“Be not afraid of their faces.” Jeremiah 1:8

The worn spots that had been rubbed unevenly into each side of the pulpit by the old preacher’s trembling hands came strangely into focus. I had been slowly scanning the sanctuary from the chair behind the pulpit, hoping for one last flicker of inspiration before speaking. Chandeliers, wooden pews and other elements typical of the 1950’s church decor had oscillated in and out of my peripheral vision. My eyes, narrowing now on the back of the sacred desk, noticed that forty years of sermons, Bible studies, prayer meetings, announcements, invocations and benedictions had turned the varnish gummy and slightly grimy. Had some persnickety types seen it from my perspective, they might have regarded it as evidence of neglect. Handymen may have made a mental note of a long overdue maintenance project. I saw something more. I saw a poignant testimony to a faithful servant of God, a student of the Word, a man with the call to preach and a burden for the flock. Early on, he bounded up to his preaching post, bursting with energy and passion; much later, he struggled to climb the steps, futilely trying to hide the pain in his knees as he ascended. The thing that didn’t wane over the years was his commitment to duty.

My eyes wandered to the back wall. The clock always let the old preacher know how fast his time was slipping away. Often, just after he broke into a good sweat, the speeding minute hand poured cold water on the hottest of fires; the same hand drug by with interminable slowness for the few teenagers and scattered youngsters held hostage in the pews. My dad always said he didn’t mind if people looked at their watches. He just didn’t like anyone holding them up to their ears to see if the pieces were still ticking. The clock is for the preacher. That’s why it’s on the back wall instead of the front.

The view from the back of the pulpit can be daunting. The traffic. The late-comers. The early-leavers. The bumps-on-logs. The live-wires. The break-away toddlers. The weak-kidneyed multi-trippers, the restroom checker-outers. The door-slammers, note-passers, gum-chewers, picture-admirers, back-scratchers, nose-blowers, compact-viewers, nail-clipperers, window-gazers, light-bulb-counters, day-dreamers, baby-entertainers, homework-finishers, hair-combers, cat-nappers, face-makers, eye-rollers, child-scolders, conversationalists, snorers, fidgeters, readers, doodlers and the entire three-ring circus that a church service can become. While most just see the backs of heads and pews, the old preacher sees all the rest.

That’s not to mention the peeling paint, the smudges of little handprints on the wall, the burned-out bulbs, the wrinkled carpet, the water-stained ceiling tile, the stuck window, the door squeaking on the hinges, the disheveled literature rack, the shredded Kleenex under the front pew and the wilted flowers from last Sunday’s service. And he wonders where the sound man is, why the guitarist is sitting out in the congregation instead of in the orchestra section and why the ushers are talking to each other instead of attending to a visitor’s needs. He agonizes over the prospect of reaching all points on the spectrum: the newcomer, the couple with marriage problems, the discouraged saint, the fired-up new convert and the antsy adolescent, all with the same sermon or Bible study. He knows that some want him to be funny; others want him to be somber. Still others want him to stick to his notes and others yet want him to throw aside his notes and launch out into the spiritual deep. The dilemma’s horns are not built for comfort.

But God giveth more grace. The preacher sees the faces. For every distraction registered in front of the pulpit, from the back of the pulpit God magnifies the faces and amplifies the voices of the spiritually hungry. The eyes welled with tears, the trembling lips, the intercessors anguish, the hand waving in worship, the attentive listener, the revelatory moment of the spiritually enlightened, the prayer warrior, the impassioned heart and the receptive spirit---these sights deliver a greater impact on the preacher than all the chaos put together. God’s amazing filter blocks out the distractions and eq’s the sensitivity of his servant to the spiritual needs that pervade a congregation. That’s why he keeps on preaching through the chaos.

The old preacher has now moved. He no longer sees the church from the back of the pulpit. His body lies in state in front of the pulpit on his funeral day. But, today he sees the church from yet another view---the one above the pulpit. He sees the church that God sees. “That he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish.” Ephesians 5:27.

The preacher’s lifelong challenge was to make his view match God’s view. I think he succeeded.