Preaching the word in a world of deadlines.

Reflecting on seminary and why theology must be proclaimed, not just studied.

Photo by Jonathan Simcoe on Unsplash

I wanted to let you know that I’ll be moving to a Tuesday-Thursday posting schedule for the foreseeable future, with some Wednesday posts and/or podcasts peppered in here and there. I was hoping to stick with a Monday-Wednesday-Friday regimen this year, but to be honest, my head has been spinning like the top at the end of Inception, with no end in sight to the dizzying spiral of events, appointments, and obligations. While I don’t mean to brandish that as some sort of “badge of busyness,” I do mean to say that most of what you’ve been reading lately was written before the start of the year. During my self-imposed break, I banked a number of essays and posts that I’m letting trickle out over the next few months. This, it would seem, was a prescient move since these first several weeks of 2025 have zipped by with little to no room for stillness, reflection, or even a break.

Most of that busyness is due to end-of-the-year responsibilities at my church, on top of my regular weekly pastoral duties, not to mention the bright idea I had to try finishing my degree this semester. I think I forgot how frenzied life as a seminarian can be. Currently, I am embroiled in assignments for my last course before I complete my Master of Theological Studies (MTS) degree at Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary (MBTS). Having begun this endeavor in 2019, with a lot of life transpiring between now and then, you might say that I’m feeling no small amount of “completist syndrome” as I stare down the proverbial light at the end of a seemingly interminable tunnel before I’m finally done with discussion boards, quizzes, and whatnot. This isn’t to say that I’m not thankful for the opportunity to deepen my ministerial expertise and theological acumen, especially as it pertains to the pastoral office; however, there have been more than a few times when I thought about shutting this whole endeavor down for good.

I didn’t follow through with that, though, and now I am only a few weeks removed from being done, after which I am looking forward to a long siesta from the academy. I have nothing against academic research or writing — in fact, that’s been my favorite part of this undertaking. One of my favorite pastimes is theological research. I thoroughly enjoy poring over old texts or accounts from bygone eras. It’s the minutiae of seminary that makes it so arduous. I know I’m not breaking new ground here. Every seminarian or graduate student has, at one time or another, thought about throwing in the towel. Perhaps that’s part of the whole “higher education experience,” which is sort of like saying that four-hour wait times for “It’s a Small World” are part of what makes it “The Most Magical Place on Earth.” There is no “fast pass” to expedite working on a master’s degree, though. Honestly, I wouldn’t use it even if there was.

Theology, as I have suggested previously, is best approached and apprehended as a slow-cooked pot roast, not a microwaved meal. The “Hungry Man version” of theology is just as repulsive as the real thing. Churning out theological sound-bites is of little to no interest to me. More pivotal for the longevity of the church and its proponents is the camaraderie and space to research and develop one’s theology alongside others who are interested in doing the same, which, at the most basic level, is what seminary training is supposed to afford. I think there is a world where the maturation of one’s theology occurs apart from discussion boards, reading quizzes, and multiple choice exam questions. I know this might sound like the vocalized frustrations of your average distance-learning student, but I am convinced that many of the timeworn ways we’ve deployed higher education, especially in ecclesiastical spheres, don’t allow for the unhurried evolution and crystallization of one’s theology as one engages with God’s Word and Spirit.

I know it might sound like I’m advocating for the monastery, but I swear I’m not. The cloistered theology of the abbey may be accurate but it’s not as enduring, nor is it very pastoral, which is precisely the point of all theological disciplines. Indeed, theology that is divorced from the everyday life of the Body of Christ is little more than an academic exercise to be shared and parsed by fellow scholastics. The robust theology contained in the Word is meant for all to access and enjoy. It is not meant to be done for its own sake but for the sake of God’s glory and the building up of God’s people. Theology done well, though, is neither rapid nor closeted. Rather, it is proclaimed.

