If there is a crisis of confidence in preaching, it is a crisis in the pulpit as much as in the pew. “Who is going to believe,” asks Stewart, “that the tidings brought by the preacher matter literally more than anything else on earth if they are presented with no sort of verve or fire or attack, and if the man himself is apathetic and uninspired, afflicted with spiritual coma, and unsaying by his attitude what he says in words?” (41). Brothers, we must put our best effort into preaching. We must strive year by year to get better at preaching. Dare I say, we must open ourselves to a few godly counselors for evaluation of our preaching. And above all, we must reestablish in our own hearts the centrality of preaching and our confidence in it. What Stewart said about his century is just as true about ours: “When all is said and done, the supreme need of the Church is the same in the twentieth century as in the first: it is men on fire for Christ” (220).

Every summer—at some time during several weeks of vacation and study leave—I try to read a book on preaching. For many summers, this has meant rereading Martyn Lloyd-Jones’ Preaching and Preachers. This year it meant reading a book I would have never picked up had not Alistair Begg recommended it. I’m not sure I agree with all of the theological presuppositions or with every point of practical application, but taken as a whole Heralds of God, first published in 1946 by the renowned Scottish preacher James S. Stewart, was a good, bracing tonic for the soul.

More than anything, Stewart drives home the point with relentless force that preaching is an immense privilege and preaching is supernaturally powerful.

On the privilege of preaching:

To spend your days doing that—not just describing Christianity or arguing for a creed, not apologizing for the faith or debating fine shades of religious meaning, but actually offering and giving men Christ—could any life-work be more thrilling or momentous? (57)

On the need for power in our preaching:

The very terms describing the preacher’s function—herald, ambassador—manifestly connote authority. Far too often the pulpit has been deferential apologetic when it ought to have been prophetic and trumpet-toned. It has wasted time balancing probabilities and discussing opinions and erecting interrogation-marks, when it ought to have been ringing out the note of unabashed, triumphant affirmation—“The mouth of the Lord hath spoken it!” (211)

I wonder if we believe all that? Of course, most people reading this blog will confess with fervent acclamation that they believe in preaching. But do we really?

Let me ask of those sitting in the pew, do you come to the word expectant each week, prepared in heart and mind to hear a great word from our great God? Are you convinced that what you need to hear from the pulpit is of far greater importance than what you need to see on your favorite television show, what you need to read from your favorite website, what you need to hear from your favorite podcast? Are you letting punditry shape you more than preaching? Are you willing to give your pastor the time he needs to for prayer and study—not just time away from other people’s concerns but, when necessary, to the seeming neglect of your concerns? Do you pray for your own soul that it might be fresh kindling for the word? And do you pray for your pastor that he might bring fire from heaven Sunday by Sunday?

As much as the congregation needs to be reminded of the power and privilege of preaching, I’m convinced that preachers need to be reminded of these things even more.

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