If it is heresy to talk of preaching that does not start with a text, then heresy abounds. Listen to Henry Sloane Coffin: "We would not make it a hard and fast rule that a sermon must commence with a text. For variety’s sake, it is well to preach occasionally without one. . ."¹ Protestants may have traditionally started with a text and Roman Catholics with a doctrine, but the tables have turned this century -- especially with the renewed interest in the Bible among Catholics since Vatican II and the continued interest in topical preaching among Protestants since Fosdick.

"For variety’s sake" may sound like a weak reason to begin anywhere but the biblical text to preach a doctrinal sermon -- or any kind of sermon, for that matter. I still believe, however, that the text is the best place to begin most of the time. Yet, like Coffin and countless other preachers, I do not believe that it is the only place to begin.

I have argued that in Christian preaching we indirectly preach doctrine all of the time. There is a theological perspective and theme underlying every sermon whether we begin with a text or not. The purpose of this chapter is to examine ways to preach doctrine directly by beginning consciously and unashamedly with a doctrine in sacrament, season, and creed.

Why do we preach with doctrine as a starting point? (1) Because the sacraments need explanation if we as Christians are to live in response to the grace that we receive from them. (2) Because the seasons of the church year are informed by doctrines that tell us of Christ, and they do this beyond the limitations of specific biblical texts. (3) Because the doctrines that comprise our creeds and confessions of faith demand preaching that can only be done by direct treatment in series or single occasional sermons.

Using Brunner’s categories, we come now to the second source of dogmatics -- the catechetical element. There is not a great preacher in the history of the Christian pulpit who has not seen the importance of teaching through the sermon. Some have emphasized it more than others. Augustine believed teaching, or catechetics, to be the primary role of preaching. Preaching is to teach Christianity; the purpose of preaching is to instruct the believer -- almost Calvin’s words exactly. The preacher is the propagandist of the faith. The aims of any orator, Augustine believed (following Cicero) , may be to teach, to touch, and to move, but the most important is to teach.

If believers do not know what they believe, how can they live the Christian faith? Inspirational sermons only go so far. A steady diet of heat with no light leads only to a heart strangely warmed and to a sad spiritual blindness. Christians must be pushed to think, to grow, to learn -- to move beyond milk to solid food. Lyman Beecher was right when he told future preachers to write sermons that taxed their intellect and the intellect of their hearers.

There are many who have left our churches or gone elsewhere because our sermons did not teach doctrine or demand attention. They left because they learned nothing about Christianity and how to live it. Henry Sloane Coffin’s nephew, William Sloane Coffin, has argued that people have not left the church because they have tried it and found it wanting, but because they have tried it and found it difficult. I believe he is wrong. Too many have not found the church difficult enough. I know that William Sloane Coffin is referring to the difficulty that accompanies social responsibility in the world, but Christians must be helped to see who they are in order for them to see how they should act in the world.

1 am not talking about doctrinal sermons that are difficult because they are dull or too intellectual and unrelated to people’s lives. Good, difficult doctrinal preaching teaches the meaning of the atonement or the incarnation by stretching the mind, the sinews of the faith, and opening new vistas for Christian experience. Good, difficult doctrinal preaching encourages the believer to ponder in depth the great doctrines of the faith.

Sometimes doctrinal preaching does so by introducing a polemical element. This is what Augustine did. The bulk of his sermons are set in the context of attacks on heresy. Often the best doctrinal preaching refines and purifies so that the hearers can tell the difference between fool’s gold and the real thing. For Augustine, it meant calling a Donatist a Donatist or a Pelagian a Pelagian. For Calvin, it meant attacks on works-righteousness papists and man-centered libertines. For us, the clarifying may be to assist congregations in distinguishing between helpful, corrective criticism and unhealthy criticism of the present-day charismatic movement as we preach on the doctrine of the Holy Spirit. The purpose is never to create homiletical heresy hunts, but to get closer and closer to the truth about Jesus Christ as revealed in Scripture and brought to deeper understanding through our creeds and confessions.

The procedure for preaching with doctrine as the starting point is different from the one used when we began with a text. The process is much more complicated, although there are fewer rules. Doctrinal preaching of this sort involves much more homework. Following these steps will insure no shortcuts, but will help us keep our work focused.

1. We determine the biblical basis for this doctrine. We start here because of our belief that doctrinal preaching should be grounded in Scripture. Like the dogmatic theologian, we start with a complete, well-developed doctrine -- sin, for example -- and look back at Scripture to understand its roots, to determine whence it came. This is no simple task, for a doctrine like sin has made its way through centuries of thought and revision. Not only that, it permeates Scripture. Where do we start? Shall we talk of Adam and Eve and their fall from grace? How about David and Bathsheba? Will it be Israel’s continual sin of idolatry which brought prophet after prophet into God’s service? Perhaps it will be John the Baptist, exhorting all to repent, or Paul, insisting that we all "fall short." Sooner or later we realize that each part of the picture is not complete in itself. How do we get closer to the whole biblical picture of sin? Perhaps we should not. If we used all of the biblical picture, the sermon would last two weeks.

Yet I believe that we should attempt in our homework to get a holistic picture of the biblical view of sin. How else can we decide which direction the sermon should go? One way to do this is to check the concordance, looking up passages listed under sin." A much quicker and often more helpful approach is to look up sin in the Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible or a book like Alan Richardson’s A Theological Wordbook of the Bible. Here you can get the big, overall picture. This larger picture does not blur distinctions, but brings them into sharper focus. From this vantage point, we can begin to see how sin has made its way from Eden to Easter and on toward the eschaton.

Since we cannot preach the whole Bible, we should settle in on one or two texts. This is not always necessary; there are occasions when a large doctrine goes beyond the scope of a single text. Charles Haddon Spurgeon often ranged around within the canon in his preaching with no single text. But as a rule, this is difficult to do successfully. The preacher serves up more than the congregation can handle at one sitting.

When deciding on one or two texts, we should do so fully aware of our hermeneutical decision-making process. For example, some of us may tend to think of sin as specific acts of wrongdoing. In order to downplay the idea that sin is indicative of the human predicament, we select our text from the first epistle of John and become almost Unitarian in our views. Others of us may go straight to Paul to show that sin is demonstrably universal, but that we are forgiven by God. However, reading Paul in a limited way can deemphasize the specific acts and the importance of living a holy life in response to God’s grace, and can lead people into an "anything goes" attitude. Still others may overlook the corporate expression of sin in the Psalms and the prophets and center so much on the individual that the church never has anything to say to the world. Each of us, therefore, must examine our own hermeneutical decision-making process. Actually, it is good that theological perspective and personal preference influence our choice of texts when we begin to preach a doctrine. The variety of approaches adds richness and texture to Christian preaching, as long as we go into the process with our eyes open.

2. We examine what major theologians have to say about the doctrine. Once we have settled on a text or two (I say ‘two" since the doctrinal sermon may emerge from the conscious blending of two texts) , we move to the thought of major theologians on the doctrine in question. We should determine which theologians -- Calvin, Barth, Tillich, Rahner, etc. -- we are going to read, then we should check the indexes of their works for the doctrine. (Luther is difficult to check, since he has no systematic theology.) We should steep ourselves in the theologians’ words, focusing on how they apply to the texts we have selected. This will help in narrowing our reading since, especially with "sin," each has written a great deal. But as with Scripture, it never hurts to skim their broad assessments of the issues involved in the doctrine. From such a general reading, we might find a text that comes closer to the way we want to deal with "sin."

One approach that I have found helpful is to read both a theologian’s dogmatic and biblical theology. For example, I not only read Calvin’s Institutes on "sin," but I look at his Commentaries on the text or texts in question as well. Calvin always presents theological exegesis; however, in his Institutes he works as a dogmatic theologian looking back, while in his Commentaries he is a biblical theologian looking forward. Luther combines dogmatic and biblical theology in his writings.

Another, quicker, approach is to look up the doctrine in Alan Richardson’s A Dictionary of Christian Theology. (Here "sin" is listed under the doctrine of man.) Richardson often offers a short history of Christian thought on the doctrines in question, talks a little about different theologians’ perspectives, and in short order gives the big picture. Van A. Harvey’s A Handbook of Theological Terms does the same thing much more briefly. A more thorough analysis comes with Rahner’s Encyclopedia of Theology, which Roman Catholics will know and Protestants should know.

The importance of reading theologians is twofold. (1) It enables us to see how the doctrine has developed as it has progressed from biblical drama to theological dogma. (2) It helps us understand the doctrine clearly for ourselves. I believe Blackwood was right when he said, "Preach what you understand."² How can we expect our hearers to grasp the meaning of a doctrine if we do not understand it ourselves? Of course, some doctrines we will never understand fully. There is great mystery to all of them, and so there should be. But it is our responsibility to be clear about what we can know and what is beyond our knowledge and experience.

3. We explore the images and experiences that relate to this doctrine. The biblical images are numerous and readily available for the doctrine of sin. Here is Adam taking the first bite of the forbidden fruit, seeking to know more than he should, to be like God. There is Jacob at the Jabbok, finally having to face up to all his cheating and conniving. There is that Old Testament word hata and that New Testament word hamartano lurking throughout the canon, showing us how, like poor archers, we have "missed the mark," how, like pilgrims, we have gotten off the right road. Perhaps it is Peter saying three times, "Never met the man," or Pilate, like Lady Macbeth, washing, washing, "out, damned spot!"

The fact is that we cannot get rid of the spot. We know that; we have known it all along. The experience is deep. We see it in literature and in our lives, from Jean-Baptiste Clemence in Albert Camus’s The Fall to the tragic Captain Ahab in Herman Melville’s Moby Dick; from Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter to Karl Shapiro’s Adam and Eve, we see ourselves reflected in the tragic sin that all humanity has enjoyed and endured. Listen to William Shakespeare’s Richard II:

Bruce Robertson (see his sermon in the appendix) changes the image from hand washing to mirror gazing. "St. Paul hands us a mirror. What depths are opened as we look into it: terror can be let loose by mirror gazing; vicious self-recrimination can be uncapped, fatigue and finitude are traced in the mirror, loneliness and the process of disease." We want to look away, but in the mirror of the biblical text we see ourselves for what we are -- sinful. Do we need the images in literature to understand this doctrine? Perhaps not. It is so very real without them, more than any other doctrine. And yet they help us name the experience more specifically.

