming!"

Jesus said, “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also...I am the way, and the truth, and the life...I am going away, and I will come to you" (John 14:1-3,6,28).

It's the difference between a very dark, depressing and failing effort, and the joy and power of what is promised.

He is risen. He is risen, indeed!

I experienced a bit of that Saturday night and Sunday morning. Someday, we'll experience it in all its fullness. Meanwhile, keep at it...with bad sermons and bad experiences in a fallen world. Sunday really is coming.

I just had a horrible thought. You don't think that God is displeased with me for telling you how great my sermon was on Sunday morning, do you? He wouldn't “cut my legs off" because of my pride in that Sunday morning sermon, would He?

You wouldn't embarrass me with another incredibly bad sermon tonight, would you? You wouldn't do that to me, would you, Lord?

Nah. The real God doesn't work that way in your life or in mine. He takes us through dark waters and then He hugs us. He does it with bad sermons and tough times.

And then, finally, there won't be any dark waters...because He really is risen!

He asked me to remind you.