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The Painter Had Disappeared

Chuck Palahniuk has some brilliant essays on writing-craft over at LitReactor. I’ve read through them all multiple times at this point. Palahniuk is giving advice for writing, but it’s amazing how much of it I’ve applied to myself as a preacher as well. I’ve learned as much (maybe more) about communicating from him as anyone else.

In this essay, he is making the point that when the author (painter in this case) applies his craft well, he disappears (I’ll give some counterpoint to that in the next post). I would add that the same is the case for a good sermon – the preacher disappears:

Another Christmas window story. Almost every morning, I eat breakfast in the same diner, and this morning a man was painting the windows with Christmas designs. Snowmen. Snowflakes. Bells. Santa Claus. He stood outside on the sidewalk, painting in the freezing cold, his breath steaming, alternating brushes and rollers with different colors of paint. Inside the diner, the customers and servers watched as he layered red and white and blue paint on the outside of the big windows. Behind him the rain changed to snow, falling sideways in the wind. The painter’s hair was all different colors of gray, and his face was slack and wrinkled as the empty ass of his jeans. Between colors, he’d stop to drink something out of a paper cup.

Watching him from inside, eating eggs and toast, somebody said it was sad. This customer said the man was probably a failed artist. It was probably whiskey in the cup. He probably had a studio full of failed paintings and now made his living decorating cheesy restaurant and grocery store windows. Just sad, sad, sad.

This painter guy kept putting up the colors. All the white “snow,” first. Then some fields of red and green. Then some black outlines that made the color shapes into Xmas stockings and trees. A server walked around, pouring coffee for people, and said, “That’s so neat. I wish I could do that…”

And whether we envied or pitied this guy in the cold, he kept painting. Adding details and layers of color. And I’m not sure when it happened, but at some moment he wasn’t there. The pictures themselves were so rich, they filled the windows so well, the colors so bright, that the painter had left. Whether he was a failure or a hero. He’d
disappeared, gone off to wherever, and all we were seeing was his work.

From Chuck Palahniuk’s essay, Thirteen Writing Tips

Finding a Theme that Gets to the Heart of What was Lost

I recently spoke with a (pastor) friend who told me about a fascinating talk he had heard in person given by an attorney named Morris Dees (of the Southern Poverty Law Center). There is a version of the talk available online HERE. Politics aside, the talk is very helpful.

In it, he makes the point that the job of an attorney is not simply to present facts. Rather, he says, the job of the attorney is to present a compelling story. In order to do this well, the attorney must crystallize that narrative into one clear, compelling statement – a theme.

He further makes the point that the main point of the theme must get ‘to the heart’ of what was lost in the case. He gives an example of what this looks like: a mentally challenged African American man named Billy Ray Johnson was beaten and severely injured at a party in or near his east Texas hometown. As a result of this beating, Billy Ray became physically disabled. The perpetrators of the crime were basically given a slap on the wrist by local authorities.

Dees took up Billy Ray’s civil case, seeking a large amount of money for his injuries. The problem – how could he get a jury in east Texas to give a large sum of money to a man who was already mentally handicapped, had no education, and had essentially no earning power to begin with? What did the man really lose?

After interviewing multiple people that knew Billy Ray, Dees and his team pulled together a common theme that Billy Ray loved to go to parties and dance. In fact, the only picture of him (before the accident) that they were able to find showed Billy Ray standing next to a jukebox. From this, Dees set forth a theme for the case: Billy Ray can’t dance. Witness after witness testified that the one thing Billy Ray truly loved to do was dance – and that his assailants had taken away his ability to do the one thing he truly loved. This argument won the case for Billy Ray, and he was awarded around $11.5 million for damages and future care.

Again, politics aside, though he never intended it for this, Dees’ point about themes is helpful for Christian preachers, and Christians in general. Any sermon, or evangelistic presentation, should have a compelling theme, and more times than not that theme should get at the heart of something significant that has been lost.

As a preacher, I should always be looking for a compelling theme in my text; and I should be asking how that theme points to the heart of our condition as fallen people. This ultimately will allow the preacher to apply the gospel of Jesus Christ poignantly to the lost condition of man in a very clear way. Too often we dance around a text, making points here and there, giving commentary or insights or applications on various verses throughout a passage. But do we develop a compelling theme? This is precisely what men like Martyn Lloyd-Jones and Haddon Robinson have called upon preachers to do. And is this theme compelling in a way that it speaks to the heart of man’s condition?

And this theme, says Dees, should do more than present facts. It should present a narrative. Now I recently spent a lot of time studying what has been deemed ‘narrative preaching’ and have found much of it to be atrocious. However, we must remember that the ‘dogma’ of Christianity is really a ‘drama’ (to quote Dorothy Sayers). Our message revolves around a real-life, dramatic story centering upon the person and work of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Our own stories must intersect with the story of Christ. In this day and age arguing for the fact of the resurrection is not enough – we must present Christ not just as fact, but as the ultimate centerpiece of the story of the universe, and the very heart of what man must gain if he is to recover what was lost. We have lost fellowship with God; we have become the villains and rebels of the great cosmic drama, and God has entered the story that he might reconcile us with himself.

I know that most of my readers are not preachers; but most of you are Christians; so let me apply this. When you are dealing with an unbelieving coworker, friend, family member, etc. and desire to see them come to the Lord, do not simply worry about stating facts. You must state facts, but that is likely not all. Be sure to present your facts around a compelling theme that gets to the heart of what your friend has lost. That theme will always end up terminating on the person and work of Christ, but it will be slightly different in each case, depending on the needs of the person you are dealing with. What loss have they experienced that cuts the deepest? It’s not that they literally can’t dance, but there is some form of alienation that they feel, some wound that is out in the open that needs to be addressed. Show them that they can’t dance, and show them that, and how, in Christ, they can.

