{Sanctuaries…places of worship, yes, and toward that end, art. Always art. From wood carving to stained glass, stone work to theater, music to fabric, and, how daring to say it, the art of preaching, which some would say is the point of it all. Today we reach the 15th in this Lenten series.}

That work of art is a pulpit. At its base is Samson holding it all up. And at the very top is the the triumphant Christ. The rest of the figures represent the biblical story from creation to resurrection. This magnificent art is in the Stavanger Domkirk, St. Swithun’s Cathedral, The Church of Norway. The church dates from 1125. And the pulpit was carved and painted by Adam Smith in 1658.

Having explored this kind of carving on a trip to Germany, Smith created this work in the North-German “gristle” baroque style, according to that white interpretive sign next to Samson. (Why “gristle?” Good question. A very quick internet search brought no answer.) Below is a close-up, though it would take days to take in every scene.

We saw many other examples of Adam Smith’s intricate work throughout the sanctuary. I can’t imagine the skill, the dedication, the patience the artist had through the years there. And over three and a half centuries later, his work continues to communicate through wood and color and imagination.

Now think of the preacher who climbs the steps into that pulpit and under that sounding board (or tester). How small he must have felt. Compared to the sweep of the biblical images of salvation history or Heilsgeschichte over and around him, the voice of the minister (or priest), even amplified by the sounding board, would seem lost. Yet, the Word was to be proclaimed, the Gospel communicated, so that it would live. Or be lived in the lives of the people. At last, after two weeks of these sanctuary visits this Lent, I refer to the title I decided on when I began writing. The faith is not held within the bounds of any sanctuary or the walls of any church. It lives. It breathes. It wanes. It resurrects. But it is always and forever good news. God’s grace abounds. Just ask any of the countless figures whose stories are contained yet re-told on that pulpit wood.

The preacher, in that setting probably smothered in vestments, ascends the pulpit and looks out over the congregation, seeing some already asleep, but others sharply expectant, hopeful, even desperate to hear anything from the biblical story that will speak to their doubts, anxieties, or spiritual loneliness. They yearn for healing, or for renewal of heart. Other faces reflect mere curiosity. As the preacher glances at those faces and reads those hearts before looking down at notes or manuscript, he (far more recently, of course, she) realizes Jesus probably saw the same as he sermonized on mount or plain.

Jesus spoke from his experience with Torah and rabbis, having no papers to shuffle, no commentaries to read, only divinely-inspired stories to tell, parables to puzzle, or peace and justice to prophetically proclaim. But the preacher in this pulpit in Stavanger or I in Richmond, Craftsbury, or Trumansburg — we studied, we prayed, we scribbled, we struggled and scribbled some more. What is this passage saying to me? What did it mean when it was first told or written? What will it mean to these people whose faces I see from this high perch? Pray some more. (My prayer even before entering the sanctuary was always, “Lord, don’t let me get in the way of what you want to say today.”) Some preachers would begin the reading and preaching of the Word with what we call the “Prayer for Illumination.” Let there be light! Enlighten us, O God. Not a bad way to have begun sermon prep too.

Surrounded as we are in sanctuaries filled with artistic expressions of the stories and symbols of faith, there is the art of preaching. Countless books have that very title, and these days so do websites and blogs and podcasts. Most of us have heard our share of artless sermons. And the communication styles preachers have used over the centuries have changed, naturally. We visited a Presbyterian church in Scotland a few years ago, a throwback to a different time, but hanging on. And the sermon was a fifty minute harangue, almost angry words about why Christians should be more joyful in spirit. Fifty. 50 (to be clear). In many American pulpits, with the congregation’s attention span dramatically shortened by electronic media bursts, the Gospel goes “lite,” with mini-sermons of 8 to 12 minutes. In fact, that piece of oratory furniture, the pulpit, is being removed in many sanctuaries so that the preacher/priest can wander about the worship center extemporaneously spouting whatever the Spirit places on her/his heart. Me? Judgey? No, I gave that up for Lent.

I hereby proclaim that preaching is indeed an art. It takes training as any artist is taught, mentored, challenged. It takes imagination and creativity and patience and struggle and texture and color and rhythm and light and truth. And courage! One artist uses fabric, another glass, another sounds. We preachers use words. And then we need to know when to stop.

So, I’ll stop here. For now.

But there’s always tomorrow.