The
Perfume of Heaven
John
McLarty
Published in Best Practices
The
door of Church of the Advent Hope in Manhattan opens directly on the
sidewalk on 87th Street. On a sunny Sabbath morning in the spring of
1987 I was standing there with a deacon greeting. I noticed a woman
striding our direction from Park Avenue. She was dressed, headed
somewhere to impress someone. As she got closer I could hear heels
clicking on the sidewalk. Then she was past us, gone, pursuing her
morning mission whatever it was. But in her wake, floating on the
air, she left a dazzling, enchanting perfume. Its sweetness and magic
were so powerful I almost ran after her to ask what it was.
I
don't remember what she looked like. I don't remember her age. But
still today thirty years later, I remember the captivating, beckoning
aroma.
We
preachers are like that woman. We make noise in our passing. We aim
to make an impression. Then we are gone, on to the next mission, the
next assignment, the next church. And what people remember most is
the aroma. They recall, sometimes so viscerally they cannot put it
into words, the ineffable spirit that prompts our words and shapes
our lives.
One
practice that I have given increasing attention to in the last two
decades is taking care to always speak respectfully of the sinners I
imagine are absent from my congregations. Several times, I have
spoken with reckless abandon about “evil people” who were not
present in my congregation. Only later to regret my words. Not
because the activities I had condemned were unworthy of condemnation,
but because the people I was speaking of deserved more respect as
persons.
When
I have visited pedophiles and serial murderers in prison, I remember
that I am coming to them as Jesus in the flesh. Of course, their
wickedness is repugnant. Still, I work to keep alive the promise of
redemption and transformation. The challenge for us as preachers is
to demonstrate in the pulpit the same hope and respect we would
instinctively practice if we were meeting sinners face-to-face.
It
can be tempting in our preaching to rip and tear on really evil
people, people are widely scorned. We are certain no one in our
congregation is a pedophile or human trafficker or drug dealer. No
one in our congregation is an atheist or ruthless business executive.
No one in our congregation has had an abortion. And thinking that
none of these people are present we speak with a bluntness and
dismissiveness we would never use face-to-face, not realizing the
atheist we have just mocked is the son of our head elder. The
ruthless businessman we have pilloried is the uncle of our Pathfinder
leader. The pedophile is sitting on the left, third row from the
back. And the woman who had an abortion is sitting fifth row from the
front on the right.
In
our preaching, we must speak clearly. We are called to exalt holiness
and to condemn evil. We are also called to evince love and respect in
every sentence. When our members hear our pastoral concern for
outrageous sinners, they find space in our sermons to hope they, too,
may find grace. Over time, as our sermons give evidence that everyone
is held in our hearts with respect and affection, worship services
will be suffused with the aroma of grace. Our members will be called
back again and again to the pursuit of holiness by the sweet perfume
of our words. The fragrance lingers for decades, beckoning our people
to follow.
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