This week I’m at one of our wives’ conferences and I’m taking a short seminar on giving a bible talk. To be honest, this is not something we talk enough about. Sure, our key priority is to get the passage right. But whilst bad exegesis cannot be corrected by good delivery, good exegesis can be seriously undermined by poor speaking. On the PT Cornhill training course, we devote time to this – including questions of introduction, structure, application and so on.
In my short seminar I don’t really have time to develop these ideas in great detail so over the years I’ve developed an extended metaphor to help teach some basic delivery and construction skills. The metaphor is that the Bible speaker is a long haul pilot. British Airways have played right into my hands with their new advert – so this approach is now called “To fly to serve”.
I’m going to spend a few days showing you my seminar – not because you, Mr Preacher, probably need it. But you may – I trust – find it helpful as you train men and women in your church to give good Bible talks and occasionally to preach.
There are four steps.

Step 1 is to know your destination. In many ways, this is the exegesis part. The pilot’s task is to know where the plane is scheduled for and to take the passengers there safely. A preacher or Bible teacher is not a stunt pilot – there to show off his tricks. Nor is he a combat pilot – out to shoot down whatever enemies hove into sight. He has a flight plan and must stick to it. And he has to take his passengers to the appropriate destination safely and smoothly.
And the pilot is employed by the airline. Put it like this: the pilot doesn’t load up the plane and then say “right, where shall we go?” No. The text in the talk determines the destination, and so step 1 of giving a Bible talk is to understand the text to understand the destination. This is what we normally call our exegesis work – understanding the text and, fundamentally, understanding what the text is about.
Only once this is known can the pilot plan his flight and load his plane.

This year I’ve returned to an old favourite in my morning devotions – Don Carson’s two volumes For the love of God. I say two volumes, but I’m only using one at a time. Based on McCheyne’s Bible reading programme I’ve been gripped afresh by the Donster’s insightful comments. I really believe these are a great gift for any thinking Christian and can even act as a kind of simple two volume Bible commentary.

These days, you get a daily feed live from The Gospel Coalition blog. I use them in Logos Bible software where they’re £12 each. For a while I think there were free copies knocking around the Interweb, but I’m not sure whether they were legit or not. There’s also an iOS app, though mine stopped working with the last iOS update. I’m glad to report that it seems to be back up and working – my favourite part of it is that when it opens it says “DA Carson would like to send you notifications.” The app is slightly annoying because it’s always a day behind (as with TGC blog).

However you read it, this is a great resource which, despite its age, stands the test of time and is worth recommending to your church.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about post sermon blues and my own struggles in this area. But the truth is that my preaching crises are not limited to after the sermon. And for me, Friday’s are the days that bite. That’s partly because I used – as a regular joe-pastor – to have Saturday off. Friday was the last full working day on my sermon(s). I would often wake early on Friday worrying things around in my head like a dog worries a bone.

I was saved from this particular Friday feeling by listening to a sermon from the US by CJ Mahaney where he confessed his own struggles with Saturday night feelings (I was much ahead feeling this way on a Friday!). This is the same feeling that makes a preacher go over and over his sermon on Saturday night (and Sunday morning), never satisfied with it.

I found, purely by experience, that a sermon reworked on a Sunday morning was virtually never improved. Indeed, quite the opposite. Thoughts that had been clearly gathered and arranged over the course of several days cannot – generally speaking – suffer the rearrangement half hour that Sunday tinkering brings.

But the issue goes deeper. For my Friday crises (and Saturday and Sunday crises) reveal a lack of confidence in the Spirit of God to do the work of God. If I have prayerfully and carefully prepared, I need to be able to place my sermon before the Lord and commit it to him. He will do what he will do. Sometimes (and you may think this is stupid, but it helped) I would even physically lay out my manuscript on the desk a bit like Hezekiah. I am the workman, nothing more. I do my work. I plant. I water. Sure, but God gives the growth and this truth and this truth alone saved me from the Friday feeling.

There are two new editions of The Proclamation Bible out catering for rather different ends of the markets.

First, there’s an RL Allan Bibles version. Allan almost certainly make the most beautiful Bibles I’ve seen – each is handcrafted with the finest materials. Allan buy the blocks (the inside pages) from publishers and then bind them in finest cow or goat or cat or something. The end result is great to hold – a real tactile Bible. My preaching Bible is an Allan Bible and The Proclamation Bible is a great addition to their range. Quality of this kind does not come cheap, however – yours for £140.

At the other end of the scale, Hodder have now produced a compact edition. At the moment, both the standard and leather bound edition (both wide margin) are hefty beasts; good for the desk or pulpit, but requiring their own baggage allowance. Now, however, there’s going to be a carry-on version. Same page count but in a smaller version. Hoorah. Out in time for the EMA. And £22.99 (probably discounted too) is a lot more manageable.

There’s also a mobile version available through the Olive Tree Bible app. At just $9.99, this is the cheapest way to access the material.

