Abstract
Walking onto the grounds of Princeton Theological Seminary for the first time in 2010, the awe inspired by the buildings and grounds was as palpable as my quickening heartbeat. I was there for the seminary’s Visitors’ Day for prospective PhD candidates. Included in the two-day event was an interview with three professors, one of whom was the Rev. Dr. James F. Kay. His smile disarmed me first, then his voice. “Why, hello,” he intoned, his eyes twinkling as if greeting an old friend, “Come on in. What a pleasure to meet you!” He gestured to a chair at the side of his desk. I sat, growing more at ease by the moment, as his graciousness warmed the air between us. Details of that conversation are hazy, but the impression remains sharply in memory's focus. Jim Kay was keenly interested in my musical background; he was also energized by recounting the history of the organ in Miller Chapel. His voice, a few decibels above a mellifluous whisper, could easily have been one of the organ's stops, as he gave me a verbal tour of the organ's beginnings, and its reconstruction. Music, preaching, and worship provided a bond for us that day as the half hour spent with Dean Kay affirmed there was a place for me and my scholarship at Princeton Theological Seminary. It also affirmed that the music and worship of the church were of great importance to the study of theology and all its subdisciplines, particularly homiletics.
Each of us honoring Jim Kay in this issue has our own unique vantage point from which we perceive him. Mine happens to be through the lens of a church musician who believes that in corporate Christian worship, proclamation of God's Word occurs from the prelude to the postlude and everything between. In this article I ground my understanding of proclamation in Kay's writing, as I acknowledge his Reformed understanding of the Word of God that gives primacy to preaching in worship. Along with Kay, I press for a more expansive approach to preaching in worship. This approach finds its warrants in the theological model of Heb 1:1 and the diversity within the canon of biblical writings. I also vouch for the benefits of fashioning liturgy with proclamation in mind, ending with an extant example of such design, based on a service held in Miller Chapel, where Dean Kay was the preacher.
Proclamation in this article indicates spreading the good news of God in Christ through any effective means of communication. In his entry in the New Interpreter's Handbook of Preaching, Kay points us to the etymologies—Latin proclamatio and Greek kerysso—of our English word. Proclamation indicates messengers, heralds, or sent ones who declare or announce a message originating with a sender of substantial importance. The ancient image of “a herald dispatched ahead of the royal entourage to proclaim the monarch's mandates or to announce the sovereign's imminent arrival” 1 may be a stretch for the contemporary imagination. However, the messages announced or declared in New Testament writings are described as “euangelion, that is, as ‘good news’ or ‘gospel.’” Kay sees such proclamation as significant, timely, even urgent; “it matters for the good of the hearers and for the good of the world.” 2
Our Protestant liturgical legacy has predisposed us to hearing this good news proclaimed exclusively or primarily through the sermon that follows the reading of Scripture. In her condensed overview of liturgical history, Sally A. Brown traces the pendulum swing from worship where both Word and Table proclaimed God's good news to the extreme where the Table mattered almost exclusively; the Word was given short shrift. Thus, asserting the primacy of the Word in worship was intrinsic to the work of the Reformers. Brown notes, “the ultimate effect of the Reformers’ efforts was to throw worship out of balance in the other direction. Protestant services of worship became largely preaching events. The effects of this overbalance toward the pulpit instead of the table can still be detected in the worship patterns of many Protestant churches, especially in North America.” 3
Melva Costen Wilson corroborates this liturgical shift as she explains the high esteem for the preached word in African American Christian Worship: “‘Is there a word from the Lord?’ This question which was embedded in the souls of the slaves, continues with African American worshipers. For some, all of the other elements are preliminary to the preached word.” 4 Similar liturgical values apply in many Hispanic congregations, where preaching is expected at every gathering. Justo González informs us, “Hispanic Protestants have taken the Reformation's emphasis on the preaching of the word to the point that there can hardly be a service—sometimes even those advertised as ‘prayer services’—without preaching—or at least a brief homily.” 5 As I have heard so often, some readers may have heard the sermon introduced by a worship leader who announced, “and now we come to the most important part of the service, the preached word!” This value of the primacy of pulpit speech runs deep in Protestant traditions across the spectrum, from mainline to free church. Yet if we study closely our liturgies, scripted or informal, will we not find the Word of God threaded all the way through?
