Finding God in the Pandemic #3

Preaching in a Time of Pandemic
Fourth Sunday of Easter

Psalm 23 (April 26)

In my opinion, nobody has shaped the art and craft of preaching more than Dr. Fred Craddock. A Disciples of Christ minister, he taught for many years at Candler School of Theology at Emory University.

A diminutive figure who often stood on a box behind the podium, Craddock brought Scripture to life. He told stories better than any other preacher I've heard. I went to several conferences that he led, and in a wonderful stroke of fortune, I did a sabbatical with him in the fall of 1991.

What Craddock was for many of us was an aspirational figure. I knew that I could never emulate Craddock, but I listened to how he exposed the Biblical text in such an enlivening way. If the definition of "expository" is exposing the depth and meaning of a biblical text, which it is, Craddock was the very best.

Not only did he expose the biblical text, but also he crafted sermons that had movement, often following the movement of the biblical text itself. We can't forget the stories that peppered his messages. Many of them were stories from his own experiences. Ordinary events became extraordinary insights into faith, love, hope and the grace of God.

One of the ideas that Fred Craddock emphasized in preaching was the power of "remembrance". Not every sermon has to be novel. Some ministers sit slumped over their computers trying to find a biblical text that nobody has ever heard preached. There's something to be said for creativity. But there's also something to be said for helping people to reach inside their memory banks and pull out something that they already know but needs to be brought to the forefront of the way they are seeking God and doing life.

The 23rd Psalm has that quality of "recollection". The psalm is a prayer; it's a story; it's a song; it's recalling a time when we desperately needed to hear, "The Lord is my Shepherd...."

We feel a surge of hope when we read the psalm. The psalmist never separates hope from the rough realities of life. Hope isn't the opposite of suffering. "Valley of the shadow of death" - A child dies in the hospital; over 55 elderly people in a nursing home in Brooklyn die from the virus.  They never had a chance because of their ages and underlying conditions.

Biblical hope is never about finding a way around suffering. It's finding a way through suffering so that despair is never the last word. In this Easter season, we can never experience the triumph of "He is risen" without also hearing, "Jesus suffered and died".

Hope is the presence of God. When I was a boy, almost every book that I read ended with, "And they all lived happily ever after". Television was Ozzie and Harriet, where Ozzie always wore his tie at home and Harriet would never be seen with a sweatsuit and sneakers. Life was The Brady Bunch, where the most critical decision was, "What dress should Marsha wear to the prom?"

When my son was 10 years old, he was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. I asked God, "Why?", but that was the question that never could be answered. Our son survived; in many ways the tumor and treatments took a heavy toll on David both physically and emotionally. Before his tumor, David and I turned our front yard into a football field. It was my "field of dreams". My son was going to be the quarterback that I was never good enough to be. We all have dreams, don't we? However, one day some of us discover abruptly that dreams can be dashed, that the book of our lives doesn't end, "And they lived happily ever after." We learn that suffering and hope are intertwined, and we decide which of these realities becomes the primary reality out of which we live. David is now 47, filled with sensitivity and grace. In ways that I never first dreamed, he became the son that his dad still wishes that he could become.

Several years ago, I went to my 50th class reunion at the university I attended. I was asked to preach in a Sunday morning chapel service. I told the story of David, not as much to say that the furniture of my own life had been rearranged, but that I was guessing that many of those who were there now knew, if we didn't know when we were 21 or 22, that life is never about "living happily ever after".

Hope is hard. It's hard to hang onto sometimes. But without hope, the only option is despair. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...." I'll try never to forget, "The Lord is my Shepherd." Sound too simplistic? As a minister, it is what I had to offer; it's what I had to give to people who were in the valley. Hope is what I have in my valleys, and in such a time as this.

Live simply,

Love generously,

Care deeply,

Speak kindly,

Listen reverently,

Pray daily,

And then... leave the rest to God.