Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Did You "Taste" the Gospel?
In preaching classes, one of the questions that I have always used with students in evaluating sermons is, "Did you hear the gospel?" Then, "What is the good news?" Or, "If you did not hear the gospel, what message did you hear?" Lately, I have been also asking, "Did you taste the gospel? If not, what taste did this sermon leave in your mouth?" Students know when they have tasted the gospel. I suspect parishioners do as well. Sometimes they say, "I may have heard the gospel but I didn't taste it." They are also more ready to say what taste a sermon left in their mouth -- guilt, shame, defeat, exhaustion, obligation -- than to name the non-gospel message of the sermon they heard.
A "Taste" of the Gospel
As I was making espresso today, it occurred to me that, at its best, preaching leaves people “tasting” the gospel. That's different from describing the taste or telling people what they should taste or how they should respond to the taste. If people don’t “taste” the gospel, the rest really doesn’t matter—you can’t satisfy someone by describing a good cup of coffee, convince someone that they had a good cup of coffee, or get people to respond to a good cup of coffee when we haven’t served one.
Another thing I am learning is that a goal of making espresso is consistency. We cannot tell someone, “Sorry your coffee isn’t good. The shot I pulled last week was excellent.” So a goal of preaching is consistently—as in every sermon—giving people a taste of the gospel.
I teach that preaching is “an event in which God speaks a word of promise to God’s people as the essential core of the gospel is proclaimed” (Craig A. Satterlee, When God Speaks through You: How Faith Convictions Shape Preaching and Mission (Herndon: The Alban Institute, 2008), p. 61). My friend Chuck Campbell suggests that preaching is “a word that enables the people of God to step into the freedom from the powers of death given through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection (Charles L. Campbell, “Resisting the Powers,” Jana Childers (ed.), The Purposes of Preaching (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2004), p. 29). In and through preaching, God brings people from death to new life; God releases people from bondage and empowers them to step out of the tomb and live the new life exemplified and inaugurated by Jesus. For more of my thinking on the sermon as an event, see Craig A. Satterlee, When God Speaks through You: How Faith Convictions Shape Preaching and Mission (Herndon: The Alban Institute, 2008), pp. 61-64.
Some argue that expecting every sermon to be an event in which God speaks a word of promise is not reasonable; this high expectation causes both preachers and congregants to go away from the sermon feeling disappointed because, for whatever reason, the Spirit did not show up. A second concern about preaching as an event is the difficulty of translating the Gospel into a word of promise that means something to particular people on a specific occasion. Unable to find the words and committed to preaching the Gospel, preachers might reduce their proclamation of the Gospel to a formula or proposition, or simply mouth traditional language. A third concern about preaching as an event is that the preacher will alter, reinvent, add to, evaluate, or water down either the grace or the claim of the Gospel. A fourth concern is that people may mistake the preacher’s voice for the voice of God; should this happen, the pastoral relationship, and even the congregation, might be characterized by hierarchy and distance between the preacher and the people. Yet another concern is that this approach to preaching may become so focused on the individual worshiper, in order to facilitate a personal encounter with Christ, that it neglects speaking to the congregation as a community of faith and relating the Gospel to the world. Alternatively, people who do not feel individually addressed in the sermon may conclude that God has nothing to say to them.
And here’s where making espresso is helpful. Perhaps expecting preaching to be an event is too much, though as a hearer, I certainly hope not. But if it is, maybe we can leave people at least tasting the Gospel.
Another thing I am learning is that a goal of making espresso is consistency. We cannot tell someone, “Sorry your coffee isn’t good. The shot I pulled last week was excellent.” So a goal of preaching is consistently—as in every sermon—giving people a taste of the gospel.
I teach that preaching is “an event in which God speaks a word of promise to God’s people as the essential core of the gospel is proclaimed” (Craig A. Satterlee, When God Speaks through You: How Faith Convictions Shape Preaching and Mission (Herndon: The Alban Institute, 2008), p. 61). My friend Chuck Campbell suggests that preaching is “a word that enables the people of God to step into the freedom from the powers of death given through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection (Charles L. Campbell, “Resisting the Powers,” Jana Childers (ed.), The Purposes of Preaching (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2004), p. 29). In and through preaching, God brings people from death to new life; God releases people from bondage and empowers them to step out of the tomb and live the new life exemplified and inaugurated by Jesus. For more of my thinking on the sermon as an event, see Craig A. Satterlee, When God Speaks through You: How Faith Convictions Shape Preaching and Mission (Herndon: The Alban Institute, 2008), pp. 61-64.
Some argue that expecting every sermon to be an event in which God speaks a word of promise is not reasonable; this high expectation causes both preachers and congregants to go away from the sermon feeling disappointed because, for whatever reason, the Spirit did not show up. A second concern about preaching as an event is the difficulty of translating the Gospel into a word of promise that means something to particular people on a specific occasion. Unable to find the words and committed to preaching the Gospel, preachers might reduce their proclamation of the Gospel to a formula or proposition, or simply mouth traditional language. A third concern about preaching as an event is that the preacher will alter, reinvent, add to, evaluate, or water down either the grace or the claim of the Gospel. A fourth concern is that people may mistake the preacher’s voice for the voice of God; should this happen, the pastoral relationship, and even the congregation, might be characterized by hierarchy and distance between the preacher and the people. Yet another concern is that this approach to preaching may become so focused on the individual worshiper, in order to facilitate a personal encounter with Christ, that it neglects speaking to the congregation as a community of faith and relating the Gospel to the world. Alternatively, people who do not feel individually addressed in the sermon may conclude that God has nothing to say to them.
