5:35 a.m. I woke in a panic. Sunday I have a sermon to deliver for a friend who has been away at seminary all this week, and I'm not ready. I lay there in the dark for a few minutes, talking myself down, reminding myself that I've done this before and it'll be ok. All week long I've been working through the text, but it yielded its treasure reluctantly, like diamonds buried deep beneath the earth. So although I have an outline, I don't yet have a sermon, it's Friday, and I have to drive to North Chili to help move my mother from her senior living apartment to the mother-in-law apartment at my brother's house. No sermonizing today...and Sunday's coming.
This was my life for over forty years. I'm no novice, but I've never gotten over the nervousness of Sunday mornings; near panic feelings that kept my stomach in knots and wouldn't let me eat till after the services and sermons were over. It's odd how for years you just do what you do because it must be done; you don't think about it, don't fret over it, don't feel sorry for yourself because of it. For forty years, preaching was my job, and I just did it. Now, when I say it was my job, that doesn't mean I approached it with a cavalier attitude...which is why Sunday mornings were so traumatic for me. It never escaped my notice that I was handling the Word of Life, dealing in eternal realities that actually mattered. I was always thinking, wondering if what I had prepared was worthwhile, whether it was what the people needed, whether it was God's word for the moment. I was keenly aware of the need to meet people where they were so I could if possible, connect them to where God is. The hard part was knowing what was going on in my people's lives, and making sure what I was saying was Good News instead of merely good advice. The latter never saved anyone. People can get good advice anywhere; the only place they can get Good News is in church. No wonder Sundays made me nervous!
I've been retired now for two and a half months. Last Sunday was the first preaching I have done since the 29th of June. I hadn't realized how much weight has lifted off my shoulders until these past two weeks. Anyone who hasn't preached and been responsible for pastoral care and ministry can't begin to comprehend the magnitude of it. I say this not as a means of fishing for sympathy, but simply to state a reality. It's what God called me to do, but his calling often comes with a price. I am glad to have had the privilege of preaching for all these years. But I am also grateful to have been able to pass the baton to a younger man of great competence and passion. Knowing the tasks for which he is responsible, and the eternal significance of the job, I pray for pastor Joe and thank God for him. And I thank God also for this season of my life where the burden is lifted and I awake (usually) with a light heart to meet the day. I am truly a blessed man!
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