Have We Forgotten the Hard Part of Preaching?

July 16, 2026

Open Bible, notebooks, and books on a wooden desk by a window.

I recently had the opportunity to sit down with Dr. Daniel Overdorf, President of Johnson University and a professor of preaching for more than twenty years. As we talked about homiletics, sermon preparation, and the craft of preaching, I found myself reflecting on a question that every preacher should ask from time to time:

Have we forgotten the hard part of preaching?

Not the public speaking.

Not the illustrations.

Not the PowerPoint slides.

The hard part is immersing ourselves in the biblical text long enough for it to shape us before we ever attempt to shape a sermon.

Daniel described the temptation his students face. They are assigned a text, and almost immediately their minds jump to sermon ideas, outlines, illustrations, and applications. The impulse is understandable. Most of us have done the same thing.

But Daniel tells his students to resist that urge.

First, become an exegete.

Then, become a preacher.

That distinction struck me because I have seen the same tendency in my own preaching. Sometimes we become so focused on preparing a sermon that we neglect to study the Scripture from which the sermon should emerge.

When I taught homiletics, I told students to “roll around in the text like a bee rolls around in a flower until it’s covered with pollen.” The image may sound odd, but the principle is important. Stay in the text. Live in it. Wrestle with it. Let it challenge your assumptions and reshape your thinking.

Only then should you begin constructing a sermon.

The danger is that we develop what Haddon Robinson called the “one big idea” before we truly understand the passage. We decide what we want to say and then search the text for support. Good preaching works in the opposite direction. The text speaks first. The preacher responds.

Daniel emphasized something else I have come to appreciate more with age: clarity matters.

Creative preaching is valuable. Artistic preaching has its place. But if people leave wondering what you were trying to say, creativity has failed its purpose.

The most effective preachers I know can explain profound truths with remarkable clarity.

Finally, we talked about application. Not vague application. Specific application.

Don’t simply tell people to evangelize. Help them picture what faithfulness looks like when they walk into work on Monday morning, attend a family reunion next month, or sit down with a struggling friend.

People remember pictures more than abstractions.

Perhaps that’s why Jesus told so many stories.

I am convinced that the most powerful sermons I’ve heard were never the cleverest. They were the ones that emerged from a preacher who had spent enough time in the text to hear God’s voice before trying to amplify his own — and then applied what the text was saying in vivid pictures.

And maybe that’s the lesson many of us need to revisit.

The hard part of preaching is still the most important part.

I made a promise on this week’s episode of the Better Preaching Podcast, and my mother raised
me to keep my promises. So here it is.


My guest was Ben Cachiaras, who has preached at Mountain Christian Church for nearly thirty
years. We covered a lot of ground including a Mother’s Day sermon featuring a live eagle that
landed on a chandelier and … well … blessed the congregation in a way nobody requested. Ben
no longer preaches with live birds. Some innovations don’t survive the third service.


But the thing I promised to share is far more useful than eagle wrangling. At Mountain, they use
something called a T Doc—a simple planning document where every element starts with the
letter T. It forces the preacher to get clear about a sermon before the rest of the team has to guess.


Here are the T’s, as Ben described them:


Title — What are you calling it? (Mountain preached through Leviticus under the title “Hot
Mess, Holy God,” which is exactly the kind of title that makes me wish I’d thought of it first.)


Time — When is this sermon or series happening?


Talker — Who’s preaching?


Text — Where is this anchored biblically? You may touch several passages, but where’s home
base?


Topic — Is there a specific topic the sermon is addressing?


Theme — In a word or short phrase, what is this about? Repentance? God’s love? Salvation?


Theological concept — A little more room to breathe here. Is this sermon a pat on the back or a
kick in the shorts? Are we afflicting the comfortable or comforting the afflicted?


Takeaway — The big one. In a single sentence, what do we hope people will think, feel, or do
when they walk out?


Why bother? Because, as Ben put it, preaching is an event—and events take a team. When small
groups study alongside the sermon, their leaders need to prepare weeks in advance. When
worship planners are choosing songs, they need to know whether this message lands soft or lands
hard. A T Doc turns the preacher’s fuzzy intentions into something the whole church can build
around.


But here’s the sneaky benefit: the T Doc is a gift to the preacher first. If you can’t fill in the
takeaway line—if you can’t say in one sentence what you’re asking people to think, feel, or
do—you don’t have a sermon yet. You have a pile of notes.


