“For the first 200 sermons, no matter what you do, your first 200 sermons are going to be terrible.”

I’ve encountered this quote from Tim Keller a good many times, and have found it to be a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it’s hugely releasing to know that you’re not going to be perfect from day one. That learning the craft takes time. That even the great master Tim Keller didn’t come out of the womb preaching perfectly honed sermons. That he also (like I) had dozens of talks in the back catalogue he hoped nobody would ever hear.

But on the other hand, it’s a daunting – even paralysing – quote. Because frankly, many preachers will never make it above 200. Few of us are preaching weekly, at least in my context. Many new preachers will start with one or two a year, and even experienced preachers will often only deliver 15-20 annually. If these figures are correct, then many preachers will simply never have the opportunity for their sermons to be anything other than terrible. 

A quick scan of my archives suggests I’m at around 430, and I hit 200 in 2017. That’s not counting immediate repeats of the same talk (for many years I preached the same sermon 4 times a day) but it does include repeating a sermon at another time, in another context, where I would have made improvements and changes. So if you’re more of a purist, maybe I’m somewhere around the 250 mark now. In which case, I’m glad to have recently joined the not-so-terrible club!

But numbers aside (and also accounting for the hyperbole and humour in Keller’s original quote!), I want to question the premise. Because there are five little words right there in the middle that don’t belong: “No matter what you do.”

I believe there is a constellation of things we can do to reduce the terribleness of our preaching, and it’s all to do with intentional development. So my rephrase of Keller’s quote would be:

‘Without help your first 200 sermons are going to be terrible.”

Too many preachers are left to their own devices, in a way that wouldn’t be the case with any other area of church life. Particularly in new churches, where preachers haven’t been required to go through seminary and take classes in homiletics. Often preachers are given a 30-minute sermon with no clear expectations, guidance, training, 1-to-1 coaching, or feedback. Of course those early sermons are going to be terrible!  

Perhaps your introduction to preaching was like mine. One Summer you were offered an August slot. Lower-attendance, lower-risk. You were given a passage and a time limit and that was about it. Then you preached the message, received a few generic smiles and well-dones afterwards, but had no real sense of whether you did a decent job until next June when you were asked to do a second August sermon. This was my experience for a good couple of years, and it had the effect of leaving me quite clueless as to how I needed to develop, and without any immediate opportunities to do so. Each sermon became an audition for the next, which was never going to be a healthy setup for a good experience!   

Even years later when I was far more established as a preacher I had a pastor whose approach was to say nothing positive about my preaching (presumably understanding that I knew to read the silence as praise?!) but to regularly offer critical feedback, the extent of which was, “Well, you didn’t exactly knock the ball out of the park today…” No constructive feedback. No ideas for improvement. Just a reminder that I’d failed to meet some unspoken expectations.  

Receiving inadequate help, guidance and feedback will inevitably set us up for a terrible 200.

My development improved vastly when I was drawn into a preaching team who would set clear expectations for what a sermon should look like, and talk through a whole series in advance, so I understood how my talk fit within the broader context. I was assigned a coach who would talk through initial ideas with me and help me hone them, read through a script and offer feedback or – better still – listen to me preach the sermon midweek and help me improve it, given comments on everything from the content to my body language. And then give me clear and specific feedback and encouragement afterwards, as well as an indication of when I would next have an opportunity to preach again and continue learning. Crucially, I benefited most from coaches who weren’t trying to turn me into a replica of themselves but would seek to bring out the uniqueness of my voice, and help me connect well with this specific audience.

Of course, you may beg to differ if you heard me preach in those early years – but I really believe that kind of help shortened my terrible period drastically.

I want to question Keller’s advice in the other direction too, because I’m discovered the opposite to also be the case.

‘Without help your post-200 sermons are going to be terrible.’

