When Stephen Brown came to be the pastor of a new church, the first few months he would routinely say in his sermons, “Now I am not perfect—I sin regularly.” One of the members thanked him for his honesty and Brown replied, “Haven’t the previous pastors made that admission?”
“Yes,” the member said, “but you’re the first one we’ve ever believed!”
A preacher may have an incredible reputation as a spiritual leader, but if there isn’t a humble admission of weakness with it, that preacher will never connect with the audience. The apostle Paul knew this. Remember his transparency when he wrote that he was “the worst of sinners,” or in Romans 7 when he chronicled his struggle between the good he wanted to do and that which he did. That may be why he added the disclaimer in 1 Corinthians 11:1: “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ” (emphasis mine). Paul’s honesty concerning his vulnerability over his weaknesses isn’t a turn off to me; rather it causes me to pay more attention because we have a lot in common. He’s an example because he’s striving to improve.
I believe it’s possible to maintain your integrity and still honestly address your areas of weakness. If one of the inspired New Testament writers did, maybe I can, too.
But how does the preacher know when personal confessions are appropriate or when they cross the line and become detrimental?
Make ’em laugh
A couple of years ago I was preaching on making New Year’s resolutions. In the introduction I shared about our preaching intern who is multi-talented. I said, “Cameron is an excellent communicator, great athlete, and a role model for kids. But I have to tell you I was embarrassed to learn that last Saturday he spent the afternoon at the Government Center in Traffic School because of a speeding ticket he had received. I was especially embarrassed—because he sat next to me!”
The church erupted with laughter at my confession. I went on to inform them that in this class of about 30 other delinquents, I encountered four members from our church that I’d never met personally before. What a great way to get acquainted with my flock!
They enjoyed the honest transparency revealing the ongoing battle with my lead foot. (For many Christians this part of the anatomy is the last to be saved.)
It’s reassuring for a church to know that everyone struggles—including the leaders.
In every sermon I preach there will be a casual reminder of some area of struggle. And often, my confession is funny. Humor gives the congregation some relief and increases their receptiveness to my teaching on a touchy topic. Someone compared humor in preaching with using a rubber sword. It should make a point but not draw blood.
I once began a message on purity by saying, “If you knew all the bad things I’ve done, you wouldn’t come in here to hear me preach.” I then paused and said, “But if we knew all the bad things you’ve ever done—we wouldn’t let you in here!”
Their nodding heads and laughter let me know that the playing field had been leveled by my opening comments.
How much do I reveal?
Preachers are tempted in the same ways as everyone else, and admission of this convinces the listeners that their pastor can relate to their everyday, real-life battles. But what can you say to your congregation about those areas in which you are weak?
Is it a breach of integrity to preach on those topics if the preacher hasn’t mastered them? Is it fair to avoid important subjects that the congregation needs to hear because of the preacher’s own failures? If I answered yes, many important subjects would go unaddressed. As a pastor, I must teach “the whole counsel of God,” even areas where I struggle.
Some areas can be so personal that I feel hypocritical just announcing the topic. Prayer, purity, fasting, and humility may be topics on which I feel like a kindergartener trying to challenge a graduate school class. But do I skip preaching on fasting because I do it rarely? On subjects such as these, the tightrope seems thinner than ever, but I am required to walk it.
Intentionally mentioning personal shortcomings makes the preacher more approachable, but disclosure should be used selectively. The subject matter should be broad so that it is applicable to most people in the room. (Confession of specific, egregious sins has other, more appropriate settings than the Sunday morning worship service.)
The more personal the disclosure, the more risk that accompanies it. Most of the time, I take Paul’s confessions as my model. They were usually general, not specific. He did not say specifically what his thorn in the flesh was, or why people would think him unimpressive when meeting the apostle in person.
If the issue is obedience, I am more likely in a large, mixed crowd to talk about driving 45 miles per hour in a 35 zone than to confess my stewardship struggles or purity issues.
Whatever I choose to confess, honesty is my policy. I say in the message, “This is an area in which I have a long ways to go.”
And I’ve discovered something nearly miraculous can occur as I pour myself into preparing the message. Like me, you may find that God uses your study and learning to strengthen and change you!
Who needs to know?
The setting may determine how vulnerable the preacher should be.
Years ago while speaking at a men’s retreat, I confided that there was a time in my ministry when I chose not to turn on the television in the hotel rooms when I traveled out of town. “Hotels have movie channels that I don’t get at my home,” I explained to these Christian businessmen who travel a lot.
“The reason I didn’t flip on the TV wasn’t because I was so strong a Christian—but because I’m so weak,” I admitted. “I’ve talked to plenty of men whose lives were ruined by slowly lowering the moral standards of what they allowed to come in their eye gate. My refusal was motivated by a fear of where inappropriate viewing could take me.”
Such an admission isn’t easy to make. It implies a weakness and interest in that which is sinful. In a worship setting, I might expect to hear someone whisper, “A preacher shouldn’t have those type of thoughts.” But in that gathering of men, I felt safe saying it and encouraging those men to stand firm. My admission motivated one man to get involved in a support group and another to start an accountability group.
Even where I feel safe making such a confession, I am reminded to choose my words carefully. Our struggles and temptations should be acknowledged, even confessed, but not detailed.
Calvin Miller says, “I really believe that our own suffering makes our sermons very authentic. It’s what you’ve gone through that’s been painful that’s matured you and made you worth hearing. But remember there is a little trick in confessing. The trick is to be careful how far you unzip the viscera in your preaching. You don’t want to get it down so far you can’t get it back up.”
The goal in confession is not simply to show the congregation that we have weaknesses. They know that. The goal is to show our dependence on the Lord because of our weaknesses, and by our growth in some areas, to offer an example.
Too many confessions will raise eyebrows but not the commitment level of the people. Discreet, occasional acknowledgements, if handled delicately, can have a long-term positive impact.
Christ promises that his power is made perfect in our weakness. If our struggles motivate us to rely on him, they can lead to life change, for the church—and even for the preacher.
Dave Stone is preaching associate at Southeast Christian Church, Louisville, Kentucky.
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