Tom Forryan (Watford) has written a brief but kind review of Teaching 2 Timothy in this month’s EN. He’s perfectly understood what we’re trying to do with our Teaching books and, whatever your level of preaching or teaching, you should find them both accessible and useful.

“Jonathan Griffiths, a tutor on the Cornhill Training Course, has contributed a particularly helpful title. In a short and readable book, he does most of the things a good commentary would do, and more besides. As well as tackling questions such as authorship and date, there are brief notes on each verse and in addition the theme and aim of each passage is identified. There are thoughts on links to contemporary issues and, most usefully, on the message for us today. Griffiths suggests that Paul originally wrote with two readerships in mind, Timothy and the church. So for most of the sections he suggests two different applications – for the church leader and for the believer. Then there are sermon outlines and discussion questions. Anyone wanting to preach through 2 Timothy or lead a study group would find excellent help here.

“Why tackle 2 Timothy? Griffiths gives us nine good reasons and here is one of them: ‘It reminds us why the gospel (and gospel ministry) matters. Paul has a consistently eternal perspective throughout the letter and he casts all his teaching about ministry in the light of eternity. How we and our church families need to be reminded that the gospel really is a matter of life and death!’”

Buy here from tenofthose.com.

Well, it was a good two weeks in Asia, but can I just say that India is not the place to be when your cricket team are doing so disastrously in the World Cup. A large chunk of the population here live and breath cricket and want to remind you constantly about your team’s poor performance.

But not everybody.

India, like many places, is complex. Take sport for example. The national sport of India, anybody?

That’s right: field hockey. A sport that is relatively elite. Cricket is much more evenly spread. Football is increasingly popular. In villages, local sports often dominate. India has also produced some top tennis players – grand slam winners mixed doubles pair Mahesh Bhupati and Sania Mirza, but, again, this is an elite sport. India is a large country made up of – in effect – many different nations and religions. Sporting interest often follows some of those lines.

In short things are complex. British preachers often come here and think that if they use cricketing illustrations, they will win over congregations. Not true. It’s simply playing to a stereotype. Like most places in the world, culture here is complex.

Which brings me my home congregation. I want to make my preaching culturally accessible and relevant – that is part of the key work of a preacher as he ‘lands’ the sermon. However, sweeping generalisations about church congregations generally will not do.

Rather, there is no alternative to a settled long-term ministry in which the preacher gets to know and love his congregation and is able to preach to them as his own people. Even in complex cultures, this is the ministry that counts.

I’ve been leading a small Cornhill missions team this last week. We’ve been abroad somewhere hot and somewhere increasingly difficult to be a Christian. It’s probably not appropriate for me to say where (or necessary, even) because I don’t want to put believers at risk. But, as ever, my heart has been stirred and my faith has been challenged by being with believers from a different culture. For sure, other cultures have their blind spots – and they are painfully obvious. But, more to the point, being with Christians in another culture allows us to see our own blind spots more clearly. And it’s this I want to write about this week.

We need to stop wallowing in self-pity. Period.

We have this rather curious notion that Christians in the UK are being persecuted. I just want to say: can we not call it that, please? It is undoubtedly harder to be a Christian in the UK than it has been for some time. But we are not being persecuted. Not really. To claim that we are does a great disservice to brothers and sisters around the world for whom daily persecution and facing death all day long is a reality.

The trouble is that when we convince ourselves that our persecution is real and deep, our reaction is to wallow in self pity. And that’s ugly. I have met several pastors here for whom church burning, threat of death and family reprisals are a reality. The one thing you never see in them is self-pity. I see all kinds of reactions and emotions, but – on the whole – these are godly and honourable. They don’t even ask to pray that persecution would stop: rather that they would endure (a lesson for every church prayer meeting back home!). Having to change the way we run our B&B seems rather inconsequential in comparison.

Perhaps I am being too harsh. I am not suffering back home, and there are some whose very livelihoods are on the line. So forgive me if I have spoken out of turn. Nevertheless, there is a kind of persecution complex that we all rather like and embrace. As long as it’s not too dangerous that is. It gives us the chance to be the centre of attention for once. Never mind brothers and sisters around the world.

As if our troubles are anything in comparison.

As if.

I’ve been leading a small Cornhill missions team this last week. We’ve been abroad somewhere hot and somewhere increasingly difficult to be a Christian. It’s probably not appropriate for me to say where (or necessary, even) because I don’t want to put believers at risk. But, as ever, my heart has been stirred and my faith has been challenged by being with believers from a different culture. For sure, other cultures have their blind spots – and they are painfully obvious. But, more to the point, being with Christians in another culture allows us to see our own blind spots more clearly. And it’s this I want to write about this week.

