Photo by Daniel & Hannah Snipes
Preaching isn’t moralism for the motivated. It is food for the hungry.
Some Bible teaching follows an unspoken formula:
The Bible says it.
Good people believe it.
Now go try harder!
This formula quietly leans on the word should. “It’s in the Bible, so you should…” It sounds devout. “Just teach Scripture.” But it assumes that right thinking naturally produces right living. Ironically, that confidence comes straight out of the Enlightenment, not out of the Bible.
Information does not automatically produce transformation. Why? Because the human will, unaided, usually collapses before breakfast.
If our chief problem were ignorance, good information would suffice. And Jesus would have pointed to the Pharisees as the model. They certainly knew their Bible. But knowledge alone feathered their nests of self-righteousness.
Willpower vs. Marshmallows
In the 1960s, psychologist Walter Mischel placed preschoolers in front of a marshmallow. Eat it now, or wait and receive two. Some grabbed it. Others waited.
The difference wasn’t sheer willpower. The ones who held out reframed the moment. They imagined the marshmallow as a cloud or distracted themselves with other desires. Later research revealed the key difference: trust mattered. Children who trusted the promise were far more likely to wait.
That is the gap in much preaching. Information leans on fragile willpower. Transformation happens when rules are framed within a relationship of trust—and desires are reordered.
Get to the Point
Preaching that informs without aiming to reform eventually will deform. That’s why a sermon must not only have points— it must have the right point. Points can flatter the self-satisfied soul. They can quietly compliment our biases. They can imply that because you are in the room and nodding, you must be one of the good guys. No need to reflect. Don’t overthink it. You’re on the right team.
That’s why points need a point.
Points matter too. A message needs data drawn from research, just as a meal needs the right components. But you would not lay raw ingredients on the counter and say, “Here’s your chicken pot pie!” Likewise, the Bible was not written to be studied or taught line by line.
Sentences can carry weight, but a main point emerges only when you trace the full movement of a passage. That is how you arrive at the author’s intent.
And then the real work begins. Preaching must build a bridge between two worlds — knowing the text deeply and the times honestly. The meaning does not change, but it must be aimed at our moment. It must land in the heart, not just the mind.
A Change of Heart
Some teaching gets heads nodding while hearts stay cold. That approach easily defaults to moralism — “Here’s the hero. Now go do likewise.” Agreement is easy. Internal change is not.
Preaching that forms is more like TNT than fireworks. Fireworks get a reaction. TNT reshapes the landscape. That is what made Jesus’ teaching “unlike the scribes and Pharisees.” People used the word dunamis to describe it — that’s the Greek root of our word dynamite. He aimed for the heart before instructing the head and hands.
The Bible can awaken the intellect. It can inspire us to make the world better. But the central question of any passage is about metanoia: What change of heart do I need?
The heart needs a story
That is why Jesus told parables instead of offering abstract, line-by-line propositions. A parable slips past the quick nod. It draws you in before you realize it is about you. It can tap into the heart, the seat of our affection and will. The question turns us from “Do I agree?” to “Why do I agree and still not obey?” From “Who am I?” to “Whose am I?”
Stories allowed Jesus’ teaching to touch a nerve by revealing a deeper need– to reflect, to admit, and to yield.
And stories carry the right premise: your life and circumstances have purpose. They land with force because we invest in them emotionally. We identify with them. With stories, more is caught than taught.
“When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and took note that these men had been with Jesus.” (Acts 4:13)
Ultimately, stories carry principles that align us with the Person who called himself the way, the truth, and the life. When advanced by a story, a biblical principle can lead us to follow, not just understand. Stories don’t just deal with ignorance but with disordered desire. The ultimate story suggests the universe has an order with God at the center.
Purpose, Not Packaging
Finally, a preacher must study the audience, not just the text and times. Who are we? How does the way we spend time and money reveal what we really believe? Where is the gap between aspired and lived values? Where are we educated above our obedience? How does the passage not only get Sunday agreement but anticipate Monday resistance?
It’s far easier to explain what Scripture says than to probe why it says it. Easier to teach doctrine (head) and assign effort (hands) than to address our affections (heart).
That is why a message with a point begins with a question focused on the heart. The “so what?” must be clear from the start. If I’m with you at the takeoff, I’ll stay with you through the landing. Surfacing the “so what” motivates us to deal with the point, not just agree with the points.
That focus sits on the far side of complexity. After learning the who, what, where, and how, the message must be framed around the why. Clarity comes only after sitting with the text long enough for the bridge between two worlds to emerge.
Then, a well-turned phrase is not aesthetic garnish. It is clarity in service of conviction.
That is not packaging. That is purpose.
As Bernard of Clairvaux warned:
“There are those who seek knowledge for the sake of knowledge; that is Curiosity.
Others who seek knowledge to be known by others; that is Vanity.
And some who seek knowledge in order to serve; that is Love.”
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