Sunday, 31 August 2025

When Preaching Becomes Proof-Texting: A Gentle Critique

 I often find myself unsettled when listening to certain sermons—not out of contempt, but out of sadness. A pattern has become familiar: frame a topic, collect a handful of verses from here and there, and preach on it. It is sincere, sometimes even moving. But something in me recoils, because this way of handling the Word of God feels thinner than it ought to be.

The Problem with Fragmented Preaching

This approach—sometimes called proof-texting—strings together isolated verses to support a theme. The risk is subtle but serious: Scripture begins to sound like a collection of inspirational slogans, rather than the living, breathing story of God’s redemption. A verse plucked out of its setting can easily be made to say what the preacher intends, rather than what the biblical author truly meant.

In the end, the preacher’s agenda risks taking center stage, while God’s Word is reduced to scattered soundbites.

A Chorus of Critiques Through History

This concern is not new. Great voices in the Church have raised the same critique:

  • The Reformers (Luther, Calvin, and others) insisted on lectio continua—the steady, sequential preaching through books of the Bible. This way, the text sets the agenda, not the preacher. John Calvin in particular was relentless in his verse-by-verse expositions, believing that the congregation should hear all of God’s Word, even the difficult parts.

  • The Church Fathers like John Chrysostom modeled expository homilies that walked carefully through passages, opening the riches of the text rather than patching together fragments.

  • Karl Barth, centuries later, warned against reducing preaching to “religious thoughts” sprinkled with Bible references. For him, true preaching was a fresh encounter with God speaking through His Word.

  • Modern preachers and scholars like John Stott, D.A. Carson, and Bryan Chapell echo the same concern: topical preaching too often becomes man-centered, therapeutic, or moralistic—while expository preaching keeps Christ and God’s redemptive story at the center.

The Pastoral Cost

Topical proof-texting also has pastoral consequences. Congregations trained on this diet may come to think of the Bible as a spiritual medicine cabinet—verses pulled out to soothe or fix problems—rather than as the unified story of God’s work in history. This shapes a consumer mindset: “What does the Bible say about my issue?” instead of “What does God want to teach me through His Word?”

The Better Way

Expository preaching offers a healthier alternative. By patiently unfolding the meaning of a passage in its context, the preacher allows God’s Word—not human preference—to shape the message. Over time, this nourishes the church with the full counsel of God and keeps Christ at the center of every sermon.

A Closing Reflection

So my sadness is not simply that sermons are poorly crafted, but that the immense riches of Scripture are being underused. When the Bible is treated as a quarry for sermon material rather than as God’s unfolding story, something precious is lost.

The task of the preacher is not merely to support a topic with verses, but to stand under the Word, letting it speak in its fullness and its fire. Anything less risks leaving God’s people with fragments, when they hunger for the feast.

Monday, 11 August 2025

When Bears Come Running

 


2 Kings 2:23–25

“From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some boys came out of the town and jeered at him. ‘Get out of here, baldy!’ they said. ‘Get out of here, baldy!’ He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the Lord. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the boys.”

At first glance, this feels… intense. I mean, name-calling and boom — bear attack. Is this the ancient equivalent of overreacting to a mean tweet?

But here’s where the irony gives way to reality:

  • These “boys” weren’t innocent toddlers. The Hebrew word na’ar can refer to young men in their teens or twenties — the same term used for soldiers in some passages.

  • Bethel wasn’t just any town. It was the spiritual heart of Israel’s idolatry under Jeroboam — home to a golden calf and a culture that mocked God’s messengers.

  • “Go up, baldy” wasn’t about his hairstyle; it was a taunt for him to disappear like Elijah — implying Elisha wasn’t a true prophet and mocking the miracle that had just occurred.

In short, this was a public, deliberate rejection of God’s authority, not an innocent playground insult. The bears were not a knee-jerk punishment; they were an act of divine judgment on a community that had been shaking its fist at heaven for generations.

The irony? We modern readers stumble over the bears — but in the ancient Near Eastern worldview, the real shock was that anyone would dare mock a prophet of the living God in the first place.

Lesson: Sometimes the fiercest consequences in Scripture aren’t about what we think is a “big deal,” but about what God knows corrodes the soul. The bears just happened to be the delivery system that day.

Friday, 1 August 2025

Life is a Hero's Journey: The Call Beyond Comfort


Life has always been a journey of heroism.
Not the kind plastered on magazine covers
or shouted through movie trailers,
but the quiet, trembling kind—
the kind when a heart hears the whisper: “Come.”

The Hero’s Call

From ancient myths to modern superhero films,
the call to adventure is universal:
leave home, face chaos, return transformed.
Joseph Campbell called it “The Hero’s Journey.”
But long before Campbell, Scripture told it better—revealing heroes defined not by ambition, but by divine summons.

When God Calls

The Bible’s heroes weren’t chasing glory—they were answering God.
Abraham left Ur, trading safety for promise.
Moses left Midian, staff in hand, to confront Pharaoh’s empire.
David left the pasture, sling in hand, to face a giant.
Mary left anonymity, saying yes to bearing the Savior.

Every story begins the same way:
A comfort zone is left behind.
A trembling step is taken into the unknown.
And God meets them there.

The Reverse Hero

But Jesus’ story flips the pattern.
Most heroes rise from nothing to greatness—
Jesus descends from greatness to nothing.
The true King leaves heaven’s throne for earth’s dust.
Trades angels’ praise for human scorn.
He carries not a sword, but a cross.

And it’s that humility—
that descent—
that leads to ultimate victory.

“Though He was in the form of God…
He emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant.”

— Philippians 2:6–7

Our Call Too

Following Him means more than leaving our comfort zones—
it means leaving self.
Choosing downward mobility.
Choosing service over spotlight.
Choosing the cross before the crown.
The adventure isn’t just daring—it’s humbling.
But in the Kingdom,
down is the way up.

Reflection

What “Ur” is God calling you out of?
And what “throne” is He calling you down from?
Could your small yes—even a courageous, trembling one—be the doorway into His greatest story yet?

Tagline:
Every epic begins with a courageous, trembling yes—and often, a humble descent.

A Psalm for the Unknown

 O Lord, You hold back storms I never see, and shield me from snares I never knew. For the mercies I cannot name, teach me to thank You s...

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