This week is Spring Break at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary. My pastor took his family to Disney World for the holiday and so I was offered an opportunity to preach this Sunday for the congregation. Being the ravenous pulpit-fiend that I am, and given the fact that my preaching needs a lot of practice, I jumped at the chance.
I once thought that preaching wasn’t that tough. Just choose a portion of Scripture and explain what it means to the people. I’m into my second year of graduate theological education, and therefore I am now a bona fide expert on all things theological, right? Right? Wrong. I’m on like my fifth draft of the sermon. I preached it yesterday to the wall (thank goodness my wife wasn’t home to laugh and snicker), and I think I heard it yawn. Paranoia? Maybe. But I’m now retooling my sermon yet again.
The beautiful irony of this entire process is that while I am supposedly off from academic endeavors this week, I’m actually doing more research and more writing that I would otherwise do in a week of classes. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun because you get to take the meaning of a particular section of the Bible (in my case, Psalm 13), and be creative in how you communicate it. The aspiring writer in me salivates at the opportunity. I just hope it doesn’t bomb. Oh, and did I mention that my wife’s aunt and cousin are coming into town this weekend? That’ll be great. They’ll get to see me up-close-and personal, and then go back and tell Janel’s parents what a terrible preacher I am. Then, in my twisted imagination, for the welfare of their daughter’s future, her parents will instantly jump on the next flight to Raleigh and smuggle her out of the house. Janel’s gotta eat, right? Maybe I’ll just go to Lowe’s and practice on the drywall aisle. I can be a roving street preacher who preaches the gospel to the pigeons in the park.
On a completely different subject, my afternoons have been spend at none other than my favorite YMCA after-school program. The children are ravenous. I swear they can smell joy. In my mind it goes something like this:
Evil Lil’ Johnny: Hey, I hear that Drew is on Spring Break this week.
Satanic Sammy: Yeah, that’s right! He’s supposed to be relaxing. We can’t allow this!
ELJ: Straight up [in my mind, they are little gangstas]! What can we do?
SS: A preemptive strike. When we come through the door, let it all go.
ELJ: Scream and shout. Run around in a circle. Hit every child you lay your eyes on. Deny all.
SS: Yeah!
ELJ: Yeah.
I need to find the biggest, thickest, heaviest Bible I can get my hands on and smack my kids upside the head with it. And there’s my Spring Break. Cheers.
Drew,
Most gangstas don’t say things like preemptive strike. It’s probably something more along the lines of “we need ta bus’ a cap in him befor’ he knows whats goin’ on.” By the way, you are probably talking about JB or AH or MD, right?
and perhaps JN and CO. I’ll decode those for you later if you need it.
I got all of those except, CO…let me think about it some more…(thinking)…I can’t think of a last name that begins with “O.”
But, Drew…ALL children are precious gifts, little cherubs to be adored. I can’t imagine that they would abuse you or their classmates in any manner. Perhaps you misinterpreted their behavior?