So steal it. Ben won’t mind. Build your own T Doc, hand it to your team, and watch what
happens when everybody’s pulling in the same direction.


Because better preaching makes a bigger impact.

Some pastors close out the year with an elaborate written review—pages of reflection, goals, and
spiritual inventory. Chris VandeLinde is not one of those pastors. By his own admission, his
December plan is Christmas Eve, a nap, family, and a lot of sweets. I respect the honesty.

But this past January, Chris—Lead Pastor of Cornerstone Christian Church in Shiloh, Illinois,
and my guest on this week’s Better Preaching Podcast—sat down and prayed a dangerous prayer:
“Lord, how do you need me to lead differently this year?” He’d just taken some hits in December,
the kind that felt personal and unfair, arriving right through the vulnerable chinks in his armor.
The enemy has good aim.

What God gave him fits on a sticky note, which is still stuck to his desk: thicker skin, softer
heart, tighter lips.

Thicker skin. You signed up for this when you said yes to leading a movement that calls
suffering gain. You cannot let an emotional attack from someone with no investment in your life
cost you two days of ministry. Be Elijah on Mount Carmel, not Elijah whimpering under the
broom tree.

Softer heart. Here’s the trap: thicker skin tends to harden the heart right along with it. Chris
insists those two must never run parallel. As the skin toughens, the heart should be softening
toward the broken, the hurting, and the far-from-God. Even the people pushing hardest against
you aren’t your enemy. God’s got a plan for them too. Ezekiel says He replaces hearts of stone
with hearts of flesh. That surgery is ongoing.

Tighter lips. Chris is a verbal processor. His words, though thirty minutes of conversation
confirmed it. God’s correction was simple: some things you work out with Me, not with an
audience. Not every frustration needs to be shared. Some prayers are meant to stay prayers.

I told Chris this sounds like the title of his first book, and I’m only half joking. It preaches.
Because most of us in ministry get the formula exactly backwards: thin skin that bruises at every
criticism, a hardening heart that keeps people at a distance, and loose lips that process every
wound out loud.

God’s order is better. Toughen up. Tender up. Hush up.

That’ll preach in 2026—and every year after.

There are preachers, and then there are preachers. Wayne B. Smith was the second kind.

Wayne helped start Southland Christian Church in Lexington, Kentucky, in 1956 and served as her senior minister until 1995 — growing the congregation from 152 to 3,700 weekly worshipers. He was, by nearly all accounts, the most popular preacher in the Restoration Movement. They called him “the Bob Hope of the Ministry.” He laughed easily, cried easily, and delivered Kentucky Fried Chicken to poor families at ten o’clock at night. I don’t know another man who wrapped the gospel in a bucket of chicken and made it feel perfectly natural.

But beneath the humor was a man dead serious about one thing: the pulpit.

In 1977, Wayne Smith served as president of the North American Christian Convention. When it was his turn to stand before his fellow ministers and say something worth saying, he chose as his text 2 Timothy 4:1-8, and his message was simply this — Preach the Word.

He structured the sermon around three great themes: the Summons, the Subject, and the Source.

The summons were urgent. He asked the crowd what had happened to the kind of preaching they heard on the Day of Pentecost — the kind that moved across a pagan empire like wildfire. He told the story of men visiting Billy Sunday and asking the secret of his preaching power. Sunday took them to the hotel window, looked down at the people on the sidewalk, and said three times — They are going to Hell. Wayne’s conclusion was simple: “Woe unto me if I preach not the Gospel.“

The subject was Christ — always Christ. He put it plainly: some men say we need a new message, but if that’s true, then we need a new Bible. The message is the same yesterday, today, and forever. The bedrock foundation, the heart and soul of the apostles’ message, was the Son of God — the crucified, buried, resurrected, ascending, reigning, returning Redeemer.

And the source was the Word. Wayne used the image of a healing spring around which a whole town had been built — until the day someone asked where the spring was, and no one could remember. His warning to preachers was clear: under our superstructures and our success, some of us have lost the spring.

Wayne remained faithful to the end, encouraging a gathering of ministers the very day before he died in 2016.

He preached what he believed. He believed what he preached. And he told the rest of us to do the same.

Woe unto us if we don’t.