Colonial rule is a difficult thing to get your head around. At one level, you can always find things about it that were good; but you can always find things about it that were bad. Take Christianity. Colonial rule here opened a door for the gospel of which much was made, and there continues to be a harvest from works and efforts started 150 and 200 years ago. Good. But Christianity still carries the stigma of a western religion and, worse, the religion of the colonisers. That hinders the gospel as much as other things prosper it. In some places in this country, Christianity is profoundly un-national.

In broader terms, I’m embarrassed by our colonial past. Try as we might to make something of it (“it gave the country a decent judicial system”), the overall defence is not convincing. Worse still it is often something to be ashamed of. Thankfully Christians are forgiving and accepting. Many have long memories, often stretching back generations, but they do not hold grudges against individuals and we are warmly welcome. But with those who are not believers it’s another matter altogether. And so I’m convinced that continued western investment needs to be in local Christian people to raise up local leaders who will lead local movements. For example, I am increasingly convinced that there is more merit in a Western leader coming somewhere like this and spending a week with just ONE local leader, than speaking a conference for hundreds of pastors.

That’s a different kind of investment model that many churches (or their missions budgets) would be comfortable with. But I’m sure it has merit and needs some consideration. It also does away with the myth that we have all the answers to every situation.

Which is only another kind of colonialism really.

I’ve been leading a small Cornhill missions team this last week. We’ve been abroad somewhere hot and somewhere increasingly difficult to be a Christian. It’s probably not appropriate for me to say where (or necessary, even) because I don’t want to put believers at risk. But, as ever, my heart has been stirred and my faith has been challenged by being with believers from a different culture. For sure, other cultures have their blind spots – and they are painfully obvious. But, more to the point, being with Christians in another culture allows us to see our own blind spots more clearly. And it’s this I want to write about this week.

Prayer. I read just last week that the great tragedy of the western church was the declining church prayer meeting. There’s some truth there. The church where I minister was founded on a deep commitment to corporate prayer where Saturday night prayer meetings often attracted 1,000 plus. Today’s church prayer meetings are puny in comparison. I’m thinking about this having attended an all night prayer meeting. Our immediate reaction to such an event is that it is totally unnecessary: a typical piece of Asian enthusiasm which smacks of a kind of repulsive self-righteousness.

There may be some truth in the stereotype, but it is largely unfair and unfounded. There are also some precedents for all night prayer (think about it!). More basically, Christians here have a deep commitment to prayer and on waiting on God in prayer. I can’t pretend that all the prayers were theologically robust. That’s to be expected when young Christians pray! Nevertheless, the spirit of prayer was extraordinary. And this same spirit seems to apply to all walks of life. Nothing is beyond prayer. People are always thanking God.

I don’t think we’ll ever really get people praying in the UK and the west until they feel the need to pray. It can never be a duty – or if it is, will scarcely move beyond the momentary. What this means, in practice, is that we need to feel our poverty more. We need to feel our spiritual poverty more, we need to feel our evangelistic poverty more, we need to feel our effectual poverty more – but most fundamentally we need to feel the poverty of our walk with Christ. I’m sure that until we’re shaken out of our mediocrity, prayer will always be an after thought. Do we dare pray, therefore, for a spirit of supplication ( ). I’m not at all sure that such a prayer answered would not come with a refining time for the church which causes us to throw ourselves at God’s throne.

And perhaps that’s no bad thing.

I’ve been leading a small Cornhill missions team this last week. We’ve been abroad somewhere hot and somewhere increasingly difficult to be a Christian. It’s probably not appropriate for me to say where (or necessary, even) because I don’t want to put believers at risk. But, as ever, my heart has been stirred and my faith has been challenged by being with believers from a different culture. For sure, other cultures have their blind spots – and they are painfully obvious. But, more to the point, being with Christians in another culture allows us to see our own blind spots more clearly. And it’s this I want to write about this week.

I notice here that when people speak about their faith, they are quick to acknowledge that salvation is a remarkable miracle. Not everyone is saved from a heathen background. Many people have similar testimonies to those back home – raised in Christian or nominal Christian homes, a history of Sunday School and Bible class. And yet, nearly everyone I meet talks about their salvation with a deep sense of gratitude to God and a realisation that he has worked a mighty work.

It made me conscious of the rather ordinary view of salvation I sometimes hold. I have lost a sense of wonder and marvel that, though I was dead in my transgressions and sins, Christ died for me and made me his. The particular church I’m in sing quite a few Victorian US hymns: at one level these are quite quaint and it’s possible to long for the deeper and richer theology of a Toplady or a Watts. But on the other, they express a wonder and delight at salvation that we have sometimes lost. “Blessed assurance” and “Count your blessings” and “What can wash away my sins” all capture something of this wonder.

We can be, I guess, in great danger of being far too cerebral about our salvation. We understand what God has done for us in Christ, but do we really feel it? Does it thrill our souls like it used to (if it ever did?). I’m deeply convicted about this. And I’m thinking through how I can encourage my people back home to feel again this renewed sense of wonder and awe at the miracle of salvation.