Informal Survey: I grew up hearing the aphorism, “You can’t get blood from a turnip.” Anyone else familiar with this? I did a Google search on it and was reminded that it can also be said, “You can’t get blood from a stone.” I couldn’t find much on the origins of this strange (and somewhat morbid) turn of phrase. I mean, I should certainly hope you can’t get blood from a turnip. Though it would make for an adventurous salad.
Anyhow, sometimes the act of writing a sermon is like trying to get blood from a turnip. It’s arduous and anxiety inducing. These are the times where the words of scripture just lie there, comatose—times when, even if I have some idea of what I want to say, I have no earthly idea how I’m going to get there. These are the times when Sunday morning looms menacingly on the horizon, like a tidal wave.
Then there are the weeks where the turnip does bleed. The weeks where I’m the George Peppard of preaching. I sit back and think to myself, “I love it when a sermon comes together.” On those weeks the sermons just write themselves.
For the record, the vast majority are somewhere in the middle—equal parts grace and exertion. Also for the record, I’m learning not to get too excited either way. The euphoria and the despair are both pretty good indicators that my ego is behind the wheel again.
All this to say that this Sunday’s sermon on Mark 6:30-44 has been coming along pretty effortlessly, and I’m looking forward to sharing what I’m learning with you. I hope you’ll take a moment and dwell on the passage on your own between now and then.
Also, I wanted to give a warning. I’m always getting in trouble with certain people in our church (who shall go unnamed) for showing tear-jerker videos without any advanced notice. Consider yourself warned. Actually, the one I’ve got for Sunday isn’t the worst I’ve shown. It’s probably a 6 or 7 on the “Steel Magnolias” scale. But it might have some of you reaching for the tissues.
So now you know. But if I find out that any of you are ducking my sermons for this reason, I’ll go back to ambushing you all ninja style with the weepy videos.
Anyhow, sometimes the act of writing a sermon is like trying to get blood from a turnip. It’s arduous and anxiety inducing. These are the times where the words of scripture just lie there, comatose—times when, even if I have some idea of what I want to say, I have no earthly idea how I’m going to get there. These are the times when Sunday morning looms menacingly on the horizon, like a tidal wave.
Then there are the weeks where the turnip does bleed. The weeks where I’m the George Peppard of preaching. I sit back and think to myself, “I love it when a sermon comes together.” On those weeks the sermons just write themselves.
For the record, the vast majority are somewhere in the middle—equal parts grace and exertion. Also for the record, I’m learning not to get too excited either way. The euphoria and the despair are both pretty good indicators that my ego is behind the wheel again.
All this to say that this Sunday’s sermon on Mark 6:30-44 has been coming along pretty effortlessly, and I’m looking forward to sharing what I’m learning with you. I hope you’ll take a moment and dwell on the passage on your own between now and then.
Also, I wanted to give a warning. I’m always getting in trouble with certain people in our church (who shall go unnamed) for showing tear-jerker videos without any advanced notice. Consider yourself warned. Actually, the one I’ve got for Sunday isn’t the worst I’ve shown. It’s probably a 6 or 7 on the “Steel Magnolias” scale. But it might have some of you reaching for the tissues.
So now you know. But if I find out that any of you are ducking my sermons for this reason, I’ll go back to ambushing you all ninja style with the weepy videos.