When the Pulpit is the Locus of Abuse

I am a preacher. It is part of who I am as a human being and I am told I preach a pretty decent sermon. I have always been grateful for the opportunities I have been afforded to offer my understandings from the pulpit. The question I always ask my listeners is whether my sermon had prompted them to think. Most of the time, the answer is yes. I find that very gratifying.

I have always been clear that my approach to preaching speaks only for me; it is not normative for anyone else. Thus it has never been my place to tell other preachers of any stripe how to offer their remarks from the pulpit.

It is my belief that every preacher is called to offer their own vision of the faith as they see fit even as that vision may run completely contrary to my own.  But while my insistence upon the preacher’s privilege extends to anyone who occupies the pulpit, my own recent experience with this diocese has taught me that this courtesy is not always honored by those with power to impose their vision on others.

Fundamental Entrustments

At the heart of this understanding is a fundamental entrustment of the preacher with a platform for his/her thoughts by those assembled. That granting of platform is broad but not absolute.

As I see it, a sermon is an occasion for thoughtful consideration of one’s life individually and the communities in which we live in light of the faith tradition we share. This distinguishes a sermon from presentations which might be laid out in an adult education course or from a guest speaker at an evening event.

That said, there are some preachers whose words are so at odds with those of Jesus that they cannot be provided a platform in a church which purports to follow his way. Culture warriors, white Christian nationalists and hatemongers like those of the Westboro Baptist Church may wrap their messages in the trappings of the Christian tradition, but they have no place in a church whose second Great Commandment is to love one’s neighbor as oneself. While they are rarely invoked, there are limits on the platforms churches should offer.

However, this does not mean that any ideas which a given listener might find disturbing must be avoided. Parishioners are not consumers. A church is not a Burger King. Those in the pews should not presume entitlement to have it their way with a privilege of dictating the content of sermons to suit their comfort level.

It has long been the calling of preachers to “distress the comfortable and comfort the distressed,” a pattern observable in Jesus himself. In the view of this preacher, a good sermon will always call the listener to consider and reconsider their understandings of the faith and the way in which it is being lived out individually and communally. And a good parishioner will take that calling seriously.

If preachers’ audiences have extended their trust to those they have called to their pulpits, that trust must always be reciprocated by the preacher. The need to be sensitive to the needs of a given congregation can make preaching difficult in situations where the preacher does not know his audience. Far too often that prompts preachers to pull their punches when the lessons of the day and its implications for the listeners can provoke strong reactions. In such cases, a preacher playing it safe, concerned more for their own comfort and security than engaging the day’s lessons, sermons can become one more offering of a glib “Jesus loves me this I know for the Bible tells me so” as a parishioner once described it.

However, in situations where a given pastoral context is central to the gathering, it must always be honored. And when it is not, the result is an abuse of pulpit.

Violations of Trust

Over the years I have seen a number of examples of pulpit abuse in such contexts. Some occurred in traditions other than my own at funerals where the preacher left mourners feeling worse than when they entered the service and at baptisms where the children and their families were merely bystanders in a spectacle which ignored them entirely while the clergy pursued their own interests.

But three examples within my own Episcopal tradition in the past two years have troubled me deeply. Given that I became the target of the very abuse of power mentioned above when I dared to reference it in one of my sermons designed to encourage my embattled parishioners, I now find myself outside the walls of the institution. Five months down the road, I am working hard on letting go of a 31 year priesthood which I have never been able to exercise with any regularity. But as a part of that letting go, I need to briefly discuss these incidents. I need to exorcise these demons from my soul.     

A year and a half ago I attended a priestly ordination service for a woman whose priestly ordination had been held in limbo as a transitional deacon for nine years. (The normal time is six months) That in itself is an abuse of power - not to mention the canonical ordination process itself - but hardly surprising in a diocese which routinely abuses power regarding those who would serve the church.  

The pastoral context of an ordination service demands that the focus of the sermon delivered there be on the ordinand and their life in responding to their calling to ministry. Becoming a priest is a terrifying moment for most of us. The gravity of the responsibilities of priesthood is enormous. The expectations that are soon to fall upon the ordinand can be overwhelming. Thus it is precisely at that moment that ordinands most need to hear words of wisdom, encouragement and support.

