The
Sanctified Imagination
Engaging
the Listener
Introduction
“Words,
words, words, I’m so sick of words.
So
speaks My Fair Lady’s Eliza
Doolittle to her ardent admirer Freddie as he seeks to woo her. Eliza has just
emerged from the home of Henry Higgins, the linguist who has transformed her
from a lowly commoner into a royal lady by teaching her how to speak proper
English. Disenchanted by Prof. Higgins’ inability to see past his own
accomplishment and his refusal to treat her like a real person, Eliza at first
sees in Freddie a man who may in fact love her for whom she is. But she soon
grows weary with all of his lover’s talk: “Words, words, words, I’m so
sick of words,” she interrupts, “I get words all day, first from him, now
from you. Is that all you blighters can do?” Moving to the theme of her
tirade, Eliza continues, “Don’t talk to me of stars burning above, if
you’re in love, show me. Tell me of no dreams filled with desire, if you’re
on fire, show me.”
In
Eliza’s injunction – “don’t tell me, show me” – we find the hallmark
of all good sermons. For if you believe, as I do, that the gospel is not simply,
or even primarily, information about
God – facts to which you give your assent, statistics you need to master for a
spiritual exam – but rather is an experience, an encounter, a relationship with
God, then we must find ways to connect not simply with the heads of our
listeners but with their hearts, their guts, their feelings, their whole person.
In short, we must not simply – or even primarily – tell
them, but show them.
And
lest you think Eliza Doolittle untrustworthy, then consider for a moment the
pattern God sets in the Incarnation. For when God wanted humanity to understand
most fully God’s passionate love, to know most assuredly God’s tenacious
commitment, and to believe most fervently in God’s unyielding support, God
didn’t just tell us, sending yet another prophet, but God showed us, becoming human and therefore embodying the promises of
God in the blood, sweat, and tears of Jesus the Christ. We, then, as those
called to proclaim the mercy of this God, should also not simply tell people,
but show them.
But
to do this – to show people, rather
than tell them or prove to them or convince them of the truth of the gospel –
we must stray out of our ordinary preoccupation with linear, rational, logical
thought – that kind of thought useful for succeeding in academic environments!
– and venture into the domain of imagination.
And
by imagination I do not mean simply our
imaginations, as if this is something the preacher – at least “creative”
preachers (whatever that means) – brings to the preaching event. Rather, I
mean that in preaching that seeks to create a living experience of the Gospel we
seek to connect with our hearers at the level of imagination, theirs and ours.
As George Bernard Shaw has Joan of Ark say in his play, “God speaks to us
through the imagination.”
Now,
here be warned; most of us are wary of the imagination. For there is something
deeply ingrained in us that resists this move. Perhaps because we have been
trained for so long to think logically, rationally, linearly, and analytically,
we tend to think that such ways of thinking and being are primary. But think of
it – well before logic imposes its helpful order on the world, we experience
life in the domain of sensation, feeling, and image.
And,
quite frankly, we still do. Television, billboards, the internet – not to
mention our experience of the natural world – all of these depend upon images.
Think, for a moment, of what comes to mind when I say the word “Palestine”
– probably few of you think about statistics or facts or even a mark on the
map; rather, you see exiles huddling in half-wrecked buildings, children crying
as they are separated from their parents, hospitals filled, buildings burning,
and so forth. What about “
What
I am suggesting, then, is relatively simple. We live, think, move, and generally
have our being in images and therefore if a sermon is to connect with hearers
and provide them with an experience of the gospel our sermons must also be
imaginal; hence this week’s focus on the imagination.
Here
again, though, we must be careful, as most of us fall into one of two camps
regarding the imagination. A few of us still think that the imagination denotes
some child-like or, worse, childish part of ourselves that, while fun, is
somehow the lesser partner to our more cognitive side; hopefully we’ve already
dispelled that notion. (If not, listen to a few sermons by preachers who
undervalue the imagination; that’ll cure you.) Most of us, however, fall into
a second camp, those who think that the imagination is a great thing and only
wish that we had one. But I am here, first, to tell you that you do have an
imagination and, second, to think with you about how to cultivate and use it for
the sake of the gospel.
Let’s
start by naming some of the enemies of the imagination: Lack of time, fear of
ridicule or vulnerability, over-active self-censorship, fatigue, depression, and
feelings of compulsion all inhibit the imagination. In short, therefore, it’s
hard to be creative when it’s 11:00 p.m. Saturday night and your tired because
it’s late, depressed because you’ve got a sermon to write, stressed by the
lack of time, and feeling compelled to draw upon your inadequate imagination to
liven-up a sermon that hasn’t even been written yet!