4. We examine the issues and problems that relate to this doctrine today. What are the heresies afoot with the doctrine of sin? Where can we help people grow in their Christian experience? Here are two entry points for dealing with this part of the homiletical procedure. The heresies are easy to identify. We do not even need to read Karl Menninger’s Whatever Became of Sin? We see them in the "You’re number one" books that fill the racks -- nineteenth-century liberal humanism that sees us getting better and better. "Just think more positively about yourself, and everything will be wonderful." What a beautiful, Ebionite Christology! I wonder how many Unitarians there are in Christian churches these days. At least Unitarians believe that our acts have consequences. "Doing your own thing" can mean at some point treading on someone else’s space.

At the other extreme, some see sin as so deep and pervasive that they never seem to believe God has forgiven them. The television evangelist Kenneth Copeland once told of a woman who came forward with eyes shut and arms uplifted, moaning about her sins and how awful her life was. When he talked with her and told her God had forgiven her in Christ, she continued to moan, despite his repeated assurances. Finally he slapped her and said, "Lady, you are forgiven!" Like those who still enjoy the adolescent conversion experience and never get beyond the first part of Fowler’s stage three, this woman was enjoying getting high on the experience of lamenting her own sin.

Or, like the woman in Fowler’s stage two, sin and salvation may be perceived as something that is kept in heaven. By saying her "Our Fathers" and "Hail, Marys" every day, she is able to store up enough grace in the bank to overcome the sin she has committed.⁴ This concrete view of sin and salvation mixed with magic demonstrates a lack of understanding that may or may not be helped by sound preaching of Christian doctrine. But the growth cannot begin without specific attempts to deal with it from the pulpit.

For those who see sin only in individual terms, a doctrinal sermon on sin and evil in apocalyptic literature is in order. Read Revelation and Daniel; try to find individual sin there. You will not find it. Apocalyptic literature takes corporate evil seriously; so should we.

5.We will focus our thought in one direction by establishing a central, clear purpose and staying with it. This does not mean that the sermon can be summarized in one sentence. That rule is always difficult to keep. Focusing our thought in one direction is not quite so restricting. We should know clearly what we want to do with the sermon, and we should move throughout the sermon to that end. The purpose is determined by an analysis of the doctrine, its place in Scripture and tradition, and the needs of the congregation. Anything that does not fit that purpose is discarded or laid aside for another sermon. Our purpose may be to confront the congregation with the meaning of sin as disobedience and the wonder of God’s grace despite our recalcitrance. This might come in a sermon that has the Ten Commandments as a text. If that is our purpose, then an extended excursus on original sin has no place in the sermon. Keep it taut. Stay with the purpose.

6. Our structure will reflect allegiance to that purpose and the theological dimensions of the doctrine we have chosen to preach. Here balance is very important, especially with the doctrine of sin. Even in a sermon on sin, it is appropriate to deal also with God’s grace. Not to do so would be like singing only the first verse of Luther’s "Eine Feste Burg" and leaving Satan in power -- "With dread craft and might he arms himself to fight. On earth he has no equal." The question becomes how to deal with sin and how much space to give it. Certainly a doctrinal sermon on sin will seek to deal with it specifically, but how extensively?

Pastoral theologians offer helpful advice at this point. From hours of listening to people in pain, they realize that people come to church knowing of their sin, and at church they become aware of its depths. We preachers, they argue, do not need to drag our hearers through a description of sin at great length. We need instead merely to name and acknowledge it, then focus on helping people come to terms with it in light of God’s grace.

But we do need to name sin for what it is. Not to do so would be an even more serious mistake. For there are not only Isaiahs in the temple saying, "Woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips," fully aware of their own sin, but there are also Davids with Uriah’s blood on their hands, who need a Nathan to say "Thou art the man!" William Oglesby sees this encounter clearly in pastoral counseling.

The parishioner comes with the consciousness of his or her own sin, the "Here I am," and the preacher must not pass by it as if it were unimportant. The preacher must say in effect, "Yes, there you are; you have sinned." Even if the parishioner comes with no sense of sin, the statement still holds. But as Oglesby points out, we also need the word of grace.

In this case, the structure of the doctrinal sermon is determined in part by the theological dimensions of the doctrine of sin and the ways in which it affects the believer. One could again choose from the variety of approaches listed in chapter 3, but the likelihood of employing the Barth, Calvin, or Edwards systems is diminished by the fact that we have not started with a specific text. If a passage happens to work this way, so much the better, but a point system or dialogical system will probably serve us more effectively, since they offer more freedom of structural expression.

With doctrine as our starting point, we turn now to the catechetical and polemical elements of doctrinal preaching by looking at sacrament, season, and creed and the challenges of the Lutheran law-gospel motif in doctrinal preaching.

One of the best ways to teach doctrine in the pulpit is to preach about the sacraments on those days when they are celebrated. An infant has been baptized, the parents have held her up, as grace will hold her up throughout her life, and promised "to rear her in the nurture and the admonition of the Lord." An adult has come forward, having now committed his life to Christ and been baptized, initiated into Christ’s kingdom. The table is set with the bread and the cup. There is a moment of expectation. The people are ready to partake of the sacrament -- to eat, drink, and remember.

Now is the time for us to preach on the sacraments. We should do such preaching directly, particularly with baptism. Those in the Anglo-Catholic traditions and in the Disciples of Christ church who celebrate the Eucharist weekly do not always feel the constraint to make connections each time they preach. For them the visual symbol is present regularly. But even these traditions find it necessary on occasion to teach the doctrine of the Eucharist so that parishioners will partake with understanding.

The number of parishioners in our time who know little or nothing about the sacraments is startling. What they do know is even more startling, for in many cases it borders on the heretical and the magical. Think of Archie Bunker of "All in the Family," who, concerned over little Joey’s mortal soul, slipped out of the house with the child, taking him to a local church for baptism.

Archie tried to enlist the aid of a minister, but the young minister was unable to oblige. So Archie tried to convince him with a five-dollar bill. When that did not work, Archie went to the baptistry and, in a touching moment, baptized the little fellow himself.

Imagine if Archie had heard a sermon that helped him see that baptism is the sacrament of initiation into the Christian community -- an act that communicates the power and love of God as the child is now placed in God’s hand and takes Christ’s hand in his daily walk in faith. Archie is unfortunately still in Fowler’s stages one and two, where religion is seen in magical terms. Some good straight doctrinal preaching on the meaning of baptism might help move him ahead in his Christian pilgrimage. But who can tell with Archie?

There are, of course, many "Archies" in our churches today. They come when they want; they live on a Sunday-school faith, if even that. C. Ellis Nelson puts it this way:

Our responsibility as preachers is to challenge the teenage minds of our adults -- to move them to a deeper faith by opening for them the doctrinal meaning of the sacraments according to their biblical roots.

This task is both catechetical and polemical. We teach that baptism is our initiation into the body of Christ, our being in-grafted into Christ through the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. We also correct false understandings. For example, baptism is primarily God’s action, not ours. If we can see it that way, then we will put less emphasis on the specific mode of baptism, for it is not so much what we do but what God has done in Christ, and it is God’s doing through the Spirit that really counts. Likewise, to turn the service into a social occasion -- a kind of theological debut for the baby, a spiritual coming out -- again places too much emphasis on human action.

In preaching on the sacraments, it is not always necessary to speak from a specific text, but it is necessary to understand the different biblical perspectives and how they offer different angles on the meaning of baptism. For example, if we only read Acts 2, where many consciously repented and were baptized, and Romans 6, where Paul talks of "dying and rising with Christ," one could preach pretty vehemently for only adult believers’ baptism (which is more easily defended by Scripture alone anyway) But when the subject is the Holy Spirit’s descending on Christ and the fact that we are "all sons and daughters of God" (Galatians 3) , the emphasis is more on God’s action than on our repentance in turning toward Christ. This is one reason why Presbyterians, among others, support both practices. Those who follow believers’ baptism alone tend to place less emphasis on God’s prior action and grace in the sacrament and more emphasis on the action of the believer.

Those who allow for baptism of infants do so with a stronger emphasis on God’s prevenient grace. To understand God’s love and grace, think of parents who really love their children, who spend time with them. These parents have a love for their children that is independent from the children’s subjective responses or changing moods. When they first brought their infants home from the hospital, they already had much love for them. They love them through the terrible twos and the giggling fours, through broken windows and smart-alecky back talk. They love them as recalcitrant adolescents and as rebellious young adults. God’s love for us is also like this, for it is independent of our response. It is not governed by our poor show of love for God. Instead it is given freely, for we have been adopted into God’s family as children who were lost but now have been found. God takes us -- homeless, nameless, forgotten, ready to be tossed to the world. And God adopts us before we know any better, and cares for us throughout our lives, watching over us even when we turn away. God never gives up on us. Therefore, baptism is not our human action, but God’s action in Christ Jesus our Lord.

The Lord’s Supper is also God’s action on our behalf in Christ. It is Christ’s sacrifice for us, his body broken and his blood spilled on our behalf. Our action is simply to receive in faith and to "do this in remembrance" of him -- to let our actions be loving ones, empowered by his Spirit in this sacrament and done in his name.

"Real presence" used to be fighting words in the church. For some they may still be, although we now live in a post-Enlightenment, post-Kantian era. It is difficult to make sense of the Aristotelian meanings of "accidents" and "substance," for we do not think in these categories anymore. We are the heirs of the nominalist philosophy. We believe that "a rose is a rose is a rose," and not something else. We are not heirs of the Fourth Lateran Council, which in 1215 solidified the idea of transubstantiation and which spent so much time debating the way Christ was present in the Sacrament that the power and the mystery of the message was missed.