Always Learning

One thing that is always with the writer – no matter how long he has written or how good he is – is the continuing process of learning how to write. As soon as the writer ‘learns to write,’ as soon as he knows what he is going to find, and discovers a way to say what he knew all along, or worse still, a way to say nothing, he is finished.

-Flannery O’Connor, The Nature and Aim of Fiction, from Mystery and Manners, p.83

It’s interesting to me that so much of what Ms. O’Connor says about writing is applicable to preaching. You never really have it figured out. You are always learning. I suppose that could apply to almost anything that involves the intellect, imagination, and/or creativity in general.

Ministering Before Idols

  • Ezekiel 44:12 Because they ministered to them before their idols and became a stumbling block of iniquity to the house of Israel, therefore I have sworn concerning them, declares the Lord GOD, and they shall bear their punishment.

Do we minister to the people before their idols? This means that we share their idols. It means that we are either in willful rebellion or that we are oblivious to our shared idolatry.

Matthew Henry comments,

Those who have been treacherous are degraded and put lower those Levites—or priests who were carried down the stream of the apostasy of Israel formerly, who went astray from God after their idols (v. 10), who had complied with the idolatrous kings of Israel or Judah, who ministered to them before their idols (v. 12), bowed with them in the house of Rimmon, or set up altars for them, as Urijah did for Ahaz, and so caused the house of Israel to fall into iniquity, led them to sin and hardened them in sin; for, if the priests go astray, many will follow their pernicious ways.


In my mind, I saw three things as I read this verse today: 1) A mega-church preacher standing in front of a plasma screen, 2) a health and wealth preacher standing in front of a million dollar stage setup, an 3) I’ll leave you to guess at the other one…

The good news is that Christ too ministers before our idols; but, rather than endorsing them, he tears them down and replaces them. He is our true Icon (Col. 1:15).

Image from stuffchristianculturelikes.com

On Killing Adjectives and Thought Verbs

After listening to one of my sermons, a good friend pointed me to an article by Chuck Palahniuk on Thought Verbs (hence my current binging on Palahniuk’s books). The application to my own preaching was clear.

For example, Palahniuk writes,

Thinking is abstract.  Knowing and believing are intangible.  Your story will always be stronger if you just show the physical actions and details of your characters and allow your reader to do the thinking and knowing.  And loving and hating.

Don’t tell your reader:  “Lisa hated Tom.”

Instead, make your case like a lawyer in court, detail by detail.  Present each piece of evidence.  For example:

“During role call, in the breath after the teacher said Tom’s name, in that moment before he could answer, right then, Lisa would whisper-shout: ‘Butt Wipe,” just as Tom was saying, ‘Here’.”

Another example:

From this point forward – at least for the next half year – you may not use “thought” verbs.  These include:  Thinks, Knows, Understands, Realizes, Believes, Wants, Remembers, Imagines, Desires, and a hundred others you love to use.

The list should also include:  Loves and Hates.

And it should include:  Is and Has, but we’ll get to those, later.

Until some time around Christmas, you can’t write:  Kenny wondered if Monica didn’t like him going out at night…”

Instead, you’ll have to Un-pack that to something like:  “The mornings after Kenny had stayed out, beyond the last bus, until he’d had to bum a ride or pay for a cab and got home to find Monica faking sleep, faking because she never slept that quiet, those mornings, she’d only put her own cup of coffee in the microwave.  Never his.”

Instead of characters knowing anything, you must now present the details that allow the reader to know them.  Instead of a character wanting something, you must now describe the thing so that the reader wants it.

All this reminded me of something I had read from C.S. Lewis regarding adjectives. Lewis writes,

Don’t use adjectives which merely tell us how you want us to feel about the things you are describing. I mean, instead of telling us the thing is “terrible,” describe it so that we’ll be terrified. Don’t say it was “delightful”; make us say “delightful” when we’ve read the description. You see, all those words (horrifying, wonderful, hideous, exquisite) are only like saying to your readers “Please, will you do my job for me.” (Letters to Children, p. 64)

The application is simple for the writer and the preacher. Stop simply telling and start showing.

In a college literature class I got into a (friendly) kerfuffle with a professor over Jonathan Edwards’ sermon Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. He said it was graphic to the point of being unhelpful. I said Edwards was doing precisely what Lewis and Palahniuk are talking about. That was a great part of the effectiveness of Edwards’ preaching. He was relentlessly imaginative and descriptive. The two go hand in hand after all. Palahniuk gives examples for the writer, let me share a few for the preacher.

Instead of saying, ‘God is sovereign,’ say something like, ‘all the inhabitants of the earth are accounted as nothing, and he does according to his will among the host of heaven and among the inhabitants of the earth; and none can stay his hand or say to him, “What have you done?”‘

Instead of saying, as I’ve heard so many preachers say, ‘The correct response is faith,’ say, ‘Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory.’

I heard a preacher dealing with Exodus say, ‘You cannot be a Christian and live like an Egyptian.’ Wouldn’t it be better to show us what an Egyptian looks like rather than simply making the assertion? Thomas Watson described them this way: ‘The Egyptians were not a warlike but a womanish people, imbecilic and weak, yet these were too hard for Israel and made a spoil of her.’ That says a lot more about what we are not to be.

One of my great problems as a preacher and a writer is that I tend to unpack the things that don’t need unpacking while failing to unpack the things that actually need it. If you have similar issues, perhaps it’s time to work on killing thought-verbs and adjectives.