Many
of these issues can be addressed simply by giving yourself adequate time. So
read the texts in advance – way in advance – and allow them to live in your
consciousness (and unconsciousness) well before you begin your formal study. You
will be amazed, when the time comes to begin to collect and focus your thoughts,
how much food for thought you’ve already got.
Now
let’s turn to what imagination is. In brief, the imagination connects things – often things that don’t usually go
together – and thereby opens up new ways of seeing, experiencing, and thinking
about things. Imagination, therefore, is about connecting pieces of our
experience so that we experience and understand those elements differently.
There
is an important difference, however, between employing the imagination and using
illustrations that we should attend to. For years – make that centuries! –
preachers viewed their task as persuading their listeners to a certain point of
view. Such a cognitive model of preaching – concerned primarily with the head
– would rationally and logically argue a case and then illustrate the main
point. That is, illustrations tended to liven up a point that had already been
proven. In this regard, while they were enjoyable and helpful they were not
ultimately necessary.
The
imagination, on the other hand, seeks not to prove something to the hearer but rather to engage and encounter the hearer; therefore the goal of an image is
to embody the point itself. In this more experiential model of preaching,
imagination is not only not optional but critical, even central, as we believe
that the sermon lives and dies to the degree that it engages the imaginations of
our hearers. To think of it another way, imagination demands the participation
of the hearer. For where an illustration is offered to the hearer to be
received, admired, or illumined by it, an image depends upon the hearer
“getting into the act” by joining you in the imaginative act. Imaginative
preaching, to put it another way, is inherently invitational.
Imaginative
Acts by which to Engage the Hearer
The
question at this point, of course, is “how?” How, that is, do we engage the
imaginations of our hearers that they might be encountered by the living Lord
through our preaching? Fortunately, there are numerous ways. I will offer a few
suggestions below, listing a number of “imaginative acts” by which to engage
the imagination of our listeners. (This list is fairly arbitrary, ordered only
by the amount of space and time each might take up in a sermon.)
Retelling
the biblical narrative.
There
is, perhaps, no imaginative act more central to preaching. By retelling the
biblical narrative vividly we seek to stretch the biblical narrative and make it
high enough, broad enough, and deep enough for people to walk into, to see
themselves in the passage, to imagine life on the terms of this text. In short,
we desire to make the story vivid, concrete, and fresh enough so that those
familiar with it hear it anew and those not acquainted with the Bible become
quickly intimate with its powerful narratives.
Good
story-telling is in the details. Remembering that gives us a clue (really, two
clues) to retelling biblical narratives well. First, we may focus on certain
details of the passage to make them more vivid and take us more deeply into the
world of the text – the cold sweat dripping down Abraham’s back as he
listened to God tell him to sacrifice his only son; the forlorn look upon
Mary’s face, akin to that of a lost child, as she searched the burial garden
on Easter morning looking for the body of her Lord. Second, we may contemporize
the story by adding details from our own context and bring the text more fully
into our world – the kind of car Zaccheus drove or the cigarettes Pilate
smoked. Whichever direction you go, the point is to enliven the story while
staying faithful to its basic plotline so that we may hear the narrative more
vividly and imagine it more fully. (Jim Limburg does this exceptionally well in
his retelling of the David and Bathsheba story in his sermon on Psalm 51).
In
addition to helping people become far more biblically literate, this vehicle is
often right at your fingertips. Week after week, we have these wonderful stories
right in front of us that we can retell with imagination and wit. If our
retelling occupies a significant part of the sermon, there will be little need
to worry about any other kind of story or imaginative device; you will have your
hearers engaged. But even when quickly touching on a narrative to move to a
another part of the sermon, it’s usually pretty easy, and always useful, to
make the details of the story more vivid.
Story
In
his Poetics, Aristotle defines a story
as any account with a beginning, middle, and end. In talking about using a story
or complete narrative in a sermon, then, I mean those times when the narrative
is self-contained – it’s a complete story with a beginning, middle, and end.
We may describe the plot of a play or movie, retell a historical account or
current event, or share some personal story, but in all of these cases the story
feels complete, not simply a scene from something larger.
Whenever
this is done well in a sermon (actually, this is often true even when it’s not
done well), you can almost feel people leaning forward, giving the preacher
their renewed attention. There is good reason for this. We are narrative beings.
