Alive to the Word. Stephen I. Wright

diminishes the proclamation of speech and completely misses the integration and common Trinitarian basis of both.[2]

      As will become clear, I too regard the integration of word and action in Christian mission as absolutely fundamental. But with Van Dyk, I regard it as completely proper to focus at times on Christian speech, provided one makes this necessary integration clear. Indeed, without such a focus, there is a great danger that we will not think adequately or Christianly about a vital aspect not only of our Christian mission but also of our human calling. And without such a focus, this would have to be a book on mission, not on preaching, and the attempt to do some ‘adequate and Christian thinking’ on Christian speech would be aborted.

      Third, I focus on public Christian speech. The word ‘preaching’ is sometimes used loosely to describe (often pejoratively) one-to-one address, whether this be Christian evangelism or some more general kind of (usually unwelcome) exhortation. Again, to encompass such ‘preaching’ in this book would simply cast the net too wide; it would become a book on evangelism in general. On the other hand, I do not want to foreclose debate about what ‘public’ might mean today – when, some might argue, the airwaves and internet are more genuinely ‘public’ space than a church building or even an open square.

      Fourth, I focus on public Christian speech on behalf of the Church. My first three boundaries would still allow the inclusion of (say) a Christian politician arguing a case in Parliament, shaped by Christian principles. Such events, like embodied mission and one-to-one evangelism, are important expressions of Christian witness. Their exclusion from attention here is by no means a denial of that importance, simply a recognition that any subject can get too big for helpful practical learning. By saying ‘on behalf of the Church’ I am not presupposing that the preaching I discuss is necessarily ‘official’, or that it takes place in a church building, or that a specific local congregation or wider Church body is somehow directly engaged with or supportive of it. In view of the rise in electronic media, I am not presupposing, either, that it is always a face-to-face event. This fourth boundary simply indicates that (unlike the case of the Christian politician in Parliament, or the general blogger offering opinions on a range of topics) its purpose is to advance and advocate, in some sense, the knowledge and practice of the faith to which mainstream Christianity bears witness.

      Within these boundaries, however, a rich and broad spread of preaching has been and continues to be embraced. In this part of the book I offer a description that encompasses three central social dynamics of preaching in the past (Chapter 1) and four key functions that it fulfils in the present (Chapter 2). This will be an important prelude to the subsequent Parts in which we will seek to interpret what is going on in preaching, assess its theological significance, and ponder the implications for how we do it.

[1] Osmer, Practical Theology, pp. 31–78.

[2] Leanne Van Dyk, 2009, ‘The Church’s Proclamation as a Participation in God’s Mission’, in Daniel J. Treier and David Lauber (eds), Trinitarian Theology for the Church: Scripture, Community, Worship, Downers Grove, IL Nottingham: InterVarsity Press VP Academic/Apollos, pp. 225–36, here p. 232. Fans of Francis can be reassured that according to Van Dyk, he almost certainly never made the famous comment!

      1

      The Historical Phenomenon of Preaching

Preaching has a rich and varied history. This cannot be recounted here, but in this chapter I want to describe three social settings of preaching which seem together to gather up a very wide range of practices within the boundaries I identified in the introduction to this part of the book. Here and in the next chapter I am considering external phenomena of preaching, the way in which it connects to the world both of Christian activity and secular activity; an ‘internal’ account of how the style and content of preaching have varied and continue to vary is beyond my scope.[1]

      None of these social settings is limited to a particular time or place, but each brings together (with inevitable blurring of differences) movements in preaching that are held together by a common dynamic in relation to the wider society where they are found. History is always a lot messier than our analysis of it, and I am well aware that in presenting these three models I am oversimplifying considerably. Nevertheless, as a broad-brush way of describing the phenomenon of preaching, I find this categorization helpful.

      The first setting is a Christian community, maybe marginal and often small, gathered together in celebration and reinforcement of their identity, while someone – the ‘preacher’ – leads them in the recollection of their story, teaching and encouraging them on the basis of their Scriptures. This setting encompasses groups as diverse as the early Christian house churches, fellowships emerging from the radical Reformation, and the liturgical assemblies of modern Catholicism. The second setting is that of the officially recognized (or at least socially acceptable) Christian church in which a spokesperson has a platform to address not only the congregation immediately gathered but also, to some extent, the wider populace, and in some cases their rulers. Under this umbrella comes the preaching of the Christendom era, whether Catholic, Orthodox or Protestant: an era now on the wane, yet still offering such a platform in many places. The third setting is beyond the physical walls enclosing a gathered community, whether marginal or central. Here are included sometimes unlikely bedfellows such as medieval friars, eighteenth- and nineteenth-century revivalists, and twentieth-century ‘crusade’ evangelists such as Billy Graham or ‘social gospel’ figures such as Donald Soper.

      Community interpretation

      The first setting is that of community interpretation. This is preaching in which the Church is reminded of its identity, taught in the truths of its faith, instructed in discipleship and encouraged in witness. It is focused on those who identify themselves as part of the covenant people of God as he is known in Jesus Christ.

The distinguishing mark of this setting for preaching, which I argue gives it unity despite the diversity of its representatives, is this essential focus on a gathered community of believers. The early examples are the preaching which took place within the worship of the pre-Constantinian Church, when the distinction between ‘Church’ and ‘State’ remained sharp. Congregations might have been small or large, but they were recognizably set apart from the population as a whole. Their need was for teaching which strengthened this sense of a shared story and a distinct calling. Surviving homilies from this period include the striking Passover sermon of Melito of Sardis, underlining (to the extent of some unfortunate anti-Judaism) the separation of Christian identity from Jewish,[2] and the learned exegeses of Origen.[3]

      The dawn of ‘Christendom’ with Constantine’s establishment of Christianity as the official religion of the Roman Empire produced an inevitable change in the focus of preaching. The words spoken in the Christian gathering were immediately more ‘public’ in the sense that their challenge and implications applied not only to a gathered community, but also to the wider polity now being oriented (in theory at least) on Christian lines. Not everyone might in fact be gathered in the basilicas to hear them, but everyone lived under a regime in which these words now represented reigning orthodoxy rather than minority testimony. We will consider the dynamics of such preaching in the next section. I mention the shift here because it explains the interesting differences in time, place and style among the other examples of the ‘community interpretation’ model which I will mention.

First we might cite preaching in a monastic community, such as that which has survived from Bede.[4] Speaking broadly, one might say that as the Church in ‘Christendom’ became