In his discussion of the Reformed understanding of the Threefold Word of God—the Word of God as the Incarnate Word, Jesus Christ, the Word of God as Scripture, and the Word of God and Preaching—Kay references Edward Dowey's “expansive definition of preaching” as a launching point. Reflecting on Dowey's definition, Kay reminds us preaching is not restricted to pulpit speech: “In its broadest sense preaching is everything the church says and does in proclaiming the gospel. As a multidimensional practice, preaching embraces pastoral care, catechesis, and church discipline. Thus, in its broadest sense, preaching here is more than sermonic discourse; it is the comprehensive proclamation and announcement of the Christian message in word and act.” 6 Tom Long echoes this homiletical theology when he reminds us, “The whole church proclaims the gospel, and the preaching of sermons is but one part of this larger ministry. So when a preacher stands in the pulpit, reads the Scripture, and preaches the sermon, this action is but another form of the one common ministry to which the whole church is called.” 7 I can almost hear some readers despairing that if preaching is everything the church says and does in proclaiming the gospel then doesn’t that notion diminish or dilute the sacred value of the pulpit? Why go through the trouble at all to study Hebrew and Greek languages, hermeneutics, and biblical criticism, why bother to take classes in speech and preaching if the sermonic event does not bear the full or primary import of proclaiming the Word of God? My knee-jerk response would be that if human vocality were all God had to count on to make God's Word known, God would be up a creek without a paddle more Sundays than we imperfect messengers would care to acknowledge. My more reasoned response would be to point to the diversity found in Divine means of communicating with us. We have a theological model that invites us into a wider view of our work as proclaimers.
Kay reminds us that our work as preachers is to declare a divine message, relevant, significant, and urgent for our times. 8 This weighty responsibility warrants the expansive methods of dissemination God uses to reach humankind. Hebrews 1:1 indicates God's Word comes to us “in many and various ways” (NRSV). Educators may rightly connect such homiletical theology with Howard Gardner's concept of “multiple intelligences.” We hear and process information in multiple ways, through multiple sensory and mental faculties. God, who fashioned us, understands our epistemological diversity. Ancient Hebrew prophets received and proclaimed God's Word in many and various ways, including visions, dreams, parables, pantomimes, and object lessons. The psalmist calls our attention to the eloquence of nature—the heavens, the firmament, the cycles of day and night—all employed as divine messengers proclaiming the glory of God in many and various ways. 9 The writer of Hebrews and the writer of the Gospel of John both point to that ultimate Word of God who became flesh. 10 This theological gift of incarnation invites us to embody proclamation in forms that are concrete, relatable, and accessible to a diverse spectrum of hearers.
We can see such embodiment in the variety of genres comprising the biblical canon. God's Word comes to us through historical narrative, oracles, wisdom literature, poetry, canticles, encomiums, laments, gospels, letters, apocalyptic writings, and other ancient genres without contemporary parallels—each in its particularity bears witness to the true and living God. And the complicated diversity of these perspectives offers readers across geographical boundaries and historical eras multiple means of hearing the Word of God within the sacred texts. Such multivalence models for preachers and worship designers the value of using all at our disposal to communicate the good news of God in Jesus Christ so that all may “hear.”
