Sermon is Art Not Lecture

Let’s go ahead and say it: some of these sermons out here sound like lectures. Long on information, short on inspiration. Packed with notes, but no oil.

Now look — teaching is part of preaching, yes. But preaching ain’t just teaching. A sermon is not some dry classroom download. It’s not a data dump with three points and a poem. Preaching is art. Preaching is soul. Preaching is encounter.

The preacher is not some spiritual professor with a mic — the preacher is a bluesman with a Bible, a jazzwoman with a Word, a truth-teller who sings while they swing the sword.

Preaching Is More Than Facts
Jesus didn’t sound like the scribes. When he spoke, something moved (Matthew 7:28–29). His words didn’t just hit the head — they hit the heart. People weren’t walking away saying, “Wow, that was informative.” They walked away saying, “This man got authority. This man speaks like he knows.”

Same with Paul: “I didn’t come with fancy words and slick talk,” he said. “I came with power.” (1 Corinthians 2:4, my paraphrase.)

So let’s be clear — if all you’re doing in the pulpit is reciting facts, you ain’t preaching yet.

Like the Blues, But for the Soul
You ever hear a bluesman take a song you’ve heard a hundred times and make it sound like it was born that morning?

That’s what real preaching does.

We’re not coming with a brand new story every Sabbath or Sunday. We’re telling the same old, old story — but we’re telling it like it matters right now. We’re putting that gospel in the face of today’s pain, today’s violence, today’s confusion, today’s hope.

That’s why we ask:

“Is there no balm in Gilead?” (Jeremiah 8:22)

“Where is God in all this mess?”

“Who gon’ carry me when I can’t carry myself?”

We preach like people are bleeding. Because they are.

The Preacher Is an Improviser
Preaching ain’t robotic. It’s not memorized. It’s not some perfectly polished recital.

Preaching listens.

To God.
To the room.
To the moment.

It’s improvisation with sacred weight. It’s structure and Spirit meeting in real time.

Ornette Coleman said it like this:

“Jazz is the only music in which the same note can be played night after night but differently each time.”

That’s preaching. You might be in the same text, same topic, same truth — but the Spirit will have you lean into it differently each time. Because the people need something fresh. Because you need something fresh.

John said the Word became flesh (John 1:14) — not once, but again and again. Every time we stand to preach, that Word has to put skin on again.

It’s About Encounter, Not Just Explanation
Let’s not get cute — folks don’t come to church for trivia. They’re looking for truth that can hold them together.

They’re looking for something to grab onto when life is tearing at the seams. They want to feel something. Hear something. Catch a glimpse of the divine. They want to know God still speaks, even in a voice that sounds like theirs.

Remember them two on the Emmaus road? After Jesus broke the Word open, they said, “Didn’t our hearts burn?” (Luke 24:32). Not “Didn’t we learn a lot?” No. They burned.

We ain’t up there to lecture.
We up there to set hearts on fire.

Preach Like It’s Art
So go ahead and study. Go ahead and do your exegesis. Get your doctrine right.

But when it’s time to mount that pulpit — don’t just recite. Don’t just explain.

Preach.

Preach like the mic is your harmonica and the Spirit is blowing wind through your soul.

Preach like somebody in the room is barely holding on.

Preach like the gospel still works.

Preach like a blues artist on a back porch — tired, true, and full of holy fire.

Because the sermon ain’t a lecture.

It’s a soundtrack for survival.