On the other hand, many today, both Catholic and Protestant, have followed Ulrich Zwingli and turned the Eucharist into a "mere memorial." They have done this not so much because of Zwingli -- most have never heard of him -- but because empiricism is the mark of our age. We know what we can see and touch and smell. Those Protestants who follow Calvin’s dynamic virtualism (Christ present in power) , and those Roman Catholics who follow Odo Casel’s transsignification (which talks of Christ’s presence, but not spatially) ⁷ offer a deeper understanding of the meaning of Christ’s presence in the Lord’s Supper. For them, Christ’s presence is the work of the Holy Spirit as the power and forgiveness of Christ is made present in the hearts of the believers. Their emphasis is not only on Christ’s passion and atonement but on his incarnation as a whole. Christ’s teaching and healing ministries are seen here. Christ is the "Word made flesh," who dwelt among us, the one who "emptied himself" and who is exalted at the right hand of the throne of God. All this comes to a point as we celebrate Holy Communion.

But we cannot preach it all in one doctrinal sermon. Thus, as with baptism and other doctrines, we attempt only partial views of the glorious mystery. One helpful way to do this is to examine the eucharistic service itself. What does it mean that we are all called together to share the feast which God has prepared? Is this the fellowship symbolized in the sacrament itself, sitting at the Great Supper of the Lamb? Look at the Great Thanksgiving, the eucharistic prayer. What is the meaning of the anamnesis? How are we to remember Christ? Why pray the epiclesis? What does it mean to call upon the Holy Spirit? Here are great teaching opportunities.

In a sermon given during Advent one year, I took the phrase from the words of the institution, "You proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes," (1 Cor. 11:26) and preached it with a Barthian-type structure. We were celebrating Holy Communion, so the sermon pointed not only to the table but to the coming of the Christ child. "You proclaim the Lord’s death" became the first point on which I spoke. What an odd thing to focus on right before Christmas! Advent is not a time for sadness or remorse; it is a time for joy, for celebration. But if Christ is not seen as headed for Calvary, then he is just another child in a manger. Even the fourth verse of that popular Christmas hymn, "We Three Kings of Orient Are," speaks of Christ’s death. So perhaps even at Christmastime we should proclaim the Lord’s death.

For the second point, I focused on the rest of the phrase: "until he comes." Advent is a time of waiting, waiting for the Coming One who has come once but who will come again. Here the second coming motif of Advent appears. I thus preached a doctrinal sermon that led to Holy Communion, using for my text words that were said over bread and wine, and I also brought to bear on the Eucharist two other doctrinal themes as well.

There is something powerful about the Lord’s Supper which needs to be conveyed when we preach about it. Perhaps its power lies in the command "This do in remembrance of me." Those words, which we see etched on the front of so many altars and communion tables, are Christ’s words. They speak to us through the centuries, as meaningful now as they have been in the past.

A few years ago I met with military personnel in Berchtesgaden, West Germany. We were gathered there from all over Western Europe -- and even as far away as Turkey -- officers and enlisted men from all the services and some British soldiers as well. On the last night of our retreat, we gathered to celebrate the Lord’s Supper. We met in the hotel where Joseph Goebbels and Hermann Goering used to stay when Adolf Hitler brought his high command together to plan various offenses. Outside the window, the Alps stood, reaching up into the twilight. It was an electric moment. Two words -- "Heil Hitler!" -- once echoed through those halls, two words that once bloodied the face of Europe. But they could be heard no longer. They had been replaced by other words that night -- older words, words with even more power: "This do in remembrance of me."

When we preach the sacraments, we preach the power of God; we preach Christ and Christ crucified. When we preach the sacraments to teach and to correct, we should do so with vigor and joy and enthusiasm, trusting in the power of the Holy Spirit.

In addition to preaching the sacraments, we also teach and correct by preaching the seasons of the church year. Most of Christendom regularly observes the church year calendar; why not preach the doctrines that inform it? In chapter 3, we discussed how the passages in the lectionary are chosen for the most part to correspond with certain theological themes. When we preach doctrinally by beginning with the lectionary, we operate like biblical theologians who start with a text and then attempt to discover the doctrines that have their roots in Scripture. We are bound to confront more doctrines if we follow this process, that is, starting with a text, since not all the epistle lessons are chosen to accommodate the overarching theological schemes for various seasons. When we begin with the church year itself -- Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Easter, and Pentecost -- to determine the theological themes, the process is reversed.

I once asked a seminary class to create a one-year lectionary. First they had to examine ten or twelve lectionaries from around the world to see how they were put together. With each one, they tried to understand the hermeneutical and theological presuppositions of the various committees that composed them. After examining several lectionaries, one finds it easier to see the hermeneutic working behind the choice of texts. For example, the older United Presbyterian lectionary for the Service for the Lord’s Day was highly Trinitarian. It was divided into three sections: (1) God the Son -- from Advent to Ascension; (2) God the Holy Spirit -- from Pentecost to the nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost; and (3) God the Father -- the last eight weeks before Advent. The older United Methodist lectionary put Kingdomtide toward the end of Pentecost to give an earlier introduction to the eschatological thrust that would come in Advent. While studying these lectionaries, the students discovered the various doctrines that seem to emerge as crucial with each season. Once they had discovered which doctrines were central to each season, they were able to choose passages to fit the doctrines. This, then, is the process of the dogmatic theologian who looks back to Scripture to find supporting texts.

What are some of these crucial theological themes? Advent begins the church year by announcing the coming of the king -- the Christ Child. As we noted before, however, the coming refers also to Christ’s second coming -- where Christ is not only king, but judge. Thus we presently live in the time between the times -- the already-but-not-yet. We wait expectantly -- hence the use of apocalyptic passages during Advent. But our waiting is not entirely passive, despite the fact that apocalyptic literature calls for passive resistance of evil. We are to repent. No wonder John the Baptist is so popular during Advent. The Baptist, and behind him the whole Old Testament, point to Christ; specifically, they point to the hope we have in Christ. That hope is strongly expressed: no matter what happens, no matter what kind of destruction humankind brings upon itself, God will have the last word. The gates of hell shall not prevail against the church. In a nuclear age, that is an especially powerful word.

Advent points to Christmas, one of those questionable holidays in the Christian year. Historically, Christmas is associated with the pagan Roman winter solstice, the birth of the Unconquered Sun, celebrated on December 25. Not knowing Jesus’ actual birthday, the church put Christmas in the place of this Roman holiday. Calvinists in Scotland abolished Christmas Day, and some still see it as only a secular experience, even in this country. Nevertheless, we celebrate it in the church today. Its main theological theme is obvious -- the incarnation of Christ. What must be made very clear in doctrinal preaching during this season is that we preach not only the birth of a babe but the birth of the King of kings, who lived our life, who died as we do, who rose as victor over death. Christmas is not limited to a manger. John Donne writes:

Donne does not overstate the point. During Christmas we preach incarnation to mean life, death, and resurrection.

Epiphany is full of doctrines. Christ is revealed in all his glory. This manifestation and revelation of God come through Christ’s baptism and through his transfiguration. Dark and light images flicker on the stage of this divine drama mixed with dogma. We catch glimpses of Christ’s glory in the mission to the Gentiles -- the message is to be carried to all who will hear it. But divine power is unleashed here as well. God is sovereign over all nature and history. The very stars point to Christ’s birth. Kings bow down to him. Some even tremble before him, for Herod is powerless to prevent his coming into the world; countless Herods have failed to stamp out his name or halt the onward march of his church. Here is doctrine that will preach!

Lent repeats the theme of repentance already introduced in Advent, as the catechumens prepare for baptism and joining the church. This season is a time of testing, of temptation, which leads to and includes Palm Sunday, where the theme of Christ’s kingship is mixed with Christ’s passion. As Christ enters Jerusalem, he heads toward the Last Supper, Eucharist, and the cross -- the atonement. Atonement is one of the hardest doctrines to preach. The problem certainly is not finding an image; there is no shortage of images. We have the sacrificial image in Hebrews, where Christ is both high priest and the perfect sacrifice; there is the exemplarist image of Abelard, where Christ is merely a model -- the supreme example of a suffering servant. We cannot overlook Anselm’s legal, or juridical, image which, like the courtroom scenes of Paul’s thoughts in Rom. 5:6-11, as well as in 2 Cor. 5:16-21, talks of God’s satisfaction, yet, unlike Paul, does not show God taking the initiative, but only being paid off through Christ’s death. We also confront the battlefield imagery of Gustav Aulen’s Christus Victor, where Christ defeats Satan in the divine drama. Finally, the financial image of slaves’ ransom being paid by one man comes through I Cor. 6:20 and 7:23, and I Pet. 1:18-19.

Get behind these images to the experiences to which they point. See the empty heart of the world, lonely and broken, separated from its Maker, fearing death and, even more, life itself. Look at the proud, and those seeking satisfaction in their own success, but never quite getting enough. It is all there behind the cross. Christ took it all upon himself -- that fear of death, that suffering, that self-centeredness -- and in one great act of love, demonstrated the love of our God. As Stewart puts it, "The veil had been hanging there for years, but on that night it was rent from top to bottom for all to see God’s love."⁹ Read Gary Jennings’s book Aztec to catch the contrast vividly. Our God is not one who must be appeased by daily human sacrifices. The blood of God’s own Son was spilled for us. What kind of a God is this? One unlike any other in the history of religions. Stewart is right -- there is a startling paradox to the atonement. It is more than a theory. It is sheer love that contradicts all reason -- a scandal to Jews and just plain foolishness to Greeks. The wonder of it -- a God so meek that he would stoop to save you and me! That is the richness of the atonement, and it demands to be preached. Therefore, we should preach the cross knowing the theories, avoiding the heresies, and bringing the images into contact with daily life.

Easter, the first day and the oldest season of the Christian year, is the pinnacle of the Christian experience. There is at least one seminary professor who refuses to send Christmas cards for this reason. Instead, he sends his annual Easter epistle. We should reorder our thinking, he argues, and return to the church’s earliest roots -- the celebration of the resurrection. Whether or not to send Easter cards is one question, but whether to preach the resurrection -- there is no question about that.