Reflecting on Kay's wisdom that “in its broadest sense, preaching is … the comprehensive proclamation and announcement of the Christian message in word and act,” 11 the notion that “worship amplifies the voice of the preacher” seems a logical conclusion. This is the title of Robin L. Myers’s essay in Preaching in the Context of Worship. In this volume, editors Greenhaw and Allen seek to highlight and reinforce the liturgical connectivity between the sermon and the service. Myers’s essay urges preachers to abandon any idea of the sermon being “king” of the service where “princes of the pulpit rule from their elevated thrones.” 12 He prompts us to embrace the kind of humility that acknowledges the Spirit as truly sovereign in ordering how and when God will speak in our worship services. He cautions, “every preacher should know that failure to tend to the worship experience affects not only those who sit in the pews, but also removes that vital ecclesiastical scaffolding that holds the preacher above the abyss. Such preparation envelops the sermon in prayer and scripture and a cloud of musical witnesses.” 13 When thoughtfully, intentionally prepared, the whole liturgy speaks (some would hear it sing) in harmony. Such is the preparation experienced by many if not all of us who have preached in Princeton Seminary's Miller Chapel during the tenure of Martin Tel, Director of Music and Jan Ammon, Minister of the Chapel. This brings me to a fine example of the expansive kind of proclamation this article claims for homiletics.
Nine years later, I still remember the last sermon I heard Jim Kay preach. It was the chapel service of November 20, 2012, a day set aside in the liturgical calendar to commemorate the feast of St. Andrew, the Apostle. I had never before then—and have not since then—heard a Protestant preacher deliver a sermon on a canonized saint. That alone is reason for the sermon's memorability. However, the proclamation begins from the first note of Tel's organ prelude, the John Ferguson improvisation on “Christ is the World's Redeemer,” a text the congregation will sing as the closing hymn. The notion of musical intelligence supports the belief that persons with musical giftedness can hear God's Word through wordless music. 14 Thomas Troeger believes it is the mindful listener who will hear God's voice through a musical performance. For Troeger, “a theology that is overly reliant upon words often gives birth to worship that is prosaic and arid. Worship becomes so talky that the expansive mystery and wonder of God have little room to be manifest in the service. The impact is as detrimental to sacred speech as it is to the nonverbal dimensions of worship.” 15 Indeed, Tel's organ prelude invites us into a time of listening for God's voice, whether through silent recall of the hymn text as he plays, or through the numinous, sonic experience of instrumental praise.
The Call to Worship and opening hymn also do proclamatory work. This call to worship includes Ps 19:4: “Their sound has gone out into all lands, and their message to the ends of the world.” This sacred text reminds us, as noted earlier in this article, of the versatility of proclamation. The antecedents of the pronoun “their” in Ps 19:4 are elements of nature: heavens, firmament, day, and night—they have sound and message! And like St. Andrew, their message has far-reaching impact. This Call to Worship is followed by Cecil Frances Alexander's hymn, “Jesus Calls Us.”
16
Alexander's penchant for writing children's hymns that accompany religious education gives her poetry simplicity and directness.
17
Such are the characteristics of the lyrics of “Jesus Calls Us,” a hymn she wrote, inspired by a discussion with her husband around his St. Andrew's day sermon in 1852.
18
The designers of the Miller Chapel service included the oft-omitted second verse, “As of old Saint Andrew heard it by the Galilean lake, turned from home and toil and kindred, leaving all for Jesus’ sake.”
19
In his sermon Kay reiterates and reframes this sense of Andrew's dislocation in response to Christ's call: This morning I suspect I am looking out at many dislocated disciples. Many of you have responded to the call of Jesus Christ. In some cases, like Andrew, you have left your occupations, you have left your homelands, whether overseas or in the U.S. And some of you have left the comfort of familiar friends and surroundings, venturing far from the churches or the Christian friends who nurtured you and were always there for you. In the dislocation of God's call, you find yourselves relocated here in different—and sometimes I suspect difficult—terrain.
20
Such synergy between the sermon and the song makes the impact of each that much more effective. The directness of Alexander's poetry, the simple binary format of the hymn tune GALILEE, the abruptness of the Markan version of this call story, all work in tandem to create an impression strong enough to remain at the forefront of my memory years later. I suspect any readers who were present at that service may also have found it memorable, for any number of reasons.
