September 15, Ordinary 24B (James 3:1–12)
As a preacher, I used to worry that people don’t listen to me. Now I worry that they do.
I am a manuscript preacher. I learned very early that if I speak extemporaneously about anything important, I’ll spend the next 72 hours trying to remember what I said. Sometimes with anxiety, convinced I said too much. Sometimes with frustration, convinced I left out something vital. But with my trusty manuscript, I can review and perseverate in peace. Because I know that, for better or worse, that’s exactly what I said.
I used to wonder whether anyone heard me when I preached. All those still, sober faces, looking at me as if nothing at all remarkable or interesting were happening. Thinking about what came before, what comes next, fully occupied in their reverie. It took some time for my ego to recalibrate.
Now, all these years in, I worry that people do listen to me. That they treat my words as worth paying attention to, taking notes in agreement or as fodder for future arguments. While we Mennonites don’t have a high view of the clerical voice, I still worry about the power inherent in the pulpit. I worry about my words being taken too seriously.
