In our current political climate, the proclamation of God’s love, justice, and mercy is needed now more than ever. And in this political climate, that proclamation may feel riskier than ever. Especially if you embody one or more marginalized identities—for example, as a woman, LGBTQIA2S+ and/or BIPOC, as differently abled, as neurodiverse, and/or if you speak English as a second language.
The intense backlash in response to Bishop Mariann Budde’s call for mercy during a prayer service at the National Cathedral following the presidential inauguration is but one example. So how do you, as a preacher, both take the risks to say what you feel is needed and address the very human concern for safety amid uncertainty?
Risking “the thing”
Let’s say you’ve exegeted the week’s texts and the week’s headlines. You know the ins and outs of your congregation’s political leanings, the range of diverse opinions your people hold. And you feel that nudge from the Spirit to say “the thing.” The thing that’s likely to unsettle some and be a balm to others. With equal parts trepidation and trust, you include “the thing” in your manuscript.
But then what happens as you’re looking out at the faces of your congregation from the pulpit on Sunday morning, approaching that moment when you’re planning to say “the thing”? You see the brow of a major donor furrow, or the arms of a lay leader cross, and your stomach drops. You’re worried about the potential aftermath, fearing that complaints will devolve into questioning your leadership, perhaps your eventual firing, and even your arrival unhoused under a bridge down by the river.
In response to this split-second worst-case scenario, mid-sentence you start editing on the fly to soften your tone and walk back “the thing” before you’ve even said it. If you’ve ever found yourself in a similar situation, it’s not a sign anything’s gone wrong. It’s simply an indication that you’re a preacher having the human experience.
Why you hold back
If you’ve ever held back in your preaching (or anywhere else in your ministry) because you’re worried about what other people might think, that makes a lot of sense. But why do you self-censor when you want to be authentic to your calling?
As a human, you’re physiologically wired to tend to group dynamics and to value reciprocity. As a child, you may have learned to keep the adults in your life happy as an adaptive coping strategy. As a faith leader, you’re expected to keep the institution afloat, which often means keeping decision-makers happy and comfortable.
And here’s what I’d offer:
The preached word is always a relational one, proclaimed to particular people, by you as a particular person, shaped by so many physiological, cultural, theological, political, and socioeconomic dimensions. So, if you ever hesitate to share the most authentic version of your sermon for fear you’ll end up fired, humiliated, and/or in economic precarity, of course you do.
The invitation
In normalizing and humanizing these experiences of self-doubt and second-guessing, here’s an invitation: to no longer source approval externally; to learn how to cultivate your sense of emotional safety, assuredness, and sufficiency internally. It’s a skill set you can absolutely build, one that requires a willingness to expand your capacity for discomfort, for sure, but is also what creates more sustainability, resilience, and confidence in your ministry.
What you settle more deeply into is your relationship with yourself and with God so you feel grounded enough to take risks in your relationship with your people. These are the skills necessary to know in your bones that you’re speaking God’s truth as you understand it.
And doing it unapologetically and relationally.