I enjoy making sense of something once a week and have rarely thought the task onerous. There were particular passages that I wish I didn't have to make sense of, but on the whole I like figuring out something of import and sharing that with others. Perhaps this blog is something like that, but the genre is so different that it doesn't seem that way to me.
But now that I am not preaching, I have noticed a certain small relief, not from the task of communicating, since this blog fits that rubric, but from the saddle of significance. I have never preached about sporks since I am rather certain the topic fails the luminous litmus test of transcendent truth, but I enjoyed writing a little blog about them. Preachers are charged with addressing the human situation with all of its sadness, regrets about the past, worries about the future, troublesome emptiness, and wrestling with decisions. The hopes and fears of all the years are gathered in that sacred space and our words are supposed to help. Ok, yes, sacred text is the source of the aid, but we all know of pastors that have beaten the life out of potentially significant verses.
It's a little relief to abandon the task, if only for a few months of
- figuring out whose needs need to be addressed most
- crafting how to comfort and challenge in the same event
- balancing systemic judgments with individual applications
- moderating words so as not to appear partisan even if I can't stand most Republican policies
Now that I write that all it sure seems daunting. The world is such a wondrous place that there is a part of me that mourns the fact that I can't spend a whole sermon on the joys of toothpicks or how amazing beetles are. I'm hoping that that your expectations of these words, dear reader, are such that you won't mind a discussion of sporks or beetles because it's kinda nice taking the small view. I'll get back to existential estrangement soon enough.