One Sentence Sermons

I used to pastor a small, rural church. By small, I mean not unlike many country churches today. On most Sundays we had somewhere between 14 and 25 people — mostly residing in the back few pews. On Easter our numbers would swell to as many as 40 — probably because of the day and the wonderful farm-fresh breakfast that immediately followed the service. The numbers most likely could not be attributed to the quality of the life-changing message that I delivered from the pulpit.

The church took wonderful care of me and my family when I was their pastor: I never lacked for fresh eggs; my daughter “helped” ring the church bell every Sunday, despite the fact that the rope lifted her completely off the ground; the congregation gave me respect and let me know they appreciated me. They gave me everything I could have wanted. Well, almost.