But those were not the words offered in the sermon at this service. The ordinand was barely mentioned. Instead, the gathered were subjected to yet another round of Calvinist depravity driven sin and salvation theology, the only tune that purveyors of this perspective seem to know.

As I noted above, in other contexts, I would have simply written this off as an exercise of the prerogatives of the preacher even as I would have undoubtedly tuned out somewhere near the beginning of its delivery. But that was not this context. And the failure to pastorally honor the context at hand, the ordinand and those who had gathered to honor her, in delivering an ideological screed was classic pulpit abuse.

More recently, a diocesan-wide service of confirmation, reaffirmation and reception was held at the parish where I once delivered my own sermons before being banned from the pulpit. Again, the pastoral context of the rite dictated a focus on those making promises in the midst of their communities to live into their new lives as Episcopalians. There is a rich field of sermon possibilities that could be mined for such an occasion, most of them focused on encouraging those beginning new chapters of their spiritual lives as well as reminding the members of their faith communities of their callings to support them in their new lives in community.

But that wasn’t what they heard.

The preacher began by noting that keeping the promises the liturgy required them to make would be difficult. That was a promising beginning. There is a candor in such a recognition worth noting. It provides a moment for pastoral wisdom and support. And it offers the perfect opportunity to recall the words of the Baptismal Covenant, one of the true jewels of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer: “I will with God’s help.”

That response recognizes the reality that living into our promises to G-d and our faith communities requires our agency but we can never do it alone. We need divine guidance and, in the words of our post-communion prayers, “strength and courage to love and serve you with gladness and singleness of heart.”  

But that’s not where this sermon went. After noting the difficulties of living into these promises, the preacher then told the new and reaffirmed members they would never be able to keep them.  But they were lucky, he said, because Jesus had died for their sins. Thus the judging heavenly king would hold back his punishing arm as a result.

It was a line that would have made Calvinist divine Jonathan Edward (“Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God”) as proud as it proved alien to mainstream Anglican ears. Whatever else the sermon was about, it was not about the confirmands. This was about the preacher and his perceived need for affirmation of his own wretched theology. And whatever it might have been intended to be, it proved to be yet another example of contextual tone-deafness resulting in pulpit abuse.

“None of that really counts…”

The third example is the worst of the three. It also occurred in this same diocese now stacked with evangelical Theobros recruited by the current bishop.

The context for this service earlier this year was much more sensitive than the pastoral services (as they are referred to in the prayer book) referenced above. It was a funeral. And it was personal for me, celebrating the life of a dear friend who saved my life during my troubled tenure as a teacher in Inverness. He was a devoted Episcopalian and had hosted a beautiful dinner the day of my confirmation into the church 50 years ago this month. His estate had left substantial money to the parish.

The funeral rite itself was well done liturgically. The music was well chosen, some of my friend’s favorite classical pieces, and the organist did a wonderful job of performing them.

Then came the sermon.

It was clear that the rector did not know my friend. This is a common challenge for any cleric officiating at funerals for those they did not know. Such situations call for pastoral words of comfort and hope while leaving any particular eulogies for the deceased to those who knew them. In California, we called that “the talking circle.” But that was not what happened here.

The preacher made brief reference to my friend’s life from the material in his obituary in the service booklet. But then he said, “None of that really counts” continuing that one must have an individual relationship with Jesus Christ as their personal lord and savior if they wished to have any hopes of going to heaven. It was yet another insufferable evangelical pitch to save souls rooted in fear of punishment with a promise of reward for those who bought into the tribal vision. (Stage 1 Kohlberg moral reasoning, what must I do to avoid punishment? Stage 2, what’s in it for me? The reasoning of children.)

That a priest who, unlike his bishop, actually attended an Episcopal seminary, would offer such drivel in any setting was bad enough. But this was being imposed on people who were grieving. The near complete omission of focus on our loved one was bad enough. The use of the sermon to pound us with a manipulative message to prompt his listeners to buy into his grim theological understandings bordered on obscenity.

This was not only pulpit abuse. It was, in the words of the national church Title IV commission’s description of the abuse recently inflicted upon our parish by its bishop, “a profound pastoral failure.”

But this would not be the end of the abuse.

The attendees were processed outside into a tight corner of the church property where cremains are interred. The hole had been dug, covered by a piece of plywood. When the celebrant finally arrived, he stumbled through the graveside prayers, losing his largely non-Episcopal attendees in the process. Then, after uncovering the hole, he took out a manila envelope, opened it and removed a clear plastic baggy of cremains. Taking a pair of scissors, he cut the baggy open, and poured the cremains into the hole, immediately plopping the plywood covering atop the hole.

