You Must Be Going Somewhere: Sermons and the Groove of the Blues

Introduction – The Problem of a Stalled Sermon

Not long ago I listened to a sermon that left me restless. The preacher had a strong voice, good content, even some fire in the delivery. But there was a problem: the sermon wasn’t going anywhere. We started in one place, circled around for twenty minutes, and ended in the same spot. No movement. No progression. No sense that we had traveled with the Word.

And here’s the truth: when a sermon stands still, it leaves the people lost. The congregation is like a band waiting for the groove to drop. If the preacher doesn’t give them movement, they are stranded in noise.

The late gospel great James Cleveland sang in I Don’t Feel No Ways Tired: “I don’t feel no ways tired, I’ve come too far from where I started from.” That line works because it assumes motion. If you’ve come too far, you’ve been moving. A sermon that doesn’t move cannot echo the song of the saints, nor can it embody the gospel of Jesus Christ — a gospel that always takes people somewhere.

If a sermon that goes nowhere leaves the people stranded, then what does a sermon that moves sound like? For that we turn to the blues.

The Blues Sermon as Movement

The blues shows us what sermon movement looks like.

The blues begins with pain. Skip James cried it in Hard Time Killin’ Floor Blues: “Hard times are here and everywhere you go.” That’s raw lament. Or take the spiritual: “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child, a long way from home” (traditional). The preacher starts here: naming the wound, acknowledging the ache, telling the truth about chains and sorrow.

But the blues doesn’t stop there. It bends those notes and works them until presence shows up. Memphis Minnie declared survival in Me and My Chauffeur Blues: “Won’t you be my chauffeur, I wants him to drive me.” She turned longing into motion, voice into agency. Likewise, the sermon testifies that God is present in the ache. The groove itself becomes proof of survival.

Then the sermon deepens. That truth can move into celebration (“Hallelujah anyhow”), into determination (“I shall not be moved” – Psalm 16:8), into contemplation (Job sitting in the ashes asking, “Why did I not perish at birth, and die as I came from the womb?” – Job 3:11), or even into sustained lament. But in every case, it is movement. The blues sermon does not sit still.

That’s why when Jesus preached in Nazareth He didn’t just recite Isaiah. He announced motion: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” (Luke 4:18–19; cf. Isaiah 61:1–2). The gospel is movement: from captivity to release, from blindness to sight, from oppression to freedom.

But if that’s what true sermon movement looks like, how do we recognize when the groove is missing?

Signs Your Sermon Isn’t Going Anywhere

Sometimes we don’t know our sermon is stuck until it’s too late. Here are a few clear signs:

1. Endless repetition with no escalation. Repeating a line can be powerful. But if it doesn’t build, the people feel stuck. The difference between a chant and a rut is forward motion.
2. Too many points with no through-line. Three or four points aren’t a problem — but if they don’t connect, the sermon scatters instead of moves.
3. Strong introduction but no landing. You started with a bang, but the people don’t know where it’s going. A sermon that can’t land feels like a plane circling the runway until the passengers get sick.
4. “I’m almost done” repeated over and over. That’s a sure sign the preacher doesn’t know where the finish line is. When you keep promising to land but never do, the people lose trust.
5. Illustration hijack. Stories are powerful, but when an illustration takes over the sermon, the story becomes the sermon. Remember: the sermon itself is the main story. The illustrations are backup singers, not the headliner.

These signs aren’t just tactical mistakes; they reveal a deeper truth. A sermon without direction is a sermon without gospel. Because the gospel is always on the move — from Egypt to the wilderness (Exodus 13:18), from the cross to the empty tomb (Matthew 28:5–6), from lament to resurrection hope (Psalm 30:5).

Those failures aren’t just mistakes of technique; they’re failures of groove. And here’s where the 12-bar blues can preach to us — because the blues always knows how to move forward.

The Blues Analogy – The 12-Bar Groove

In a 12-bar blues, the listener may not know the soloist’s exact notes. They may not predict every lyric. But they know the direction: the I chord moves to the IV, back to the I, then the turnaround — IV, V, I. That turnaround is a promise: we’re moving forward.

