Before Writing a Sermon

It's like this every time: the night before my sermon writing day, some part of my dream involves the upcoming sermon. It's not a nightmare, but it's often disquieting.

In last night's dream, I was called on to deliver a sermon to a full room of unfamiliar folks. I was surprised to see so many African Americans in the congregation: groups of men in dark suits and ties; women wearing large, beautiful hats. Some were accompanied by young children, smartly outfitted in their Sunday best, holding their mothers' hands. Everyone seemed expectant.

When I rose to speak, a hand held microphone carried my voice out into the room, but it sounded muffled. I felt comfortable as I began, until I realized that I had not written a sermon! Before panic set in, I decided I would try something new: I would walk out into the congregation and engage in a conversation with people. I would ask people what they thought was the nature of trust, what destroys trust, what might rebuild it.

This turned out to be a less than sterling approach. People were obviously disappointed--shaking their heads and tsking. Hadn't it been my responsibility to wrestle with these questions and bring forward some thoughtful answers? Still shaking their heads, people rose from their seats and left to attend a gathering outside. I woke with the question: where is God in this?

I realize that last night's dream has the hallmarks of a standard, performance anxiety dream, and I'm grateful (on some level) that I take my responsibility seriously enough to dream about it. What is new is the upon-waking question: where is God in this--in my anxiety, in my sense of accountability, in my dreaming and my waking? I trust I'll find some answers in the writing...