A man preacheth that sermon only well unto others which preacheth itself in his own soul. And he that doth not feed on and thrive in the digestion of the food which he provides for others will scarce make it savoury unto them; yea, he knows not but that the food he hath provided may be poison, unless he have really tasted of it himself. If the word doth not dwell with power in us, it will not pass with power from us.— John Owen, from The True Nature of a Gospel Church and Its Government
When I graduated from seminary, I braced myself for the worst. I had heard my fair share of ministry horror stories, but, to my surprise, ministry in my first pastorate was a joy. Eager to apply all I had learned, I was busy and active in the church: teaching Sunday school, orchestrating Awana, reforming the church’s finances, and so on.
But the real surprise came not at potlucks, men’s breakfasts, or other church activities; it came in the quiet recesses of my study. As I prepared sermon after sermon, I began to notice that my messages moved beyond people’s heads and penetrated their hearts most often when those messages had first taken root within my own soul. My congregation could tell the difference, and, in time, so could I.
I began to learn from experience that an accurate or well-researched sermon was a long way off from a sermon I had wrestled with, wept over, and carried into the pulpit like a fire that could not be put out. I first had to do the internal work of preaching my sermon to myself before I preached it to my people. It was 17th-century Puritan John Owen who first said, “A man preacheth that sermon only well unto others which preacheth itself in his own soul.” Owen was an influential leader in his time, writing theological texts, serving as Oliver Cromwell’s personal chaplain, and delivering sermons before the British Parliament. But Owen not only preached on England’s national stage; he also pastored local congregations.
Owen is a model to preachers today for many reasons: his gifted rhetoric, his insight into the biblical text, and his ability to move from theological mountaintops to the common terrain of the average Christian. But what sets him apart as an influence in my own ministry is his recognition that his first duty as a pastor was to feed his flock the Word—and to do so, he first had to feed himself.
The importance of preaching the Word to oneself was a topic Owen returned to frequently. In an ordination sermon called “The Duty of a Pastor,” he preached from Jeremiah 3:15: “And I will give you pastors according to mine heart, which shall feed you with knowledge and understanding” (KJV). With all his emphasis on the importance of feeding the flock through proclaiming the Scriptures, Owen stressed the absolute impossibility of this task if pastors do not begin with themselves. Owen observed, “We must labour ourselves to have a thorough knowledge of these mysteries, or we shall be useless to a great part of the church.”
If we enter the pulpit without our souls first having been transformed by the very gospel we intend to share, we will not help our congregations. In fact, we may do harm to those we intend to serve. Owen went so far as to compare messages that hadn’t moved the preacher to “poison,” for unless a pastor “finds the power of it in his own heart, he cannot have any ground of confidence that it will have power in the hearts of others.”
I admit, this is easier said than done. Not every sermon will feel like a fire that cannot be put out. Not every sermon will come from the heart or at least feel like it’s from the heart. I am the first to confess that some Sundays the Word of God hasn’t penetrated my heart as I intended. Perhaps it’s sin. Perhaps it’s distraction. Or perhaps it’s just plain fatigue.
Further, your sermons will not always affect your people in the same way they have affected you. Perhaps that’s due to the people’s sin. Perhaps they are distracted. Or perhaps they, too, are fatigued.
Owen’s prescription for this pastoral reality is not a quick-fix pill; it is a routine, a habit of ministry life. It is the internal work that happens far away from the external actions of ministry: church events, committee meetings, upfront teaching, and leadership. It is a habit that takes time, practice, and, most of all, the grace and power of the Holy Spirit working in and through the Word in our lives over the long haul. Just as nothing aids a Christian’s growth like a lifetime of formation under the preached Word, so too nothing can be substituted for a lifetime of exhortation to one’s own soul.
To truly receive this exhortation week in and week out, we preachers must intentionally become receivers. We must choose to listen attentively and patiently to the Word and the Spirit. Owen knew that, which is why he finished his ordination sermon by reminding his new ordinand that prayer is the pastor’s best friend. Every pastor is to cultivate what Owen calls a “spirit of prayer.”
But the prayer that fills the pastor’s study during sermon preparation is not for the pastor alone. Rather, Owen taught, the pastor is to pray for the congregation. “The more we pray for our people,” said Owen, “the better shall we be instructed what to preach to them.” How right Owen is. As I look back on my years in pastoral ministry, the sermons that flew off the runway with the greatest conviction were those paved with prayers not only for myself but especially for my people.
Pastor, preach the sermon before the sermon. Preach to yourself. Prayerfully receive the instruction and conviction that comes from the Word of God. Then preach to your people. And perhaps, over a lifetime of ministry, your people will be transformed alongside you.
Matthew Barrett is associate professor of Christian theology at Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, executive editor of Credo Magazine, and host of Credo Podcast. His most recent book is None Greater: The Undomesticated Attributes of God(Baker Books).