It was ghastly.

There was no opportunity for mourners to cast a handful of soil into the hole. And there were no closing prayers. The only thing that indicated the rite was completed was when the priest turned and walked away.

I was horrified.

I realize priests have different ways of handling funerals. But this performance struck me as completely lacking in any kind of awareness of - not to mention sensitivity toward - the gathered mourners, not the least of which was being subjected to the sight of cremains in a plastic baggy. That was insult added to the injury of a wretched homily. I didn’t think the “profound pastoral failure” at the time of the sermon could have gotten any worse. But I was wrong.

These people deserve better….

My point in raising these incidents of pulpit abuse is not to pass judgment on the clerics involved even as their performances merit critique. All of us who endeavor to preach have engaged in behaviors we weren’t very proud of in retrospect. And as I said at the beginning, I insist upon honoring the right of preachers to speak their truth and officiants to celebrate as they find compelling.

While that was not honored by those with power when it came to my own sermonizing, I still hold to that value. None of us are required to agree with every word that flows from the pulpit, but common courtesy demands we listen politely and critically consider what is spoken before rejecting it.

 But every sermon occurs in a context. And when that context demands pastoral awareness and sensitivity, it should never be abused by those trying to impose their views onto audiences gathered for purposes that lie outside an ordinary Sunday service. A failure to recognize and honor that context is a failure in pastoral duties to those gathered. And a willingness to see such occasions as opportunities for preachers to impose their theological agendas where those present are pastorally vulnerable borders on being predatory.

I recognize that there are preachers whose deeply rooted constructs of depravity-based theology are premised on the notion that buying into their tribe’s theological understandings somehow saves people from eternal punishment. While my Franciscan spirit would see this as incomprehensible, they see it as good news. And so they see their behaviors as doing their audiences a favor, thus imposing them regardless of the context is justified.

It is a good example of how fear makes a particularly poor basis for any kind of thoughtful decision making, particularly when that fear is existential in nature. Fear stops a working mind, chills a loving heart and paralyzes a sensitive soul.

But the concerns I am laying out here are ultimately not about preachers. They are about those assembled in front of them. And in cases when those present are vulnerable mourners at funerals or when the focus of the assembly is on ordinands, confirmands and others standing at the brink of a new chapter in their spiritual journeys, those needs must be the bottom line. When preachers ignore that, lapsing into sermons debatably more designed to win affirmation of their own beliefs from their listeners than to minister to the needs of the assembled, the potential for pulpit abuse is unlimited.

As I often find myself saying these days as I watch these abuses, these people deserve better.

 

Can we hear what the “Nones” are saying to the Church?

“I'd rather see a sermon than hear one any day….” Edward Guest.

There is a reason that many people have left their places of worship over the past three decades. In the surveys that study them, most say they continue to hold some understanding of the Holy and seek to live lives in consonance with those understandings. Many mourn the loss of community when they walk away from religious bodies they find no longer speak to their spiritual needs. And many describe the experiences from which they have fled as toxic.

The rise of the Nones (those who answer “none of the above” when queried on religious affiliations) should be a wakeup call to organized religions of every kind. It is behaviors like those I have detailed above that drive thoughtful people out of their pews and into the streets, to paraphrase the mantra of the gay liberation movement. The question is whether those afforded pulpits can hear this critique and respond to it appropriately. Will they “hear what the Spirit is saying to the Church?”

Now I have spoken my piece. I speak for myself here and do not delude myself that these views are somehow normative for others. But I have now gotten this off my chest. And in the process I have released these demons that have haunted my soul. Now it is time to move on. Deo gratias.

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frharry@cfl.rr.com

hcoverston.orlando@gmail.com

If the unexamined life is not worth living, surely an unexamined belief system, be it religious or political, is not worth holding. Most things worth considering do not come in sound bites.

Those who believe religion and politics aren't connected don't understand either. – Mahatma Gandhi

For what does G-d require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your G-d?  - Micah 6:8, Hebrew Scriptures

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it. - Rabbi Rami Shapiro, Wisdom of the Jewish Sages (1993)

 

© Harry Scott Coverston, 2026

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