This season rounds out the three great actions of Christ’s work. Through the Christmas/Epiphany cycle, we hear of the incarnation. In Lent and Holy Week we study the atonement, but at Easter our goal is to preach the resurrection -- no easy task. As David Buttrick points out, the Easter message is an incredible story, that is, it is literally hard to believe. The reason we find the resurrection -- and the sacraments -- difficult to believe is that we are such a secular people. Buttrick finds secularism the mark of our age.

Buttrick is right. This is a difficult day for preachers who have a lifetime of Easter days on which to preach to their biggest crowds. Year in, year out, the message is the same. Listen to one such message:

As it turns out, this "confession" made a great entry into a sermon on the doubt and fear of the women who fled from Jesus tomb at the odd conclusion of Mark’s Gospel (16:1-8) But there is also a sense in which the minister was being honest and perhaps speaking what many clergy have felt. We may wonder how to preach the resurrection even when we strongly believe it. If we do not believe in the resurrection, Paul informs us in I Cor. 15:12-16 that the whole Christian faith topples like a deck of stacked cards. The resurrection is the one card that counts.

What are the problems connected with preaching the resurrection?

1. Most Christians do not have difficulty with the basic Christian kerygma in Paul’s letters. The difficulty comes with the apparent contradiction of the resurrection narratives in the Gospels. This point made by Joseph Fitzmyer is well taken: How do you reconcile Mark’s abrupt ending with the numerous appearances of the risen Christ in the other three Gospels?¹²

2. Another problem is the way we view Christ’s "risenness" as it is depicted in the various accounts. Fitzmyer suggests that a close reading of the text will make clear that "the New Testament never presents the resurrection of Jesus as a resuscitation, i.e., a return to his former mode of terrestrial existence," like Lazarus, for example. When Christ appears, it is "in glory," but as a "glorified body," not some mystical ghost. Thus Fitzmyer believes that the New Testament supports a bodily resurrection, not in the Greek but in the "Palestinian Jewish Christian" sense.¹³ I believe Merrill Abbey is correct in suggesting that debating about the form of Christ’s resurrection from the pulpit can prove counterproductive. But meeting the issue head-on can be helpful, especially if your ultimate goal is not to argue a theory but to help people meet their risen Lord.¹⁴

3. Buttrick believes that too many people wrongly assume that the resurrection points to our immortality. The reason for this assumption is their failure to take death seriously.¹⁵ Hence, responsible doctrinal preaching on the resurrection requires that we begin by helping people come to terms with death. Death is real and no respecter of persons. We do not somehow "slip by it" because we are Christians. Not even Christ "slipped by it." He suffered as we will, yet for our sakes.

When we preach the resurrection, then, we will not dodge the difficult issues posed by the New Testament. We will not mince words when we talk of death. We will clarify confidently and then speak boldly that just as God said at Christ’s baptism, "This is the one," and inaugurated his ministry, so at his resurrection God validated Jesus’ life and his lordship over the church and the world. By God’s power Christ was raised, like the dead dry bones of Israel, and by God’s power we, too, will be raised. We will remember with William Muehl the pathos of the resurrection event which steers us away from sentimentality. Easter is more than flowers budding and sap running as rites of spring. It goes deeper. From Good Friday to Easter, there is "victory in every defeat, and defeat in every victory." That is what we will preach. And we have seven Sundays to do this, since Easter is not one day but a whole season.

We preach the resurrection, moving toward ascension and Christ’s exaltation to the right hand of God. If resurrection is foreign to our thoughts, ascension is even more so. Ascension is shrouded in a great cloud of mystery. It is the last manifestation of Christ to his disciples, but such an odd one. What is the theological point? Not that Jesus has power to fly like Superman; the ascension is not a spatial experience, despite the fact that it is framed that way. The cosmology of the first century no longer holds in an age of airplanes and astronauts.

The ascension shows that Christ has been received into the realm of God, that unseen world that we will someday experience and that we know is as real as the unseen world of truth, friendship, and love.¹⁶ Christ’s ascension does not mean that he has withdrawn further from us, but that he has brought us closer to the unseen world of God’s presence. Ascension combines the immanence of God and the hope we have in Jesus Christ, who has gone into God’s presence before us. We preach the ascension not as a doctrine of Christ’s going away but as a doctrine of God drawing nearer to us.

With the very long season of Pentecost, we celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit and the doctrine of the Trinity. The Holy Spirit is difficult to preach. Some preachers avoid the Spirit so much that they are almost "binitarian." Charismatics have at least encouraged us to take another look at the Spirit. The Holy Spirit is not an extra person in the Trinity but is the Spirit of Christ, the Spirit of God, the ruach, the pneuma which dwells in us and prompts our grateful worship. We cannot control the Spirit of Christ any more than we can control the wind, but we know when the Spirit has moved us. Sometimes you can almost see the Spirit coming; it is like sitting in a sailboat on a still day and waiting for the wind. As you sit passively in the boat, unable to sail, you see the wind coming on the water. When it comes close, you watch it fill your sails and you feel its movement. When the Holy Spirit comes close, it also creates movement. Preachers sometimes wonder why their hearers are so moved by a sermon that barely made it out of the study, much less off the ground. Perhaps it was the Spirit, they say. Like runners who have received their "second wind," perhaps the sermon has had breathed into it new meaning -- a second wind -- from the Spirit. Of course, the analogies and images used to describe the Spirit must be chosen very carefully in order to maintain scriptural and theological integrity.

This point is even more true when preaching the Trinity. Again, Donald Baillie is helpful.

Baillie knows that trying to pin the Trinity to one text or to prove the Trinity from Scripture is risky business. But he believes that two completely new events occurred in history -- two events that stand center stage in the New Testament to help us understand the Trinity. One was the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, which did not change the monotheism of the Jews, but added new meaning to it. The other was the undeniably magnificent scene at Pentecost, when the church was born. God was still one, but with richer, fuller meaning for those who worshiped God.¹⁸

The two other major theological themes in the season of Pentecost are the church, with all its attendant images -- body of Christ, bride of Christ, holy nation, royal priesthood, God’s own people -- and sanctification, which in the process of salvation follows repentance and justification, doctrines covered in other seasons as well as this one. The overarching theme of this season, then, is Christian growth -- the growth of the individual toward holiness and the growth of the church as the body of Christ into Christ who is the head -- that rich vision of high Christology in Ephesians.

It should be obvious by now that we do not really preach the church year, but Christ, for every season points to him, to some aspect of his person and work. As with the sacraments, so with the Christian year, our main goal is to preach Christ in all his humility and in all his glory. When we preach the Christian year doctrinally, we are not merely preaching a set of doctrines, but the story of Christ. Those who talk of story in preaching are correct on this score.¹⁹ We need to see our story in the context of the story of Christ. If we can learn to preach Christ with that in mind, the doctrines of the church year will come alive with new fervor and excitement.

It is obvious that following the lectionary will bring us into contact with the doctrines that inform the church year, but on occasion we should preach these doctrines directly, not feeling bound to the lectionary texts.

The move from church year to confession of faith is not a large one; the same doctrines of the Trinity -- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit -- and the work of each through creation and redemption in nature, history, the church, and the Christian life are found in both. Some confessions, like the Apostles’ Creed, omit more refined but basic doctrines like repentance, justification, and sanctification. The oldest confession, "Jesus is Lord," omits a great deal. But it also tells us a lot. The utterance is more than an intellectual statement made in a vacuum. It is a deep, heartfelt expression of a believer, and yet a believer standing within a community where every knee is bowing and every tongue confessing Jesus as Lord.

But it goes deeper still. The genuflection is not only a religious posture, but the evidence of a political statement. In America, we bow to no one; we barely respect the president. In the time of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, however, people did plenty of bowing. "Jesus is Lord" is thus a political statement. Following Christ means primary allegiance to him, and Caesar is second. Take it or leave it. "Jesus is Lord" may be limited in theological breadth, but not in christological depth. Not every confession offers the range of doctrines found in the church year, but when studied in their scriptural and ecclesiastical contexts, they do present a richness of theological insight.

A minister once told me of his experience in a Dutch Reformed church in New York City. He was required to preach through the entire Heidelberg Catechism every four years. Here the catechism served as a kind of doctrinal lectionary deeply rooted in Scripture and tradition. In the old Evangelical and Reformed church (now part of the United Church of Christ) , preachers were encouraged but not required to preach from this creed. Is it not interesting that preachers within the Reformed tradition would begin preaching with anything but the biblical text? Not only that, they were required to do this.

There is some wisdom in this approach. The creeds have always offered the church a rich tradition of doctrinal expression. What exactly is the purpose of the creeds, and why should we preach them? The creeds tie us to our historical roots in the mighty deeds of God. We are more than a group of separate adherents, holding our own subjective beliefs; we are established in salvation history, not our own individual piety. The creeds put us in direct contact with our story, the biblical story of faith. Like a compass, they give us a guide through Scripture, help us to understand the biblical message, and correct our mistaken interpretations. Even in textual preaching, where we do not intend to preach doctrine explicitly, the creeds aid us in right thinking theologically. The creeds link us also to our origins in the church. We are not only twentieth-century Christians but believers whose roots go way back. Preaching the creeds gives us this historical perspective.

This grounding in the church also broadens our denominational base, for the creeds defy sectarianism; they move us beyond our own narrow ecclesial bounds into more universal, ecumenical ways of thinking about the faith. To be sure, each church has its creeds (except for some free churches) Creeds help draw the lines between the churches here and there. But all churches return to the great early creeds. The reformers who wanted to retain their ties to the one true catholic church appealed to the Apostles’, Nicene, and Athanasian Creeds. Presbyterians still say at least the first of these from memory Sunday after Sunday. The Roman Catholic breviary still includes the Apostles’ Creed as a unifying bond among Christian confessions. Thus we have used the creeds liturgically for years. They show us our roots and bring us together in worship and belief.

In addition to appearing liturgically with the sacraments in the baptismal rite and the Eucharist, the creeds have also been used polemically and catechetically. The former is no surprise, since many of the creeds arose in the heat of theological turmoil as responses to heresy within the church. We can also use them polemically in doctrinal preaching today, in a way that does not castigate or attack others, but clarifies and corrects mistaken ideas about the Christian faith.