This was the thesis of the late Gerhard O. Forde’s aptly-titled Theology Is for Proclamation, in which he insists and explains, as the title suggests, that the preacher’s and the church’s message is one that is served by but never usurped by theology itself. “Systematic theology,” Forde says, “has to realize that only the proclamation and the sacraments are the means of grace through which the captives are set free” (44). As intricate and eloquent as one’s theological creeds may be, theological assertions miss the two most important words when it comes to actually preaching God — namely, for you. “Only in the concrete proclamation ‘for you,’” Forde continues, “does the new creation break in” (104). The profundity of the proclamation that reverberates in the halls of churches isn’t necessarily due to its theological precision, as pivotal as that may be, but the trinitarian dynamism that carries it and sustains it, ensuring that not a word of it returns void (Isa. 55:11).

This, to be sure, is not something that falls under the purview of preachers themselves. What I have come to understand after half-a-decade of preparing and preaching weekly sermons is that my ability to control the outcomes of a sermon are woefully deficient. But, thankfully, I’m not really responsible for that part. My job as a pastor is to preach the Word faithfully. That’s it. The enduring “energy” (dunamis) of any and every sermon has next to nothing to do with the one preaching it. God’s Spirit is the one who moves upon hearts and souls to convict, comfort, or challenge, as need be. Indeed, God’s Word doesn’t return empty, accomplishes his purposes, and succeeds in that for which it is sent in spite of me, not because of me. My rhetoric, eloquence, or grammatical color have little if nothing to do with it. Paul essentially says the same thing to the Corinthians:

When I came to you, brothers, [I] did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom . . . my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God. (1 Cor. 2:1–5)

Problems arise when preachers deem themselves the arbiters of homiletical applicability and indefatigability. Once I insert myself into the equation, that’s when the ecclesiastical equilibrium starts to quake. That’s when the proclamation begins to be assimilated by personal preferences, theological, practical, or otherwise, which, as you might imagine, is ground zero for ecclesiastical schism. Perhaps this is why the aggregate trust for pastors recently reached a new low, as per Gallup’s latest Honest and Ethics survey. What eclipses preferences, assertions, explanations, and (most definitely) opinions is the God who is preached, which, of couse, means proclaiming the cross. “The proclaimed Word,” Forde writes, “not only explains or informs but it also gives — it ends the old and begins the new, it puts to death and brings to life” (149).

Theological explanation and information, while necessary, crucial, and important for the vitality of God’s people, is not what absolves sinners. That is a role reserved for God alone, which he dispenses through his Word and Spirit. It is the preached God that brings God’s words of promise and life to those who are dead, raising them back to life “through faith in the powerful working of God, who raised [Christ] from the dead” (Col. 2:12). This, I’d say, is why Paul was so determined to keep “Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Cor. 2:2) as the sum and substance of apostolic proclamation. Preaching, to borrow from Forde, who was borrowing from Luther, “is pouring Christ into our ears” (149). It is him we proclaim, not as a matter of theological exactness but as the only one who can do the Word to us, bringing us from death to life.

This is might just be a long-winded way of saying that I am eager to begin another writing project in the not too distant future — you know, once my seminary responsibilities are a thing of the past. Part of me knows I should probably give myself a bit of a reprieve, but there are a kaleidoscope of thoughts concerning preaching, preachers, and the church that have been marinating for a while. I don’t mean to turn this into some sort of “manuscript pitch,” but I do think there should be a book with which preachers can interact that envelopes them with the pervasiveness of God’s law and God’s gospel within the event of the sermon as a whole. Understanding the significance of distinguishing between the law and the gospel is one (very necessary) thing, but recognizing its prevalence in preaching in particular — from preparation to delivery — is another thing altogether. I’d love to write that book.

In the end, though, the thing that keeps me going, through all the busyness and the madness of seminary, ministry, and, well, “life,” is the unshakable truth that what I’m called to do, whether in the pulpit or at my desk, is not to create something from my own efforts, but to proclaim what has already been given. Deadlines and assignments will come and go. But what endures is Christ, crucified and risen, for you, which is the best news I’ve ever heard.

Grace and peace.

Works cited:

Gerhard Forde, Theology Is for Proclamation (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1990).