In this St. Andrew's Day service, the music and the message harmonize to spotlight four identifiable themes: the simplicity and abruptness of Christ's call; the disruption and dislocation that follows; the unpredictability of our relocation, whether geographically or conceptually; and the promise that in following Christ, we are not alone. The Scripture readings are Mark 1:16–17, and John 1:35–42. In speaking to the abruptness and directness of the call, Kay draws attention to the Markan narrative: “Mark's story is about as abrupt as you can get. It's as abrupt as Christ's call. The story performs for its hearers the very in-breaking of which it tells.” A similar close literary reading may be performed on Alexander's hymn. Accustomed as she is to writing for children, her language is uncomplicated and concrete. The first verse states directly, “Jesus calls us; o’er the tumult of our life's wild, restless sea, day by day his clear voice sounding, saying, ‘Christian, follow me.’” The other four verses are also simply stated, mirroring Jesus’ sparse invitation that belies the complications of following this call. This leads to Kay's second focus, the disruption and dislocation of the call. Andrew had been a disciple of John up until the call, at which point he made a sharp turn in Jesus’ direction. Of this outcome Kay says, “Christ's call comes as a dislocation; the dislocation of discipleship.” Earlier the gathered worshipers sang, “As of old St. Andrew heard it by the Galilean Lake, turned from home and toil and kindred, leaving all for Jesus’ sake.” We had already declared this sermonic theme in our congregational singing moments before, the one mode of communication reinforcing the other.
The third theme of the sermon emphasizes the unpredictability of our relocation, what Kay calls our movement into mission. “We do not know in advance of God's calling where it will take us or how God will be present to us in situations we cannot foresee. We do not know ahead of time where discipleship will move us or where it will relocate us on the geographical or the conceptual map.” Alexander's message of relocation in her hymn is implicit—one might say it is for those who have ears to hear. She reminds us to hold loosely to life as we know it, trusting that Christ has a better gift for us than the vain world's golden store. We are reminded to prepare ourselves for the unpredictable, looking unto the one who calls us, “In our joys and in our sorrows, days of toil and hours of ease, still he calls in cares and pleasures, ‘Christian love me more than these.’”
Finally, the sermon declares with confidence that we are not alone in following Christ. “Like thousands of others who have been called to Princeton Seminary, and from Princeton Seminary for over 200 years, the God who calls us is faithful and will make a way where there is no way. And we never follow unaccompanied, thanks be to God.” It is the closing hymn that reiterates this message, “Christ has our host surrounded with clouds of martyrs bright, who wave their palms in triumph and fire us for the fight.” 21 In keeping with the Scottish ethos of St. Andrew's Day we tunefully proclaim words originally penned by St. Columba, a “missionary traditionally credited with the main role in the conversion of Scotland to Christianity.” 22
In planning each chapel service Martin Tel and Jan Ammon meet with the preacher weeks ahead for collaborative preparation. Having preached in chapel more than once, I am familiar with this fine-tuning process. As the conversation begins, the preacher sets the tone indicating what direction they will go with their selected text. Tel and Ammon go through their resources, flipping through mental and hard-copy indexes, suggesting music and liturgy that generate coherence as the thematic focus begins to sharpen. Ideas are checked for theological soundness and liturgical efficiency. The outcome is a service of worship where proclamation happens from the first sound to the last. In reviewing this 2012 St. Andrew's Day service in 2021, I gave thanks for the thoughtful, prayerful collaborative work that had gone into it. The words we sang together were restatements of good news the preacher wanted us to know and heed, long after the service had ended. Cogent thoughts threaded through the sermon were restated explicitly and implicitly through every element of the liturgy. The outcome was a fine-tuned example of Jim Kay's often-stated belief that the proclamation of the gospel in worship is far too important a task to be undertaken exclusively by the sermon. Wise is the preacher who, in collaboration with a liturgical minister or team, works to share the sacred task of proclaiming our lifesaving, world-changing gospel, across the multifaceted elements of worship, in many and various ways.