And here’s where making espresso is helpful. Perhaps expecting preaching to be an event is too much, though as a hearer, I certainly hope not. But if it is, maybe we can leave people at least tasting the Gospel.
The Preacher and Teacher of Preaching as Barista
When I was doing research in Milan, time spent with the barista each morning, before heading over to one of the churches and baptisteries associated with St. Ambrose, was a “sacramental” experience for me. I believe the same can be said of preachers and presiding ministers, and ideally, those who teach them.
The best espresso should be extraordinarily sweet, have a potent aroma, and flavor similar to freshly ground coffee. The crema should be dark reddish-brown and smooth, yet thick. A perfect espresso should be enjoyable straight with no additives, yet bold enough to not disappear in milk. A pleasant and aromatic aftertaste should linger on the palate for several minutes after consumption. This wonderful drink is prepared and served graciously, welcomingly, and hospitably. As I reflect upon espresso, my mind immediately turns to the ways this description of espresso is a fitting metaphor for a good sermon. Simply insert “sermon” for “espresso” and “gospel” for “crema.”
Like preaching, espresso preparation is an art that demands the precision and dedication of science. Whereas the preacher must understand and balance variables including the preacher and the listeners, Scripture and the context, the occasion and delivery, and the presence (or absence) of the Spirit, and the teacher of preaching must teach students to understand and balance these variables, the barista must understand and balance the blend, roast, and grind of the espresso, the distribution and tamp of the coffee in the portafiller, the quality, temperature and pressure of the water, the timeliness of the extraction and the temperature of the cup. Factor in milk for cappuccinos and lattes, and things get even more complicated. Moreover, the barista is an artist like the preacher in that “delivery” is essential to the experience. While a painter is an artist whose finished product is evidence of his or her talent, a barista with great skills, one that is a real artist, is like a preacher in that it is difficult to appreciate her or his artistry unless you can see that person at work.
Rationale
As a preacher of international reputation and an established homiletician, balancing the “variables” in preaching has become second nature to me. I expect that becoming a “student” of the art of making espresso will help me rediscover the complexity, uncertainty, and need for trial-and-error that my students experience. I post to my blog and invite reflections on what I write. In addition to rediscovering what it is to be a student, I expect that my “performance” at the coffee bar will lead me to reflect on my “performance” in the pulpit, at the altar, and in the classroom. An espresso prepared and served painstakingly, inhospitably, or tentatively diminishes the taste. This is equally true for preaching, presiding, and teaching. Making espresso, preaching, presiding and teaching are all “ritual acts.”
Initial questions for my own reflection and the reflection of others:
• In what ways is an espresso (cappuccino, latte) an appropriate metaphor for a sermon?
• How does a “method” of preparing espresso inform a “method” of sermon preparation, and vice versa?
• How does my experience of learning to make espresso inform my teaching of preaching? How is the experience of watching a barista prepare a coffee drink and then receiving it inform preaching and presiding and the way we teach it?
The best espresso should be extraordinarily sweet, have a potent aroma, and flavor similar to freshly ground coffee. The crema should be dark reddish-brown and smooth, yet thick. A perfect espresso should be enjoyable straight with no additives, yet bold enough to not disappear in milk. A pleasant and aromatic aftertaste should linger on the palate for several minutes after consumption. This wonderful drink is prepared and served graciously, welcomingly, and hospitably. As I reflect upon espresso, my mind immediately turns to the ways this description of espresso is a fitting metaphor for a good sermon. Simply insert “sermon” for “espresso” and “gospel” for “crema.”
Like preaching, espresso preparation is an art that demands the precision and dedication of science. Whereas the preacher must understand and balance variables including the preacher and the listeners, Scripture and the context, the occasion and delivery, and the presence (or absence) of the Spirit, and the teacher of preaching must teach students to understand and balance these variables, the barista must understand and balance the blend, roast, and grind of the espresso, the distribution and tamp of the coffee in the portafiller, the quality, temperature and pressure of the water, the timeliness of the extraction and the temperature of the cup. Factor in milk for cappuccinos and lattes, and things get even more complicated. Moreover, the barista is an artist like the preacher in that “delivery” is essential to the experience. While a painter is an artist whose finished product is evidence of his or her talent, a barista with great skills, one that is a real artist, is like a preacher in that it is difficult to appreciate her or his artistry unless you can see that person at work.
Rationale
As a preacher of international reputation and an established homiletician, balancing the “variables” in preaching has become second nature to me. I expect that becoming a “student” of the art of making espresso will help me rediscover the complexity, uncertainty, and need for trial-and-error that my students experience. I post to my blog and invite reflections on what I write. In addition to rediscovering what it is to be a student, I expect that my “performance” at the coffee bar will lead me to reflect on my “performance” in the pulpit, at the altar, and in the classroom. An espresso prepared and served painstakingly, inhospitably, or tentatively diminishes the taste. This is equally true for preaching, presiding, and teaching. Making espresso, preaching, presiding and teaching are all “ritual acts.”
Initial questions for my own reflection and the reflection of others:
• In what ways is an espresso (cappuccino, latte) an appropriate metaphor for a sermon?
• How does a “method” of preparing espresso inform a “method” of sermon preparation, and vice versa?
• How does my experience of learning to make espresso inform my teaching of preaching? How is the experience of watching a barista prepare a coffee drink and then receiving it inform preaching and presiding and the way we teach it?
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