Grace Sufficient

October 12, 2019

When I was preaching every week, the luxury of self-reflection was not something I regularly enjoyed (or endured, as the case may be). Sunday night always gave way to Monday morning and the necessity of preparing for the next week’s sermon. As any pastor who’s been at it for any length of time can attest, there were weeks when giving a sermon was pure joy, and other times when it was sheer torture, with most Sundays falling somewhere in between. Back in my seminary days, the one class I had on preaching was taught by a professor who likened preaching to a meal. “You can’t eat it all in one setting,” he would say. “So don’t try to pack everything you know into a single sermon. It’s a feeding, and there are plenty more meals to come. Give them a little at a time, and don’t forget that it doesn’t have to be a gourmet; it just has to be nourishing.” 

During those years of weekly sermons, I knew that if I muffed it one Sunday, another would soon roll around with amazing regularity. And of course, I actually did preach my share of flops at the box office, of which some of my friends, and perhaps a few enemies, are not hesitant to remind me. I didn’t worry about it much, because there was always another chance to give it a go. 

But there were those occasions that defied the norm; times when there would be no next time. Weddings were one. Ideally, there would be no repeat performance, so what I said to the couple had to be on target—a bullseye. I couldn’t go back the following week and say, “Oh, I forgot to mention...” They were on their honeymoon, and the last thing they were interested in was an addendum to their wedding sermon.

Funerals were another time when getting it right was always important to me. They still are. Even in retirement, I do funerals. Maybe it’s because at my age I know so many people who are potential customers, but whatever the reason, funerals are still a part of my life. Today I officiated at the funeral of the mother of a dear Christian brother. I worked on it, did my best, but now, without the benefit of the pressure of a Sunday morning following, I have the luxury of reflection. So I wonder if I said enough or not enough, did I give comfort to the grieving, was the Gospel presented clearly enough? People almost always say nice things afterward, but they aren’t the ones to whom I must give account. The real question is, “What does the Lord think?”

Today, I preached as I often have, on the story of Jesus’ healing of the blind man in John’s gospel, chapter nine. At one point, Jesus says “we must do the works of him who sent Me, working while the light shines...” (Msg). If we didn’t know better, we might imagine that Jesus is telling us that our salvation comes from working hard and getting it right. For me, that means getting my sermons right every single time—an impossible and disheartening standard.

Fortunately, Jesus explained what he meant in the sixth chapter of the gospel when he said, “The work of God is that you believe in Him whom he has sent.” (V. 29). In other words, the work we are called to do is to believe in Jesus—in his grace, his forgiveness, the salvation that comes not from trying harder, but from believing that what he accomplished for us in his death and resurrection is sufficient. 

So I reflect. And although I think I might have done more, I am thankful tonight that his grace is sufficient. For the family; for even me.