The Greatest Sermon I Ever Heard

In April 2005, my friend John and I spent around a week in London for some musical theater. We saw several different musicals that week, and toured museums and churches. I got to stand in Wesley’s pulpit in the basement of Wesley’s Chapel.  Well I knelt in it, to avoid hitting my head on the ceiling. It was a great trip and I carry the memories with me.

Kneeling in Wesley's pulpit

Sunday was a day without theater, so John and I decided to attend church services that morning and evening. In the morning we attended St. Mary-le-Strand church within walking distance of our hotel. It was a high Anglican service, with incense and robes and a quartet of paid soloists to lead the music. It was sparsely attended, and mostly what I remember was the incense was really strong, and for some reason they censed the statute of the Virgin Mary at the entrance of the church. That left this Protestant a touch bewildered.

In the evening John and I took a cab to All Souls, Langham Place to hear John Stott. Stott was in his early 80s by this point, but I had great respect for all the work Stott had done, and had read many of his books. The atmosphere was so much different than the morning service. The church was full, of energetic young people and visible minorities. The music was led by an orchestra, the ministers were dressed in suits and the church pulsed with a life and spirit that I had never felt before. We were ushered to some of the few remaining chairs on the left side of the church, and waited for the service to begin.

Then Stott preached. On 1 Corinthians 15, one in a series of Eastertide sermons.  And I sat enraptured by this man. Part of it could have been the English accent, which gives a sense of gravitas to almost anything.  But mostly it was that God was using this saint, this pillar of 20^th century evangelicalism to speak his message to me and the hundreds who had gathered that night. 

But beyond the experience of hearing one of my heroes, that sermon taught me one very valuable lesson that I have struggled to incorporate into my own preaching. The gospel message speaks for itself. It does not need to be dressed up with personal anecdotes, memorable illustrations and trendy pop-culture references. The gospel message that Stott gave that night spoke of the glory of the resurrection, both in Jesus and in us, shone through loud and clear. 

That lesson still convicts me. I sometimes try too hard to be funny. I tell stories that are peripheral to the message. I leave the congregation remembering me, and not the message. And I try to be better. More of a preacher, less of a speaker.  Stott’s words that night told me that Christ’s message of redemption is greater than any man. It is a message worth telling, and a message worth repeating. So, I will try again, this week. And next week, and every week after that, to proclaim the message that saved me.

Thank you, John Stott!