We make sense of most of our life through story. We explain what has happened
and is happening in narrative terms and share it through story. Think of any
occasion you’ve been spent any significant time with people you don’t know
– on a long bus ride, the first weekend with your in-laws, the first days with
a new roommate – almost inevitably you begin swapping stories, telling each
other about yourself by sharing your narratives. In short, we are trained to
tell and hear stories and expect to learn through them something that can’t
simply be explained or proved.
In
your story-telling, details are again important. They make or break stories. So
is pacing, so practice your telling to see if you’re moving through the plot
too fast for people to follow or too slow to keep interest.
One
final note: there was a time not long ago when it was the common wisdom that
every good sermon had to have a story. This is just not true. Not only do you
not want to commit yourself to thinking up or finding stories every week on
demand that fit the sermon, but a little variety in your preaching is always a
good thing. Any of the imaginative acts we’re talking about will do; if
you’re retold the biblical narrative or are using descriptive language well,
there’s simply no need to feel the compulsion to throw in a story, too.
Anecdote
or vignette
Here,
we’re not telling the whole story, but rather sharing just a slice, a scene,
or a sliver of life or some larger story. For instance:
Some time ago, Alice, a friend of mine, told me about
a trip to the
Here, there is no full-blown story, just a slice of
life that tells us something about the limitations life imposes and we accept,
even when they are no longer there. And the thing is, simply trying to explain
that will never work as well as summing it all up in through this kind of
vignette.
Image
Now, we’re not even describing a scene, but rather
creating a self-enclosed image or word picture that offers up an experience or
feeling. In one Reformation Day sermon I preached at the church where I’d
grown up, I wanted to give hearers a sense of the second use of the law without
getting into theological jargon or definitions. Describing the affect of taking
seriously Jesus’ commandments in John 8, I set up a brief scenario to serve as
background of a single image with which to characterize the law:
That,
according to Luther, is the work of the law – it makes us uncomfortable and
holds us accountable: “If you
continue in my word you are truly my disciples; if
you love me you will obey my commands.” It reminds me of when I was a child
and was caught – occasionally! – misbehaving. I bet you remember that
feeling, too: you’re roughhousing in the living room; you’re not supposed to
play there, you know that, but so far everything’s fine, everyone’s having
fun – until suddenly you crash into the coffee table, upsetting the porcelain
statue given to your parents for their wedding. And as you pick up the broken
pieces your little brother says ominously, “What are Mom and Dad going to say
when they get home,” and knowing the answer he adds, “Boy, are you going to
get it!” –That’s the law; it’s like a little brother who can’t wait to tell
on you.
Brief
personal disclosure
Here,
I mean sharing a brief memory, experience, or event and what it meant to you: “She always stood just outside our
supermarket, confused, dirty, homeless; and I always avoided my eyes and hurried
past her, thinking as I went of Matthew 25 and knowing for sure that I am a
goat.” Or perhaps a brief admission of your reaction to a text: “I have a
confession to make: I don’t much like what Jesus says in the parable we just
heard; in fact, it really scares me.” Be careful not to fall into the trap of
complaining about the text each week, as that will soon appear like a whiny
gimmick, but occasionally reflecting on a surprising, challenging, or even
frightening implication of the text can help invite hearers to think more
honestly about their own reactions to God’s Word. In general, we’re after
something that makes your own interest and participation in what you are
speaking about transparent.
Vivid
Descriptions
Strong
adjectives and striking adverbs can really capture and share a feeling:
“Sometimes fear sneaks up on us like a thief in the night; at other times it
overwhelms us like an ocean wave breaking over our heads.” “What preoccupies
you by day and haunts you at night?” “The cross is an offense, a scandal, an
outrage and absolute embarrassment to any self-respecting, law-abiding person;
it always has been, and always will be.”
Questions
Asking
honest, direct, questions addressed seriously to the hearer will engender a
response. Elizabeth Achtemeier asks in one sermon, “We pray every week for God
to bring in the kingdom of heaven. But I wonder if we really want it. Do we
really want the
Direct
address
Simple,
direct speech in the first- and second-person present tense also implicitly
requests a response from the hearer and so elicits their participation:
“It’s true: like it or not, God chose you in Holy Baptism and will not let
you go.” “You might not have realized it, but John is after you. That’s
right, he more concerned about you and your faith than he is about writing
history and recording miracles. You’re the reason he wrote this gospel.”
“And here’s the stunning, surprising, maybe even shocking thing about this
story – Jesus Christ died for you. That’s right, ‘because God so loved the
world he sent his only Son….’ – Jesus Christ died for you, for me, for all
of us and the whole world!”
