As a church pastor, I had the unenviable task of coming up with a new, fresh “message from God” every week—one that was supposed to be practical, educational, and, of course, life-transforming.
It was easy to fall into a routine.
Pick a portion of Scripture—the Book of Acts, the Gospel of Matthew, or whatever happened to be next. Read the passage in several translations. Research several commentators. Find a few illustrations. Then synthesize all that material into thirty or forty minutes of oratory.
Do that week in and week out for long enough, and you begin to find the commentators you like, the illustrations that work, and the familiar ways of communicating biblical truth to the congregation.
Weeks turned into months, and eventually I began analyzing the impact of all those sermons.
I could tell how practical I was being by counting the number of people dozing off during the first ten minutes of my presentation.
And I had a front-row seat from which to observe the supposedly life-transforming effects of my words.
That analysis frequently left me depressed.
I preached on fidelity, and somebody fell into adultery.
I preached on ethics, and somebody got caught lying and cheating.
I preached on grace, and the congregation seemed to become even more judgmental and legalistic.
At least, that’s how it felt during my darker moments.
I had been standing in a pulpit week after week trying to tell people how their lives could be transformed.
Meanwhile, I was beginning to wonder whether I understood transformation at all.
Charlie Wear's Notes 
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