There are those in the church who believe only in a sweet Jesus -- a mystical, loving Spirit who never lived or died, but only floated about. Their Jesus never went into the ghetto or identified with the poor. He seemed never to get his hands dirty. Such modern-day Docetism is rampant in our churches. What shall we do? We shall preach to them the Christ of the creeds. He "suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried. . . ." No floating Spirit would ever do that! Many churches avoid saying, "He descended into hell," because this carries the suffering too far. Listen to Jürgen Moltmann on this phrase in the creed:

Moltmann’s words offer not only correction but comfort. Responsible polemical preaching is always theologically penetrating and pastorally sensitive.

Perhaps the hearers believe that Caesar is first and Christ second, that the church should remain under the control of the government. What shall we do? We shall preach the biblical message of The Theological Declaration of Barmen, which was born in the midst of Nazi occupation and which combined into a single voice the Lutheran, Reformed, and United churches. It is a creed grounded in Scripture and ready throughout to "reject the false doctrine" that the church should bow down to political ideology.

In the history of the early church, the catechetical use of the creeds appeared especially in the training of those who had not yet been baptized. For us today, this practice touches three audiences. (1) The first audience is comprised of adults in the church who are still children in the faith. Some are outsiders -- resident alien and tourists. Others are insiders -- expatriates and cynical citizens. Whatever the case, their understanding of Christianity is childlike. They seem, oddly enough, to get more out of the children’s message than the sermon. (2) The second group is made up of the young teenagers who are about ready to join the church, but who have little idea of the church’s doctrine. The creeds become excellent resources for simple, catechetical preaching to both these teenagers and to the adults mentioned in the previous category. (3) The third group consists of children of kindergarten and early elementary school age, who are occasionally or weekly subjected to the children’s sermon. Some are mercifully spared from this experience.

I mention the children’s sermon at this point to introduce a bias and a possible historical solution to a real problem for many present-day clergy. There is nothing more ridiculous than seeing a robed figure squatting on a stool, trying to be cute and clever on Sunday morning. This figure is not the divine incarnation -- God come down. Nor is this situation similar to Jesus and the children. That, after all, was no liturgy. The point of the New Testament account was that Jesus did not mind the interruption; he certainly did not stage it! But we cannot argue against children’s sermons because some are so bad ("God is dog spelled backwards, and both are faithful"; "Jesus is like a jumper cable -- he charges you up") or because they only present little morals like "Be good to your sister" -- mere cultural pablum. By that line of reasoning, we would have to dispense with preaching as well, for not all Christian preaching is responsible or great.

I am not against a little humanness in the midst of the majesty of worship -- the shuffle of little feet punctuating the holy hush. The problem with children’s sermons is that they say to children implicitly, "You don’t really belong here, so we are going to set aside this special time for you, and then you can leave." A seminary student once appeared at my door looking confused. "What will I do? I have to give three messages on Sunday." He showed me the bulletin. Sure enough, there they were: children’s sermon, teen scene, and sermon. "What in the world is teen scene?" I asked. "Oh, that’s when the fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds come forward to loiter in the chancel with their hands in their back pockets." What is next, I thought -- elderly hour? Menopause meditation? We might as well bring the whole congregation forward in little groups.

Others have studied this problem more thoroughly than I, analyzing children with the help of Jean Piaget, Erik Erikson, Lawrence Kohlberg, James Fowler, and so on. With graphs and charts, they can tell you how much the little ones can understand at different ages. This is fine and helpful, but I believe that Horace Bushnell would be chuckling these days. He was right all along: bring them up so they do not know themselves to be anything but Christians. I believe he would have said, "Put them in the pew and let them worship as early as possible, at least by age five or six. Liturgy is not to be understood completely, anyway; it is to be experienced. Let them worship right along with their parents."

If we find that we must do children’s sermons (because of the insistence of our church boards) , then we should use the model of the early church in its catechesis for the unbaptized. In the liturgy of the catechumens, the unbaptized were instructed in the faith, usually in the creeds. Why not use the children’s sermon in this way, and offer through it little teachings in the faith? On sacramental Sundays, invite the children to stand alongside the parents of the child to be baptized, or to come to the Table before the bread and wine are passed. Many are already employing this kind of approach.

The jump from a children’s sermon in this fashion to a doctrinal sermon for the congregation is not very large, for both involve teaching doctrine from the creeds in as simple a manner as possible. How do we do that? First of all, by helping our hearers make distinctions between common beliefs and debatable interpretations. For example, in Christology we all agree that Christ is God’s Son in whom God is manifest, and that he is Savior and Lord. We may not agree on the theories of his origin, the extent of his preexistence, the degree of his humanity and his divinity, or the correct way to explain his atoning death on the cross. Some aspects of Christology we agree on; others will find us fine tuning this way or that. Congregations need help sorting out common belief and interpretation. They need to hear the basics preached confidently. But they also need to know that there are many Christologies in the New Testament, not just one. They can handle redaction criticism as long as it is presented clearly and simply in the context of a teaching sermon, not an erudite lecture.

Second, we preach the creeds fully aware of their provisional character. The church is constantly reforming. No creed is the last word on Christian doctrine. All confessions are time bound. Theology, of necessity, must progress; it must move on. Barth understood that as well as anyone. He did not want little Barths, but serious theologians carrying the task forward. We will preach the creeds, keeping in mind that they are not the final word about God and his people. This does not mean tentative preaching, but preaching that understands the provisional character of confessions of faith.

Third, we should attempt a series of sermons on a creed, either a short series -- no more than six or eight weeks, lest our congregations wear down -- or a much longer series like the Dutch Reformed do by using the Heidelberg Catechism. The longer series will take some agreement by the congregation. The Heidelberg Catechism, as we noted earlier, is already designed with fifty-two Sundays in mind, which creates for the preacher a theological lectionary.²¹

If the Scots Confession were used this way, it could follow this pattern. Chapter 1, God, could be used around Thanksgiving, since it deals with providence. The next four chapters work nicely with Advent: creation, original sin, promise, and the roll call of the cloud of witnesses looking to Christ. Chapters 6 and 7 are obvious for Christmas and Epiphany: the incarnation of Christ Jesus and why the Mediator had to be true God and true man. Chapter 8 on election puts more emphasis on God’s action than our repentance, but could still be used in Lent. Chapters 9-11 are natural for Palm Sunday, Holy Week, and Easter: Christ’s passion, death, and burial; the resurrection; and the ascension. Chapter 12, as you might have guessed, is faith in the Holy Ghost. The rest of the chapters work well with Pentecost, dealing variously with the church, the Christian life, the Scriptures, the sacraments, and church-state relations. The very last chapter would even give theological backbone to a stewardship sermon which would probably appear at about that time: gifts freely given to the church.

In 1528, Luther preached the Apostles Creed as part of a series of sermons on the catechism. He did so for catechetical purposes. He believed that Christians should know what they believe or not be admitted to the Table. The editors of these sermons write, "It is apparent that Luther is here forming the vocabulary into which he cast both his Large and Small Catechisms, and that the Large Catechism is particularly a reworking of this catechetical preaching."²² Luther understood the importance of preaching the creeds. Read the third sermon in the appendix to see how he preaches on the creed. Here he handles the whole creed in one sermon for a specific purpose.

Finally, we will preach the creeds remembering that there is a subjective side to them. The believers who first confessed these creeds did not do so as a stimulating intellectual exercise. Rather, they were committing their whole lives to Jesus Christ. When we preach these creeds, we are engaged in more than a didactic exercise. We are also preaching to the emotion and the will. Bonhoeffer, in his Finkenwald lectures, distinguishes between didactic, inspirational, and conversion sermons.²³ Each has a different purpose, he says, and in a larger sense, he is right. But I believe, as did Augustine, that good doctrinal preaching involves all three. It seeks to teach the mind, to touch the heart, and to move the will. For Augustine the most important purpose may have been to teach, but the final purpose was to lead Christians to live a holy life. The persuasion was not only to attitude, but to action: "As a hearer must be pleased in order to secure his attention, so he must be persuaded in order to move him to action. . . ." People can be taught and delighted without giving consent. What is "the use of gaining the first two, if we fail in the third?"²⁴

A presidential candidate completes his or her speech. One of the hearers is interviewed. "What did you think?" "Wonderful speech -- clever, witty, informational, patriotic -- moved me to tears." "So you’re going to vote for this candidate?" "No." A good doctrinal sermon teaches, touches, and moves the will. With Stewart, we believe that doctrinal preaching should move from doctrine to decision. We will preach the creeds knowing that doctrine begun in action must lead to action, that creed should lead to deed.

Love so amazing, so divine
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

The move from doctrine to decision points to some kind of call to obedience in doctrinal preaching. Without a call to obedience, we preach only law that raises the level of guilt or only grace that produces antinomianism. Even Lutherans are aware of this crucial move. I say "even Lutherans" because the Lutheran law/ gospel approach to preaching has not always presumed obedient response in action. The reason for such reticence is that Luther presented only two, not three, uses of the law: the political use (usus politicus) , which must exist to hold the wicked in check, to keep order in the secular state, and the theological use (usus theologicus) , where the law accuses sinners, demonstrating their need for the gospel. Traditionally, Lutheran theologians have resisted Calvin’s attempts to make the law more positive. Werner Elert, in his Law and Gospel, ²⁵ attacks Barth for softening the law, for arguing that the end of judgment is grace. Barth’s title, Gospel and Law,²⁶ tips his hand. The bottom line for Barth is grace, and even the law serves this purpose. Elert believes that this argument is not supported by Scripture, certainly not by Paul. Elert’s argument is cogent when he suggests that too hasty a move to grace takes the sting out of the law. But it seems to me that he also overlooks the positive gift of the Decalogue, where don’ts are also dos, and the way in which the judgment messages of the prophets are offered not out of God’s hate but out of God’s love. Hope always undergirds judgment. The judgment may be carried out, but a remnant always returns. First and Second Isaiah belong together.