Striking
words
Words
that get attention and demand explaining can also draw hearers in: “Angry:
sometimes Jesus makes me just plain angry.” Or, “Angry: we don’t often see
Jesus angry and that can be a little unsettling. But, like it or not, the Jesus
we read about today isn’t meek and mild, he’s angry.”
Quotation
Some
provocative thought that bears directly on what you are preaching about can be
illuminating and interesting. But because this is a more cognitive device, you
should use quotations sparingly and never to impress hearers with your
exegetical work or general knowledge. Further, while you will always want to
cite your sources in your sermon or sermon notes, you don’t necessarily have
to mention the source in your sermon. For instance, it’s okay to say, “as
one commentator has said…,” rather than “as Sigmund Mowinkle
writes,…”. There are several times, however, when it makes sense to cite
authors: 1) when the quotation is a piece of literature or poetry or written by
a nationally known author – “In one of Emily Dickenson’s poems, she
says…” or “As Maureen Dowd commented in yesterday’s New
York Times,…”; 2) if hearers will know the author, and therefore may
connect with the quotation more fully – “As C.S. Lewis writes…”; 3) if
there is “identity-creating” value in sharing the author – “Asked about
what he would do if the world were to end tomorrow, Martin Luther replied, ‘I
would plant a tree today’”; and 4) if you are using an extended quotation
(please do this very rarely).
A
line or stanza from a poem, song, or prayer
This
is another device that can be effective, especially when you reference favorite
hymns, but it, too, should be used fairly sparingly, perhaps if only because in
a previous generation it was used to such a great extent. If you use a prayer,
make sure it’s not too long. If you use a hymn line or stanza, it may make
sense to sing it later in the service. If you comment at length on a poem, print
it in the bulletin (with appropriate copyright identification, if necessary –
usually, very famous poems are considered to be in the “common domain”) or
put it up on an overhead (no copyrights necessary for overheads). And if you
ever ask hearers to close their eyes to imagine something, remember 1) to keep
it short and 2) to remind folks when to open their eyes!
These
certainly aren’t all the devices available to us. What they all have in common
is that they engage the listener at the level of imagination. They invite our
hearers to participate in the sermon, not simply passively to listen and receive
what we say but to be moved by it, think about it, react and respond to it, and
thereby perhaps to be changed by the words and images we offer through the power
of the Holy Spirit by encountering them with the gospel.
All
of these things, then, while we craft them carefully, must point beyond
themselves to the conviction, thought, or feeling that they seek to embody. We
use our imagination, that is, not to dress up our sermons or entertain our
congregations, not to show how creative we are or because our professor told us
it’s a good thing to do; rather we develop and employ our God-given
imaginations to give flesh to our sermons, to embody a message that we want our
people to hear, feel and experience. In all, we seek to move beyond simply
telling folks about the gospel to showing them the gospel in their lives and the
world.
Sources
from which to Draw
Our
Experience
We
are children of God. We experience sin and grace, the cross and resurrection in
our own lives and it can be very useful and effective, even powerful, to share
some of those experiences. Further, by using our personal experience we can
engender the trust of the hearer and make the pastoral office seem more human
and more approachable.
But
there are also risks in sharing personal experience, two in particular: 1) that
attention will be drawn away from the message we proclaim to ourselves, and 2)
that we will share something inappropriate. So before you use personal
experience, always ask some critical questions: Why am I using this experience?
To what end? How would I feel if someone told it to me about themselves? Does it
function to embody the gospel point I am seeking to offer? Is it essential to
the sermon? Is anyone harmed or embarrassed by what I say? If you have any doubt
about the answers to any of these questions, don’t use it.
Also,
avoid placing yourself as the hero. Avoid experiences that relate exclusively to
your profession. Don’t use the pulpit as a confessional. Don’t embarrass
persons by telling things about your family or friends that they may not want
public (ask them if you’re not sure). Don’t reveal confidences. Don’t
refer to yourself too frequently. And don’t make things up (if it’s not your
experience, don’t act as if it is).
Please
don’t get me wrong – judicious and appropriate use of personal experience
can be a powerful thing. But precisely because it is powerful, we should
exercise some care in how we employ it.
Our
Imagination
This
will take some time to trust. Further, it will require risks. The first time you
begin a sermon with nothing but an image or word picture that just hangs there
for a few seconds before you jump into the text may seem a little daring; the
third or fourth time you’ll be far more comfortable. When using your
imagination with the text, it is often helpful to acknowledge that: “I’d
have to imagine that Peter…” “I wouldn’t be surprised if our Lord….”
