Preaching That Makes the Word Plain. William Clair Turner
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Preaching That Makes the Word Plain
Doing Theology in the Crucible of Life
William Clair Turner Jr.
PREACHING THAT MAKES THE WORD PLAIN
Doing Theology in the Crucible of Life
Copyright © 2008 William Clair Turner Jr. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.
Cascade Books
A Division of Wipf and Stock Publishers
199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3
Eugene, OR 97401
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isbn 13: 978-1-55635-586-8
eisbn 13: 978-1-4982-7030-4
Cataloging-in-Publication data:
Turner, William Clair, 1948–
Preaching that makes the word plain : doing theology in the crucible of life / by William Clair Turner Jr.
xvi + 114 p.; 23 cm.
isbn 13: 978-1-55635-586-8
1. Preaching. I. Title.
bv4211.2 .t89 2008
Manufactured in the U.S.A.
introduction
Nearly twenty-five years ago, not long after completing my doctoral work, Dr. C. Eric Lincoln, who chaired my committee, suggested that I write a book entitled, “Why I Preach.” He said there should be an introduction about preaching, followed by a collection of sermons. I could not see it then, as I had just completed the dissertation and was looking to launch a scholarly project. He saw what I could not see. Preaching is my passion. For me it is the seminal interaction between the living God through the scriptures, embodied in one who lives among the people of God.
Coming through the civil rights, black power, and Vietnam War eras forced upon me the issues of prophetic critique and ministry that is relevant to the cries of the oppressed. It is fair to say that the theological critique prompted by these movements is what permitted my continuing embrace of the Christian faith. The themes of those times reinforced the centrality of the gospel and the power of the Christian pulpit (for good and for ill). The strengths and weaknesses of the church pivot on the interrelationship between theology as a critical discipline and the dispensation of the gospel in the crucible of life. It is the dispensation that shapes the lives of persons and communities as faithful witnesses to the Son of God, or fashions imposters that bring shame to the name of Messiah Jesus.
The intervening years have been punctuated by an active schedule of preaching and teaching in the areas of theology, black church studies, homiletics, and ministry. The exercise has been one that is characterized by tension. Indeed, it fits the description Jacob gave for Issachar when he blessed his sons—namely, the blessing of being balanced by two burdens. There is the burden of preaching to the people of God, hearing their cries, and carrying them before God. Then there is the burden of teaching others how to do the work of ministry. For me there has been balancing grace to fight against the tilt toward unreflective ministry on the one hand, and teaching and research not grounded in the life of the church on the other.
An administrative appointment in Black Church Affairs opened latitude in teaching not afforded while on a tenure track in theology. While under that appointment an opportunity arose to shift into homiletics and ministry. The result was that the practices of ministry became the focus for my ongoing interests in pneumatology and the critical study of the African American church. It opened the way for me to teach what I practice, and to probe the practices of ministry as content (text) for reflection.
Along with reading texts on preaching, teaching preaching, and doing the work of preaching, I have taken time to reflect on some of the preachers who had foundational impact on me. At the time I had no clue regarding how their spiritual fingerprints were being used of God to shape a malleable lump of clay. On occasions it is as though I can hear their voices in the background, carrying on a conversation over my shoulder as I do my work. It is like some sort of spiritual protoplasm, or formative DNA has been left with me like a mystical residue, leaving a sense (sensus) for how to listen to the word for the sake of having something to say to the people. It is as though I ask the question raised within myself more than forty years ago, namely, how did they go from that text to that sermon? Below is a Short Roll Call.
James Forbes came to pastor my home church (St. John’s United Holy Church of America, Richmond, Va.) while I was a teenager. Excitement filled the air and the church wherever he preached or spoke for any reason. It was nothing short of amazing what this young, brilliant, theologically trained Pentecostal preacher could do with a text, and how he could make the pulpit come to life like his predecessors. He made you want to listen to him, but even more, listen to the text. He could take the old traditions of the church, find the doctrinal and scriptural roots, and breathe new life into them. He had a gift for making the word oh-so-relevant—contemporary, fresh, and insightful. In his hands, preaching was far more than prohibitions, and hellfire, which was fairly standard for holiness-Pentecostal preaching of that day. Later I learned how the content was culled out by meticulous exegesis and refracted through the theology of Paul Tillich and Karl Barth—to name two of the more prominent theologians of the mid twentieth century. This was true of many seminary trained black preachers in the latter third of the twentieth century.
We had heard his father. A former pastor, Bishop W. M. Clements, would invite him to preach revivals and for other special occasions. Clements called him Professor Forbes, and when he came the place was buzzing with great anticipation. Forbes the elder preached in a clear and powerful way that could not be forgotten. Forbes the younger joined with other luminaries of Richmond during that era. The list includes Samuel Proctor (who imprinted a generation), Robert Taylor, Y. B. Williams, David Shannon, Paul Nichols, and others whose names need to be enshrined for posterity.
The time was the sixties. We had heard from Martin Luther King Jr. and those prophetic strains could not be dismissed from our ears. More, we had heard from Malcolm X as well.1 He was insightful, critical, analytical, and compelling as an orator. The only problem was that we didn’t hear enough from him about Jesus, and we could not reconcile Adam with Yacub. For me the preaching of Forbes was like a prescription. It was most appealing and critical in opening space for a teenage lad to remain in the church with a Christian option to Malcolm.
Then there was Miles Jones. He came to Richmond in the sixties as well, and he pastored in the community where we lived (Providence Park). Never could a man do so much with the word! He could take a word given in the text and examine it, cross-examine it, look into it, listen to it, and wait for it to yield treasures. The question with which I was left on a constant basis was, “How in the world did he get so much out of a word we all had heard so many times?” The patience with which the work was done was astounding. There was not the “moan” or the tune that was standard for older preachers and often heard from younger ones as well. The preaching was full of inspiration and packed with information. And some of the people would still shout.
A man came from Brooklyn to install Miles Jones. He was not known around town before he came. But those who heard him never forgot him. So clear was his presentation, so forceful were his words, so relevant were his applications. His was preaching that was refreshing beyond measure. It took us a while to get it, but the name of the man was Sandy Ray (The Reverend Dr.). And we understood better why Miles preached the way he did.
Philip Cousin, a young pastor in Durham, was a rising