Too many preachers end up plateauing. They find themselves relying on well-worn paths of preparation and delivery… and a well-worn path will quickly become a rut! And of course they do. For many of them it will have taken 20 years to reach the 200 mark, and with 20 years’ experience you often feel settled in your voice and style. You are now the one coaching others rather than receiving coaching yourself. And no doubt preaching is now a far more frequent experience, you may have multiple sermons on the go at any one time, along with other responsibilities in family, life, work and ministry. Time for intentional thinking and coaching goes out the window… and your sermons become (if not terrible) predictable, tired, and ineffective.

We need to keep on learning. We need to keep on inviting and receiving help. Way past the 200 mark.

I remember a few sermons early on when I gave a well-chosen friend on the front row an air horn, and invited them to set it off any time I used a piece of jargon that made no sense without a working knowledge of the Bible. Whenever they did, I would stop and define the word before moving on. It was such a horrible interruption that it disciplined me to think really carefully about my choice of words. (And I was relieved to drop it after a few weeks).

When I arrived in London I probably had about 60 sermons under my belt, and I was doing pretty well. But I suddenly realised that this different context required me to step up again. So for a season I enlisted the help of a friend to listen to my sermon on a Thursday before I preached it and to give me feedback. I hadn’t done that for years (and I rarely do it today) but I knew that unless I got help, I would struggle to find my feet in this new environment.

Five years later I found myself growing more comfortable, but losing something of my sharpness, and I knew I needed to shake things up further. I began doing standup comedy in pubs and clubs around the city. Not because I thought every skill was transferrable, or that I wanted to make my sermons more entertaining! But because I wanted to stretch myself as a communicator, and do something that (genuinely) terrified me. That’s a whole other story… but it was part of an intentional desire to grow. It was horrible. And sometimes thrilling. And effective.

Today I don’t have the same support network that I once did. I rarely have time to pre-preach my sermons to someone in full. But I very often ask for input from others, or run a particularly tricky paragraph past a trusted friend. I periodically rewatch my sermons, painful though it is, looking for ways to improve. And I regularly receive feedback – solicited and unsolicited! Because I don’t want my next 200 sermons to be the same as the last 430. I want to keep honouring God by stewarding well this gift that he has given me.

So here are a few questions to consider. Whether you’re in single digits, or well over 200 sermons in, why not take one of these and give it a go as your next step of development:

• When was the last time you read a book, listened to a talk, or took a course on preaching?
• When was the last time you listened to a preacher from an entirely different tradition and style to your own?
• When was the last time you studied communication techniques from a secular source? Or watched a politician, comedian, or other public speaker with a view to learning from them?
• When was the last time you spoke in a setting outside of a church (perhaps not even on a religious theme) and approached it with the same intentionality as you would a sermon?
• When was the last time you went back through a sermon and highlighted every word that could be classed as jargon, seeking to find a better way of saying it that would make sense to somebody outside the church? (Maybe you need to buy an air horn!)
• When was the last time you spoke to an unfamiliar demographic? A kids group, youth group, or people in an old folks home?
• When was the last time you tried an entirely different structure to your sermon? Or an element you’ve not used before – object lessons, dividing the sermon into parts, sharing it with another preacher, spontaneous Q&A?
• When was the last time you listened to yourself back – or better (and worse!) still, watched yourself back?
• What was the last annoying habit you identified about your presentation style and sought to eradicate?
• When was the last time you spoke honestly with someone about the emotional weight of preaching? About how you’re dealing with issues like pride, performance-anxiety, or fear of man? Or temptations to cut corners, or seek approval from others, exaggerate… or whatever your tendency may happen to be?
• When was the last time you sent your sermon to someone in advance – or better still, preached it to them in advance – and requested feedback?
• When was the last time you asked someone of a different generation or life-stage to offer you some application points that would resonate with them better than anything you’re likely to come up with?
• When was the last time you changed up your approach to notes? Writing a full-script, reducing to bullet-points, ditching them entirely?

Preaching is a remarkable privilege. Let’s be those who take it seriously, and enlist one-another’s help to continue growing.

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