“Picture Thomas’ face when…” “I’ve wondered if Abraham were
angry at these words, or frightened, or just plain sad….” This way, folks
won’t feel that you’re imposing your view of Peter, Paul, or whomever, and
even if they’ve imagined the scene differently, they’ll go along with you.
The
World Around Us
Go
out into the world as what Barbara Brown Taylor calls “detectives of
divinity,” not simply looking for sermon illustrations but thinking always
about how what you see and experience relates to our understanding of the world
in light of God’s activity in Jesus Christ. What, that is, does sin look and
feel like, what does grace taste like; where do you see heaven, how have you
experienced hell. The key here, again, is time. Read the texts in advance so
that they are sitting in your subconscious where you will think about them in
relation to what is going on in the world. Our brains are amazing things – if
we read a passage a few weeks before preaching, we’ll inevitably start
connecting what we see and experience in the world with that passage even if
we’re not consciously thinking about it; then, when we turn to the process of
writing the sermon, we find there’s already a wealth of these connections at
our disposal. But this only happens when we give the whole process time, lots of
it!
Media
Plays,
short stories, magazines, newspapers, novels – all of these things can spark
an imaginative thought. Be sure to vary your use of these subjects. And practice
retelling them so that they come off in your
language and serve your sermon. And
read or see them not just for sermon material but for developing agility in
language – reading plays can give a better feel for good dialogue; short
stories can help hone your sense of focus, word choice, and the power of
climactic ending, all of which can serve sermons well. So read and listen to
beautiful words that your words may be shaped by them.
Closing
Thoughts on Imagination
(i.e. the “catch-all” category!)
1)
When do
we use our imaginations? Always, but especially at two times. First, right after
we read the texts aloud for the first time – immediately after hearing the
texts, jot down everything that comes to mind; just brainstorm. You may not use
most of this, or any of it, but it reflects your first impressions, will put you
in touch with how others may initially hear the text, and it will help shape the
way you read and study it. Second, after you’ve done your study and focused
your sermon on ONE thing, do some
more brainstorming and consult your initial list as you think about how you want
this sermon to bring to life an experience of the gospel for you hearers.
2)
While we
want our images to stretch our hearers, we also want them to touch them,
therefore keep your images and illustrations accessible and concrete. Keep them
appropriate to the audience. And cast your
nets wide – that is, draw from different sources and use examples the
reflect a variety of educational and socio-economic backgrounds and various age
or gender related situations, etc.
3)
Think
always about what you want this image to do, what purpose does it serve. If it
doesn’t help you achieve your goal, save it for later.
4)
Avoid
clichés or the terribly well-known sermon examples. If you think that the image
or story you want to employ is part of the “common domain” of sermon
material (e.g., the star-thrower), than acknowledge that – “you may have
heard the story of the star thrower…).
5)
Be aware
of how images and stories may re-enforce culturally-accepted stereo-types –
men as rescuers; our descriptions of the young or elderly, men or women.
6)
Keep a
file or record or notes of what you see and feel and think about. When something
wonderful occurs to you, write it down as soon as you can and do so with as much
concrete detail as possible. If you do this on a computer, just keep one file of
“sermon ideas” or “images” or “imaginative stuff” and then at the
head of each image, story, or idea, put a couple of key words that will remind
you of what it would be useful for – grace, resurrection, Christmas, human
nature, courage, etc.
Allow yourself the time to be creative. Read the texts early!
7)
Trust the
power of story and your abilities as a story-teller, but don’t depend upon
them. Many good sermons have no “stories” per se. If you believe you need to
put a great story into every sermon, you’ll most likely run dry between 9 and
18 months. Vivid language, direct address, a few compelling images, can be just
as effective as stories.
8)
Use the
biblical narrative. Invite people into it. Help them to see that the biblical
story and their story are the same one, spread across the centuries. The Bible
begins at the beginning in Genesis and ends at the end in Revelation. We live
somewhere between Acts and Revelation – help people to see themselves in this
grand story.
9)
Trust
what moves you; what speaks to you. Start there, trusting yourself.
10)
Read
the texts early! (Have I mentioned that already?!)
11)
Finally,
and perhaps most importantly, play.
Have some fun. Take some risks. Do the unexpected. Experiment.
From time to time we’re going to fall short, not connect, not inspire, no
matter how conservative we are. So don’t let the fear of these things stop
you. If we’re going to fail, we might as well do it trying to be creative. In
short, I’d rather fail than bore.