The third use of the law is the other point of contention for Lutherans. Calvin believed that there were three uses to the law. Switching Luther’s two uses, he saw the spiritual, or theological use first; where the law functions as a mirror, exposing people’s sin, and the civil, or political, use second, as a restraint to the wicked. Calvin’s third use, and for him the principal one, is a positive use in which the saints are encouraged to live obediently in response to grace, to "press on" in the Christian life. One can see this use in his Strassburg liturgy, where the Ten Commandments are read after the Confession of Sin and Absolution, not before, in which case the law would be used to convict sinners. The Presbyterian Worshipbook follows the same pattern by placing the summary of the law after the Declaration of Pardon. With these three uses of law -- as a mirror, speed limit, and road map, Calvin talked positively of law. Elert dispels attempts to find a third use in Luther;²⁷ and yet Lutherans like Herman Stuempfle and Richard Lischer do so, and argue for all three uses.²⁸ Lischer does so openly; Stuempfle qualifies his position by naming it "the call to obedience." But in reality, both are talking about Calvin’s third use of the law. Both recognize the need for a move beyond the hard word of the law and beyond the good feeling that comes with grace. They see the need for an admonishment to obedience. A look at Luther’s sermons will support this approach. Luther himself did plenty of admonishing. Read especially his sermons on the Ten Commandments and his "On the Sum of the Christian Life." ²⁹

How does all this talk about law and gospel relate to doctrinal preaching in sacrament, season, and creed? It does so indirectly with season and creed, but poignantly with the sacraments. The law and gospel themes are present in both the church year and the confessions of faith. In Advent when we preach Christ as judge and Savior, we are called to determine the place of the law and the meaning of the gospel in our relationship to the coming Christ. Is there a positive side to Christ’s judgment? Does the gospel carry with it a demand? The same questions arise with "from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead" in the Apostles’ Creed.

But the law/gospel motif in preaching relates even more directly to the way we approach, experience and respond to the sacraments, particularly the Eucharist. First, we are called to preach the law, to expose the self-righteousness of those who think they do not need the sacraments of grace, those who live on their own works, like the Judaizers in Galatians or the spiritual perfectionists in the Corinthian epistles. Our churches are full of people like this. Here comes the rich young ruler in a Brooks Brothers’ suit, full of pride, but on his knees, showing a semblance of piety. He knows his own righteousness; you can see it in his face. He has kept the law, which means that he tithes. What a wonderful man to have in your church during stewardship time, but Jesus turns him away. The disciples are beside themselves. What they do not understand is that the rich young ruler gives for the wrong reasons -- not out of his response to God’s love, but to fulfill a law. This man needs the sacrament more than he knows. Like Christ, we preach the law to him, exposing his sin, not as legalism or moralism, which would bolster his pride even more. We preach it to expose sin and show him the need for grace. "Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor." These are harsh words, ones which rich young men of any age are unable to follow.

Yet law sometimes needs to be preached as a hammer of judgment, not always as a mirror of existence. (Stuempfle’s insistence on the latter appears to be overstated³⁰) Sometimes both hammer and mirror are in order, as with Nathan and David. The analogy of the little lamb is "mirror of existence," which communicates the point clearly, but without "Thou art the man" as "hammer of judgment," the sermon would have had no impact. Both are needed when we preach law.

If preaching law points to our need for the sacrament, preach- ing gospel points to its meaning, to the grace we receive in Christ. Preaching gospel addresses those who are aware of their own sin, like the woman caught in adultery. The law had been preached and was about to be carried out with a stoning. But Christ then preached a deeper law, exposing the pride of those holding stones, and in the same moment preached gospel to the woman. "Where are they? Has no one condemned you? Neither do I condemn you."

While preaching the law is addressed to those who think they do not need the sacraments, preaching the gospel looks to those who believe they do not deserve it. Take, for instance, the young Scottish woman who would not partake of the bread and wine because she felt herself unworthy. An old Scottish gentleman sits behind the sobbing young woman. He understands her feelings of unworthiness, for he is also feeling unworthy and is wondering if he should partake of the sacrament. Yet, in a Christ-like way, he leans forward in the pew and, in a whisper that could be heard throughout the church, says, "Take it, lassie, it’s meant for sinners. We preach the gospel of Jesus Christ to those who are broken not only by the burden of the law, but by the burden of living. We do so not as libertines,³¹ remembering that Christ is indeed both judge and Savior.

I believe that we are to preach the third use, the positive use of the law, for two reasons. First, we preach law to attack the antinomianism of those who think that once they have been forgiven they can do what they want, those who think that the sacraments are all they need. Listen to Paul: "What shall we say then? Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound? By no means! How can we who died to sin still live in it?. . . What then? Are we to sin because we are not under law but under grace?" (Rom. 6:1-2, 15) This call to obedience adds bite to the gospel. Second, we preach law because the call to obedience adds encouragement; we preach the third use of the law to lead those who are broken by sin into a new oneness in Christ and into peace with those around them. So Jesus looks at the woman, still shattered by her close call and his unnecessary kindness, and says, "Go, and sin no more." What a ringing call to obedience which resounds for all Christendom!

In the Bible and in responsible doctrinal preaching, doctrine usually leads to decision, concept points to conduct, belief directs behavior. This points us naturally to the last chapter, where we look at doctrine and culture, another starting point for preaching doctrinal sermons.

1. Two adults will be baptized in your parish on Sunday. Construct a sermon using the "six steps" listed in this chapter. For an example, see Walter Burghardt’s "Buried with Him Through Baptism" in Sir, We Would Like to See Jesus (Ramsey, N.J.: Paulist Press, 1982) , 168-72.

2. It is Pentecost season, and you have decided to do a series of sermons using the theological themes in Pentecost. Choose one of these themes and use the "six steps" to construct your opening sermon in this series.

3. Plan a series of sermons on the Apostles’ Creed. Determine the number of weeks you will preach and what doctrines you will preach. Your opening sermon will be entitled "I Believe in God." How will you construct it? Use the sermon by Luther in the appendix as a model.

4. Read Paul Tillich’s sermon "To Whom Much is Forgiven. . ." ³² about the woman with the ointment (Luke 7:36-50) to see the law/gospel, call-to-obedience themes. Notice that they do not comprise three parts of the sermon but are woven throughout.

Abbey, Merrill R. Living Doctrine in a Vital Pulpit. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1964.

Baillie, Donald M. Theology of the Sacraments. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1957: 141-55.

Baker, Eric. Preaching Theology. London: Epworth Press, 1954. Blackwood, Andrew W. Doctrinal Preaching for Today. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1975: 39-50, 87- 108, 150-60.

______ . Planning a Year’s Pulpit Work. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1975: 108-41.

Braaten, Carl E. Stewards of the Mysteries. Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1983: 9-12.

Buttrick, David G. "Preaching on the Resurrection," Religion in Life, 45,3 (Autumn 1976) :278-95.

Danker, Frederick W. Creeds in the Bible. St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1966.

Ellingsen, Mark. Doctrine and Word: Theology in the Pulpit. Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1983.

Knight, George A. F. Law and Grace. London: SCM Press, 1962. Lischer, Richard. A Theology of Preaching. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1981: 30-65.

Miller, Donald G. "Preaching and the Law," Pittsburgh Perspective, 8,1 (March 1967) : 3-23.

Ott, Heinrich. Theology and Preaching. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1965.

Rein, Gerhard, ed. A New Look at the Apostles’ Creed. Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1969.

Stookey, Laurence Hull. Baptism: Christ’s Act in the Church. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1982.

Stuempfle, Herman G., Jr. Preaching Law and Gospel. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978.

Wingren, Gustav. The Living Word: A Theological Study of Preaching in the Church. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1960: 137-49.

Buttrick, George Arthur, ed. The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. 4 vols. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1962.

Harvey, Van, ed. A Handbook of Theological Terms. New York: Macmillan Co., 1964.

Leith, John H., ed. Creeds of the Churches. Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1973.

Rahner, Karl, ed. Encyclopaedia of Theology: Concise Sacramentum Mundi. New York: Seabury Press, 1975.

Richardson, Alan. A Dictionary of Christian Theology. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1969.

-------------. A Theological Word Book of the Bible. New York: Macmillan Co., 1952.

1. Henry Sloane Coffin, What to Preach (New York: George H. Doran Co., 1926) , 23.

2. Andrew W. Blackwood, Doctrinal Preaching for Today (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1975) , 189 -- 90.

3. Cited in Roland Bartel, James S. Ackerman, and Thayer S. Warshaw, ed., Biblical Images in Literature (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1975) , 309.

4. James W. Fowler, Stages of Faith (New York: Harper & Row, 1981) , 146-47.

5. William B. Oglesby, "Implications of Anthropology for Pastoral Care and Counseling," Interpretation, 33,2 (April 1979) : 163-64.

6. C. Ellis Nelson, Where Faith Begins (Richmond: John Knox Press, 1971) , 187.

7. James White, Introduction to Christian Worship (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1980) , 231.

8. John Donne, "Christmas Day, 1626" in Sermons of John Donne, ed. Evelyn M. Simpson and George R. Potter (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1962) , 7:279.

9. James Stewart, A Faith to Proclaim (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1953) , 80.

10. David G. Buttrick, "Preaching on the Resurrection," Religion in Life, 45,3 (Autumn 1976) : 279.

11. John Killinger, "He Is Not Here," in The Miracle of Easter, ed. Floyd Thatcher (Waco, Tex.: Word Books, 1980) , 145.

12. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, A Christological Catechism: New Testament Answers (Ramsey, N.J.: Paulist Press, 1981) , 73- 74.

13. Ibid., 77-79.

14. Merrill R. Abbey, Living Doctrine in a Vital Pulpit (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1964), 170ff.

15. See Buttrick, Preaching on the Resurrection, 280-82 and Abbey, Living Doctrine, 167-69, 179-84.

16. Eric Baker, Preaching Theology (London: Epworth Press, 1954) , 39-42.

17. Donald M. Baillie, Theology of the Sacraments (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1957) , 148-49.

18. Ibid., 149-50.

19. Edmund Steimle, Morris J. Niedenthal and Charles Rice, Preaching the Story (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1980)

20. Jürgen Moltmann, "He Descended into Hell. . ." in A New Look at the Apostles’ Creed, ed. Gerhard Rein (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1969) , 43.