Take Blind Lemon Jefferson’s See That My Grave Is Kept Clean. The lyrics dwell on death, but the guitar pattern rolls forward with that steady 12-bar pulse, giving shape to grief. Or listen to Lonnie Johnson in Life Saver Blues. He sings of struggle and weariness, but the structure keeps carrying the song onward. The blues teaches us: even lament has a path.

That’s why a Muddy Waters performance like Long Distance Call feels trustworthy. Even when the voice growls and the guitar moans, the groove says, we are not lost; we are moving.

That’s how a sermon should work. Even if the people don’t know the exact illustration or the next verse, they must feel the pull. They must sense that the preacher is taking them somewhere.

Think of Psalm 23. It doesn’t just say, “The Lord is my shepherd.” It moves: green pastures (Psalm 23:2), still waters (23:2), valley of the shadow of death (23:4), table before enemies (23:5), house of the Lord (23:6). That psalm is a blues sermon — it walks through pain and lands in hope.

If the blues gives us the model, then the pulpit demands tactics. How do we build sermons with the same sense of direction, the same trust in the turnaround?

Tactics for Ensuring Sermon Progression

Here are some blues-shaped tactics for making sure your sermon goes somewhere:

1. Clarity of Destination. Before you step up, know your “so what.” Are you leading them to hope? To determination? To lament that still holds God? Whatever it is, name the destination in your prep.
2. Breadcrumbs Along the Way. Use transitions that signal movement. Jesus did it in the Beatitudes: “Blessed are the poor in spirit… Blessed are those who mourn… Blessed are the meek…” (Matthew 5:3–5). Each beat moves deeper into the kingdom.
3. Build Like the Blues. The blues repeats, but each repetition escalates. Son House moaned the same line in Death Letter Blues, but every chorus came heavier, closer to fire. Your sermon can circle back, but it must circle forward.
4. Keep Illustrations Subservient. The sermon itself is the main story. Illustrations must serve the larger arc, not steal the spotlight. Nathan confronted David with a parable about a lamb (2 Samuel 12:1–7), but the story was subservient — it carried the weight of the main Word: “You are the man.”
5. Climax and Turnaround. Like the last four bars of the blues, your sermon must signal where the resolution is coming. That may be a shout, a challenge, a vision of the kingdom — but it has to point forward. Paul did it in Romans 8: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life… will be able to separate us from the love of God.” (Romans 8:38–39).
6. The Landing. End where you promised. If you started in the key of hope, don’t end in the key of confusion. Paul said, “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6). The preacher must imitate that divine completion.
7. Follow a Blues-Like Structure.
   • Verse 1: Name the pain.
   • Verse 2: Show God’s presence.
   • Verse 3: Deepen toward hope, determination, or lament.
   • Turnaround: Call the people to response.

   That’s a blues sermon.

When you put it all together — destination, escalation, climax, and landing — you find yourself walking in the path of the blues and the path of the gospel.

Conclusion – Preaching as Groove, Preaching as Pilgrimage

A sermon without direction leaves the people wandering. A sermon with movement carries them from where they are to where God is calling them.

That’s why Jesus said, “Follow me.” (Matthew 4:19). Not “stay put with me.” Follow me. That’s why Israel sang in the old spiritual, We Are Climbing Jacob’s Ladder. Not “we are standing at Jacob’s ladder.” The whole tradition is about movement.

And that’s why the blues is our teacher. The blues moans, but it moves. It circles, but it progresses. It laments, but it never stands still.

So preacher, before you step into the pulpit, ask yourself: Am I going somewhere? And just as important: Will the people know I’m going somewhere? Because when your sermon has a groove, they will trust you to lead them through the valley, through the turnaround, and into the house of the Lord.

As the gospel chorus says, “We’ve come this far by faith, leaning on the Lord.” That’s forward motion. That’s the groove of grace. That’s what preaching must be.

Related posts:

Nommo – Creative Power of the Word Kerygma and Didache Prophetic Preaching Authenticity and Preaching