Sometimes when I'm praying through a sermon I realize how spiritually dangerous something I've planned to say is. I remember a few times when it was only in prayer that I realized I was about ready to pop off out of frustration. Other times, it dawned on me while I prayed that I was more excited about telling a funny illustration than I was about sharing God's truth. Not long ago I was planning on using something foolish a colleague had said as an illustration when I felt God nudge me and say, "You know, I really love that guy, even if he said something unwise. Why don't we just leave him out of it."

I don't like dealing with my own soul, and I quite likely wouldn't do it very often—if I didn't have to stand up there and preach. But I just don't dare preach without cleaning house. Let's just say I learned that lesson the hard way. I also picked up a few pointers from Samson. I'm terrified of pulling off feats of homiletical weight-lifting that would make Philistines flee and of untangling biblical riddles to the delight of the faithful, only to stand up some Sunday shorn and oblivious to the Spirit's exit. The only way I know to avoid that is to pray—soberly—about both my sermon and my soul, trusting that our merciful God will not let me be deluded by some Delilah nor trimmed to helplessness by some unseen razor.

Conversation pieces:
1. How have you seen your sermon preparation or your congregation benefit distinctly from your taking the time to pray?
2. What was the result of the times you, wittingly or not, ignored the Spirit’s goading to pray?