21. For a program in doctrinal preaching that addresses questions 1 -- Il in the Heidelberg Catechism, see Heinrich Ott, Theology and Preaching, trans. Harold Knight (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1961)

22. Sermons, vol. 51 of Luther’s Works (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1959) , 135.

23. Clyde E. Fant, Bonhoeffer: Worldly Preaching (Nashville: Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1975) , 161-65.

24. Philip Schaff, ed., The City of God; Christian Doctrine, vol. 2 of The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers -- Series I (Grand Rapids: Win. B. Eerdmans, 1977) , 583.

25. Werner Elert, Law and Gospel, trans. Edward H. Schroeder (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1976) , 1-6.

26. Karl Barth, "Gospel and Law," Community, State, and Church: Three Essays, ed. Will Herberg (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday Anchor Books, 1960) , 71-100.

27. Elert, Law and Gospel, 38-43.

28. See Herman G. Stuempfie, Jr., Preaching Law and Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978) , 62 -- 75 and Richard Lischer, A Theology of Preaching (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1981) , 58.

29. Luther’s Works,51: 137-61, 259-87.

30. Stuempfle, Preaching Law and Gospel, 23-25.

31. Donald G. Miller, "Preaching and the Law," Pittsburgh Perspective. 8,1 (March 1967): 20.

32. Paul Tillich, The New Being (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1955) , 3-14.

Chapter 5: Doctrine and Culture
 

The rich theological and ecclesiastical pluralism of the New Testament is evident at every turn. Here is the epistle to the Hebrews, with its high priest Christology; there is the corporate view of the church as the body of Christ in Paul’s Corinthian letters. Both stand as models for Anglo-Catholic traditions. The emphasis on administration, teaching, and sound doctrine in the pastoral epistles points to the Calvinist heritage. With the law/ gospel dichotomy of Romans and Galatians, we hear the thundering voice of Luther and the church that bears his name. Those sects which say "love your neighbor" and mean their own brothers and sisters to the exclusion of others carry on the tradition of the Johannine communities, particularly the subapostolic churches that stand behind these epistles.¹ They would have nothing to do with Matthew’s Jesus, who said, "Love your enemies." This "you and me against the world" faith represents a closed circle.

Then we turn to the missionary activity, the openness to the Gentiles of the Luke-Acts tradition, and we see a completely different ecclesiastical emphasis. In certain ways, it may represent the various Baptist groups, but not all, for some are highly sectarian and withdrawn from the world. Actually, the United Methodist church at points comes closer to the Luke-Acts tradition, but in certain ways it is different as well.

Luke-Acts is worldly, open to the ways of the world, looking out not through stained glass but through plain glass at the teeming market, the worried merchant, the widows, the strangers, and the poor. Luke-Acts churches are actually in every denomination. They make little distinction between evangelism and social responsibility. They go to the world with a living Lord, a helping hand, and an honest interest in the world’s questions, with no reticence about arguing for the gospel. This rich mixture of evangelism, social action, and apologetics is everywhere present throughout Luke-Acts. Look at Peter at Pentecost preaching to those outside the faith. Peer in on the Samaritan, an outcast, bending over a Jew! Who could miss Paul on Mars Hill defending the faith, answering the questions of the world? Luke-Acts is the New Testament model for doctrinal preaching in the culture.

Here is our third starting point for doctrinal sermons -- not Scripture, not tradition, but culture itself -- secular, agnostic humanity. If the purpose of exegetical, catechetical, and polemical preaching is to teach and correct the cynical citizens, the faithful few, the reformers, and the superpatriots in our churches, the purpose of culturally initiated doctrinal preaching is to take seriously the questions of the world and to speak a word of truth to the expatriates, the tourists, and the resident aliens in our churches. At this point I hear in the background the strong, clear voices of James Gustafson and Karl Barth, both complaining about this overemphasis on the needs and desires of modern humanity. They speak from different perspectives; Gustafson calls for a theocentric ethics, while Barth continues his plea for a christocentric theology. Together they offer a collective confession of sin for humanity’s major problem, which Niebuhr named for us as pride, interest in ourselves and in our whims and questions. Thus, with their penchant critiques in mind, we move cautiously into what seems to be a blatant anthropocentric homiletics.

Anthropocentric homiletics is a homiletics of the twentieth century, but one that has its roots in the Renaissance and the Enlightenment when the individual became the center of the universe and, as Gustafson has suggested, the tables turned. Man no longer glorified God; "the chief end of God was to glorify man."² Anthropocentric homiletics begins with the religious subject, the believer, and, more appropriately in this chapter, the unbeliever as well. With this approach to preaching, not only have we moved away from God and toward humankind, but we have moved away from the Bible and the tradition into the culture. Protestants in their preaching have generally begun with Scripture, and Roman Catholics with doctrine; but both can share the credit and the blame for this approach that begins with the culture.

Although I must admit a certain discomfort with this approach which is prevalent in our time, I do not reject it outright, as did Barth. The Luke-Acts model is too compelling and persuasive. What is important is to understand the varying forms this approach takes in modern preaching and to encourage responsible biblical and theological homework when we undertake a culturally initiated sermon. This will turn a sermon begun with humanity into a sermon that points to God. It will turn anthropocentric homiletics into theocentric preaching.

I have placed this approach last for three reasons: (1) the study of Scripture and dogmatics should precede apologetics, ethics, and evangelism; (2) this type of preaching removes us not one step (as in catechetical and polemical preaching) but two steps from the source and authority for Christian proclamation -- Scripture; (3) the homework for culturally initiated doctrinal preaching far exceeds that of the other two types (particularly as one moves into global/moral problems) and thus prevents its frequency. For both theological and practical reasons, we should consider anthropocentric homiletics to be the last approach to doctrinal preaching and the one least often employed in the pulpit.

Tillich believed that we should listen more carefully to the questions of the world lest we answer questions no one is asking. Culturally initiated doctrinal preaching takes Tillich’s belief very seriously. There is simply no one single question (as with Barth’s religious subject, Is it true about God?) There are numerous questions that the believer and the unbeliever find troubling -- questions about the Bible, about human finitude, about war and peace. In addition, we hear statements that indicate a deep anxiety and hostility lurking behind the face of the world. Tillich saw the world as ontologically schizophrenic. For him, Pablo Picasso and Franz Kafka expressed the present mood, which is one of shock and anxiety. Our world is in pieces, disrupted. Tillich’s Courage to Be sought to answer this burgeoning fear caused by estrangement. What he called for was not the courage of a soldier in battle but the courage of a human being who, perplexed by the riddles of existence, is still able to say yes to life.

This struggle to say yes manifests itself in various questions and statements that we hear after worship, in counseling, and especially on a bus, train, or plane. The deep religious yearning of our age emerges constantly when riding public transportation. A clerical collar and an empty seat are sure signs of the potential for theological conversation. Here is Fowler’s classic stage four person -- that gleeful secularist who has left the church because he or she knows better now. Most of it is myth, anyway. But the secularist still wonders while riding the commuter train day after day, asking himself or herself deep, searching questions -- but there is no one to talk to. Secularists are in the pew of the university church. The place is almost empty, even on Sunday morning. But they are there -- questioning, hurting, hoping, looking desperately for something. Glib confessions of faith do not come easy for them. But they yearn for something deeper than science’s latest offering. They are on the streets and in the shops of small-town America or perhaps sitting alone at home "waiting for" more than "Godot." Some are angry about religion and want to know why Christians believe this or that. Some are even in church. They want help for their personal problems and direction for their moral problems.

Their questions and statements revolve around three basic types of utterances heard in church and culture -- three types which we will list briefly first and then address one at a time:

1. Questions and statements heard in church and culture that tend to be theological in nature. These are statements like "All religions are alike, so it doesn’t matter what you believe" or "Why do the righteous suffer?" These are large and difficult questions which can be starting points for doctrinal sermons. Some may move in a catechetical or polemical direction, but most in this category are apologetic, answering the questions and challenges of culture.

2. Questions and statements in church and culture that tend to be pastoral in nature. These utterances relate to the therapeutic-relational problems -- existential, personal, and familial problems. Examples would be "How do I handle my grief?", "Why can’t I seem to talk to my daughter?" "I can’t seem to make it through the day." In some traditions, these questions have sent pastors to their studies, working on next Sunday’s sermon.

3. Questions and statements in church and culture that tend to be ethical in nature. These could take on the character of personal/moral problems like abortion and contraception, or global/ moral problems like hunger and nuclear disarmament. Here are some examples: "If human beings are made in the image of God, why aren’t all of God’s children treated fairly?" "Welfare is an example of the kingdom of God at work on earth." "Pro-life groups are inconsistent because they support capital punishment."

How is the preacher to tell which of these is worth treating from the pulpit and which not? Three crucial questions need to be asked in order to make this determination.

1. Does the question or statement deserve a whole sermon? Not everything we hear at church or on the street is worth a sermon. The statement may be trivial, not to the person saying it but for Christian proclamation. "The most crucial question before our church today is the color of the choir robes." That is an easy one to identify. Some questions or statements are borderline. "Pastor, my little boy said the cutest thing the other day. He said, ‘Everything is beautiful in its own way.’ Now isn’t that what religion is all about?" This apparently trivial comment carries with it a humanism that is prevalent in our society. On that level, it might possibly open the way for a doctrinal sermon that attacked that position. But if the statement has been repeated by a parishioner, the pastoral dimensions of the problems come into play. Shall we attack our parishioner’s son openly from the pulpit? The answer is obvious: of course not. But certainly we would not quote or give support to the statement, lest we commit heresy ourselves.

Another comment overheard could, on the surface, be trivial: "Why do we need to have a confession of sin in our worship service? I am always forced to confess things I haven’t done. The preacher makes them all up anyway. Preachers must think we are awfully sinful; either that or they are talking about themselves." Here is a common sight -- a parishioner complaining about something. Certainly not every complaint is worthy of a sermon. But this one might be. A doctrinal sermon on the corporate nature of sin and the need for our corporate confession of sin would address this complaint quite well. The communal confession of some of the psalms would be a good place to turn in Scripture. It might seem trivial for a person to ask why hymns are sung in a church, but not to Martin Luther or to the apostle Paul, who "sang hymns at midnight." Woody Allen’s "What I want to know is, When I get to heaven will I be able to break a twenty?" is certainly trivial, but in some ways could be an opening for a doctrinal sermon on heaven.

