I offer here a history of preaching rhetoric with the hope of encouraging women whose calling is the pulpit. We will explore how women have proven their preaching authority and constructed their sermons across time.
Several months ago, I was invited to preach on Ephesians 5:21–6:9. I was thrilled—finally, there’d be a sermon on this passage that I actually approved of, even if I had to be the one to give it (public speaking is not my thing).
Some of us come from traditions where you don’t ask questions of the text. If you ask questions, that means you are questioning God, and that’s not allowed. I want to expose you to the two typical ways this passage has been understood.
This is the third in our sermon series called “Breaking the Silence,” where we’ve talked about some hard issues, such as mental health, suicide, and now, domestic violence. These three things are somewhat interconnected, and one thing they have in common is that they cross racial, gender, and socioeconomic lines.
Gifts and callings are hand-selected by God, for you, to bless his church and impact the world around you. Yet sometimes, even with this knowledge, we can experience a spirit of fear regarding what God has called us to do.
I recently wrote a book about marriage. It is a mix of personal narrative, cultural commentary, and biblical reflection. As it turns out, you cannot write about marriage from a Christian perspective without addressing texts such as this one.
I recently heard a sermon delivered by Dr. Peter T. Vogt, a professor of Old Testament at Bethel Seminary in Saint Paul, MN. In it, he shared some insights about the story of Naomi and Ruth. With his permission, I have summarized some of them here.
Do you find your daily Bible reading and chat with God one of the great comforts in life? Does their routine and predictability contribute to their consoling quality? Yet, are there occasions when God’s presence pierces through, disturbing the quiet in a startling way? The ancients called such moments “thin places” because the veil concealing God had thinned, making God’s presence sensible to us—an awareness we once enjoyed before sin entered the world.