R. Somerset Ward, England's most famous spiritual director of the twentieth century, saw more than his share of celebrated sculptures throughout his lifetime, but one statue in particular stood out above them all "as a great reality…a statue erected to the memory of Phillips Brooks, Bishop of Massachusetts, and it stands in the central square of Boston." The statue shows Brooks delivering a sermon. "With supreme art," the sculptor captured and attitude of sudden inspiration, as if in that very instant Brooks "will lean forward over the pulpit with a new power in his voice, which will compel the attention of his congregation, and carry conviction to their hearts."

But even more compelling for our purposes is the spiritual drama that the sculptor captures by placing another figure behind the celebrated preacher. This artist apparently understood true Christian spirituality as well as he understood the art of crafting stone:

And there behind the preacher in the shadow of the canopy stands a majestic figure of Christ, whose outstretched finger has rested for one moment on the shoulder of the bishop. It is a fine statue because it pictures an eternal truth. For wherever God uses human agents, he gives them his power, pours into them his life, and illuminates them with his light. If men only realized what it meant to be used as God's instrument, what supreme joy came from the least touch of his hand, there would be no lack of volunteers for his service."

I've had the last two weekends off from an interim preaching ministry I began in February. I confess I enjoyed the little break—a lot. I had just enough time to read two great books, catch up with good friends, enjoy a little getaway with my wife, and even celebrate a milestone birthday (30). But now it's the Monday before Sunday, and the homiletical grind has begun again. Is it wrong that I can sum up the feelings I had first thing this morning in one guttural word: Ugh?

But then I read the above passage from Thomas's book, with its quotes and block texts from R. Somerset Ward's To Jerusalem: Devotional Studies in Mystical Religion. It unlocked something in me. I tasted the more revolutionary side of what I'll do this Sunday when Thomas spoke of the preaching event as "spiritual drama." And who wouldn't be moved by that thrilling image of Christ gently placing his finger on the shoulder of the preacher, pushing the frail servant up over the pulpit with some bellowing word? As Ward writes: "If men only realized what it meant to be used as God's instrument, what supreme joy came from the least touch of his hand, there would be no lack of volunteers for his service." I know this—if I only realized, there would at least be a little less "ugh" on my lips and a little more fire in my bones.