A statement may not deserve a sermon because it is too broad or too large. "Preach on God" is too vague a statement as is "Preach on life." What can you do with those subjects? Not much or perhaps too much. The crucial question at this point is, Can the statement be made more specific or more precise? There are two ways to answer this question. One is by asking the person to talk about what he or she means by this request. The other is to explore the Christian views on this topic and narrow it yourself. The most appropriate response is not to attempt a sermon, but to use the request as an opportunity to get to know the parishioner better.

2. If the question or statement was made in the context of confidentiality in pastoral counseling, should we use it as a starting point for a doctrinal sermon? The immediate and easy answer to this question is no. To preach on it directly or indirectly might breach that confidence and sever all future relationship, not only with that parishioner but with others who might have considered coming in for counseling. Some preachers wisely go to the person and ask for permission. Others argue that even when permission is given, we should not bring these personal statements into the pulpit. Here is a statement that would make a great opening for a sermon on the doctrine of the resurrection of the body: "I want to will my body to science, but my family won’t hear of it. I figure it is all over then, but they think my body will somehow be transported to heaven. They don’t even want me cremated. What gives?" Again, pastoral sensitivity precludes use of this kind of material unless it is completely anonymous and presented to the congregation that way. Decisions about whether or not to preach on questions or statements of a pastoral nature are much more difficult than deciding on the triviality or vagueness of theological questions.

3. Is a sermon the best forum for the issue? This question has nothing to do with triviality or confidentiality, but with propriety. Not all topics should be addressed from the pulpit. Some topics are simply handled better in adult discussion groups or in public forums open to the community. The answers to three additional questions help us determine the forum question.

a. Is the statement so emotionally explosive that people will not listen clearly and the sermon will offer only heat and little light? Listen to this statement: "Our day-care center has become a real sore spot for a lot of our members. Some want to keep it, others don’t like the idea of someone else running it, especially that Jewish girl. I think it is time you preached a sermon on this problem and straightened everything out." Look at the possibilities. We could talk about our oneness in Christ and our roots in the Old Testament faith of the Jews -- a direct attack on the anti-Semitism and Marcionism present in that statement. But what good would it do? Some straight talk with this one person would probably be more appropriate. If this position is not widespread throughout the parish, a fiery sermon would only confuse and anger some members. If it is widespread, then perhaps some doctrinal correction is in order. The emotively explosive character of a prevalent problem never held back the prophets. Imagine Nathan before David, thinking to himself, "No, perhaps this is too emotively explosive." Indeed it was, but Nathan was still compelled to say it. Think of Amos’s "You cows of Bashan." Hardly emotively tame. But there was a crucial difference between the prophets and the scolders and exhorters of the present era. The prophets preached the wrath of God, not their own. This notion leads to a second question.

b. Will a sermon on this topic find me venting my own hostility or bringing the judgment of God to bear by analyzing the problem in the light of the gospel? This question is less about the topic and more about the preacher. You may think that you are an enlightened person, one who would never get caught in the trap of attacking your congregation about something you hold near and dear. But it is always possible. You may be a former military chaplain, and one of your members happens to say to you, "Pastor, the Bible says, ‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.’ But building up nuclear arms is not a way of loving our enemies. Therefore, we should not only support a nuclear freeze, but we should destroy all our weapons, disband the armed forces, and hold daily prayer services for the Communists." Or you may be a pacifist and hear this from another member: "The Israelites believed in a strong national defense, so why shouldn’t we? After all, we are God’s people. Our coins read ‘In God We Trust."’ When responding through a sermon to a statement antithetical to your own ideas, it is important to exercise great caution. If your sermon releases only pent-up anger and not the power and vision of God, then you should reevaluate whether or not to preach it. This does not mean that you have to be completely neutral on the subject. What it means is that your passion and righteous indignation should be divinely inspired and pastorally motivated.

c. Can I do more than analyze, question, or probe with this topic? This question presumes that preaching should do more than analyze, question, or probe. The pulpit is not the place for tentativeness or for mere examination of a problem. "It seems to me" is out of place there. This does not mean that we have all the answers, but only that we can confidently say some things about God and about God’s judgment and mercy. Questions and statements that are either too complicated or lead to sermons that make no clear gospel statement probably belong in a discussion forum. "The Bible says, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ Therefore, the Bible supports capital punishment." On the surface, that statement sounds like one we could correct by pointing to Jesus. But it is actually much more complex. The legal and moral dimensions of capital punishment, not to mention varying religious stances, make it difficult (but not impossible) to handle in a sermon. "Abortion is murder, there is no way around it" is another statement that presents difficulties for Christian preaching.

I offer here no rules, for rules are difficult to defend. We must each decide for ourselves which questions and statements are worthy of the pulpit, which do not breach confidentiality, and which would be better handled elsewhere. Once we have decided in favor of a question or statement, we should ask two more questions: What doctrine speaks to this issue best? and How does the biblical witness inform that doctrine as it addresses that topic? Consider, for example, this question: "If we’ve got three gods, what makes us any different from the ancient Greeks and Romans with their pantheon of gods?" This question passes the three tests. It is neither trivial nor confidential nor too hot or complex to handle. Certainly it is not an easy question, but it is one that is at least manageable. It is also a question that is theological in nature. What is the doctrine that will best speak to it? Answer: The Trinity. What does Scripture have to say? Answer: It speaks generally of the triune God -- not three separate gods but one God. The difficulty with this doctrine is finding a specific biblical text, since it is not a specifically biblical doctrine.

Perhaps the question asked is, "Why did Jesus have to die?" Here is a legitimate theological question. Atonement is the doctrine. Romans and Hebrews, each with its own particular slant, are good places to look for scriptural responses. If the question is, "Why do the righteous suffer?" -- certainly a significant question for the pulpit -- we look to the providence of God and the question of evil. Turning to the Bible, we might reexamine the life of Job, for certainly Job knew about this question. Niebuhr addressed the problem of suffering specifically by attacking the idea of special providence. He turned to Matt. 5:43-48 where God "makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust."³

Once we have established the legitimacy of the question or statement for preaching and examined the doctrine or doctrines that best speak to it and the biblical text or texts that best represent the canonical position, we begin structuring and writing the sermon. We do so remembering that, although all doctrinal sermons are to teach, to touch, and to move, there are different focuses for different sermons. (1) The primary focus of a sermon that addresses a theological question is to teach the mind -- to answer the question, How am I to understand the Christian faith? (2) The primary focus of the sermon that addresses a pastoral question is to touch the heart -- to answer the question, How do I deal with my problem? Where do I find the resources within the gospel, the church, and the community to go on? It is the affective question. (3) The primary focus of a sermon that addresses an ethical question is to remove the will to answer the question, What ought I to do?

Apologetics has always forced theology to account for its own beliefs, "to move out of the mystique of the heart into the full light of reason."⁴ Brunner called this "eristics," the act of dispute, not in the cathedral but in the academy and the marketplace. Apologetics is more than Anselm’s "faith seeking understanding"; it is faith offering understanding. We see it in the New Testament. Paul stands before Festus speaking the truth of the faith (Acts 26:25). In I Pet. 3:15, believers are called upon to give reason for their hope. Christians have always been asked to address the unbelieving world, not so much with proofs, but with the truth of what we believe.

Augustine’s City of God and Pascal’s Pensees are classics in the field of apologetics. Protestants have not been as apologetic as Roman Catholics, particularly during the Reformation, when they had as the focus of their dogmatics exegetical, catechetical, and polemical goals. But Protestants such as Schleiermacher (particularly in his Christian Religion: Speeches to its Cultured Despisers) , Kierkegaard, Niebuhr, and Tillich loom large as theologians who have taken seriously the questions of culture. (Barth, of course, would not belong on such a list. In order to identify this approach clearly, we will have to bracket, but not ignore, Barth’s critique. For Barth, apologetic theology would lead directly to an anthropocentric homiletics of the worst kind.)

Many homileticians and preachers have moved confidently and directly into uncharted waters, taking on the attacks and questions aimed at the Christian faith. By doing so, they have not only opened new avenues of discussion, but helped believers know better what they themselves believed. Look at the founder of Methodism, John Wesley, preaching Christian doctrine in a sermon entitled "True Christianity Defended."⁵ Keep in mind that great Anglican preacher of the nineteenth century, F. W. Robertson, whose apologetic preaching sought to teach positively rather than negatively. Instead of attacking erroneous understandings of Christianity, he proclaimed the doctrines confidently and let the hearers (believers and unbelievers) decide for themselves. The paradoxical ideas of his sermons always made his hearers think. "The Doubt of Thomas" gave modern humanity (with all its empirical questions) its due and then turned to the resurrection accounts to speak directly to that honest doubt.⁶

Who can overlook George Arthur Buttrick standing in the pulpit of Harvard Memorial Church week after week preaching to the nation’s most inquisitive minds? Buttrick never bypassed cogent cultural questions; thus, his preaching penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of the Christian faith. The more he listened to the modern mind, the more he preached the mind of Christ. His Sermons Preached in a University Church bear testimony to that fact.⁷ In another collection read especially "The Presence of God in an Alien World" to see Buttrick’s openness to culture in paradox with his theological certitude.⁸

W. E. Sangster argues for what he calls "philosophic and apologetic" preaching, where the preacher answers directly the large questions of the world: Is God there? and Does he care?⁹ Notice the similarity between these questions and Barth’s question, Is it true about God? For Barth, unbelievers are asking this question too. The difference lies in approach. Barth will not argue for the truth of the Christian faith. He assumes it and simply presents it to the hearers as if there were no other alternative. There is a certain attractiveness to this method, but it is a method that is not always persuasive to the doubting Thomases of the world. Barth would no doubt reply that Jesus himself did not argue with Thomas. He simply presented himse