Suddenly, with a shock of recognition, I saw myself as Raskolnikov. Not murdering exactly, but experimenting with words on paper and parishioners in the congregation, manipulating them in godlike ways to see what I could make happen. Pushing words around on paper to see what effect they might have. Pushing people around in the pews, working for the best combination. Reducing words to their dictionary sense. Reducing people to the value of their pledge. Facility with words and facility with people carry a common danger: the hubris of contemptuous disrespect. (page 60)
It strike me that even the sacred act of preaching can be a subtle attempt to convince people to believe what I believe, to think and to act like I do (or at least to approve of how I think and act), rather than the moment when God speaks by his Spirit, through his Word, to his people, for the sake of his kingdom and their blessing in him.
Contemptuous disrespect: mea culpa.
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