“One can’t believe impossible things,” said Alice to the White Queen. “I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was younger, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” –From Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland.

I write this mostly tongue in cheek.  But not completely.

It seems to require superhuman strength to keep our latest accomplishments out of our sermons.

That’s what this is about.

If a pastor jogs or works out, he will probably work that into a sermon at least monthly.  “As I was jogging yesterday morning, I’d just completed my third mile….”

If a pastor’s child excels in athletics or the band or academics, he will find a way to mention that in a sermon.  It’s what a proud dad does.  “My wife and I are so proud of Jayson who has just received ‘student of the month’ award for the third time.  We were telling our daughter who is working on a Master’s at Johns Hopkins…”

If the pastor once took a course in Greek and can find his way around a Greek lexicon, look for him to mention that in a sermon, “When I was studying Greek” or “My Greek Bible says….”  I suspect that if a real Greek scholar ever entered the service and challenged us, we would be petrified.

If a pastor reads through the Bible annually–or has just done it the first time–not saying so in a sermon is asking more than he is able to give.  I can hear him say, “As you know, I read through the Bible annually–and have done so for the last 13 years.”

If the pastor is an avid golfer or a die-hard for some university’s football team, expect it to show up in sermons from time to time.  He can no more keep that a secret than he can his commitment to Jesus Christ.  “Well, I did it! I hit a hole in one last Tuesday.”  He waits for the congregation to applaud.  Half the people turn to the other half as if to say, “What does that mean?”

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Pastor Dave, a longtime friend, reminded me of a story that used to show up in sermons from time to time.

After the war, a soldier who was severely wounded was returning home. As soon as he entered the states, he phoned his parents to say he was bringing with him a buddy who had lost (fill in the blank–an eye, a leg, both legs, etc.) and was confined to a wheel chair.  He wanted the guy to live with the family and promised that he would take care of him. The mother said, “Now, honey, we appreciate your compassion and your dedication to your friend. But this would be too heavy a burden on your family. This is not a good idea.”  A few days later, the family got word that their son, the one just home from the war,  had ended his own life in a hotel in a distant city.  When the remains were shipped home, the family discovered he had one eye, one leg (or no legs), etc.  He had been telling his parents about himself.

Dave and I agreed that such a story, whether true or untrue–it’s impossible to know–is a show-stopper. A sermon killer.

Let the preacher tell such a story and no one will hear a word he says afterwards.  The congregation will be sitting there reflecting on that story, grieving and imagining and reflecting.

The wise preacher will never tell a story that clobbers his sermon and destroys the point he was trying to make.

I reminded Dave of another one which thankfully I never used, not even once, but which fits this sad category.  A father took his young son and another boy on a fishing trip. A storm comes up, the boat swamps, and they are all dumped into the lake.  Since the boys cannot swim and the father cannot save both, he has to make a quick decision. According to the story, his son is saved and the friend is unsaved. So, Dad abandons his son to drown knowing he will go to Heaven, and rescues the other kid.

That tragic story is supposed to make the point that we must do all we can to reach the lost, and that the saved person goes to Heaven.  However….

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