It can sometimes seem as if Christians don’t have permission to be unhappy, to have regrets, to feel broken, to express deep sorrow, or to lament. Which would have been news to the writers of Scripture. The major giveaway being that there is literally a book of the Bible called “Lamentation”. The Psalms – the Bible’s very own songbook – has an entire genre called “Psalms of lament”. There are more psalms of lament than there are psalms of any other kind – in fact, a whole third of them are lamentation of one kind of another.

Like many teenagers who had a lovely upbringing in a safe suburb with kind parents and many friends, I was often miserable.
I spent many evenings with my cassette walkman, just the two of us, listening to doomy  English music like Depeche Mode, and thinking that no one else understood, or could possibly understand, just how deep I was. I specifically recall one of my friends’ mums looking at my miserable face and saying, “Cheer up, it might never happen.” To which I responded, “Too late. It already has.” And I was so pleased with this response that I probably would have smiled, had smiling not already become physically impossible for me.
There is a kind of sadness or melancholy which is delicious and addictive, which can make us feel special and, yes, even superior to others. A kind of misery that, if we give ourselves over to it, tips into self-indulgence and self-pity.
But you can also fall off the horse the other way. You can mistake “being chipper” for being godly. You can start to believe that Christians have no right to be sad about anything, because everything will be okily dokily in the end.
I’m afraid this poor theology has infected many of our churches, and it’s nowhere more obvious than in the songs we often sing. Some songs have so little gravity that NASA could use them to train astronauts in.
It’s not we that shouldn’t sing songs of joy, of course we should. But where are the songs of lament? It can sometimes seem as if Christians don’t have permission to be unhappy, to have regrets, to feel broken, to express deep sorrow, or to lament. Which would have been news to the writers of Scripture. The major giveaway being that there is literally a book of the Bible called “Lamentation”.
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Written by Matthew T. Martens and Theodore D. Martens |
Friday, August 11, 2023
Study the text. Understand its words. Observe the relationship of the words to one another. Consider the structure. But do all of this not as an end itself. Do it in order to get to the point of the text. Only then can you deliver a truly expository sermon that makes the point of the text the point of your sermon in a way that will thoroughly furnish your congregation unto all good works (2 Tim 3:17).

Common in conservative evangelical circles today—certainly among the readers of ministries like 9Marks—is a professed commitment to expository preaching. We say “professed” commitment because our experience over decades as both a pastor and faithful church member, having either delivered or listened to thousands of sermons, has led us to the conclusion that much “expository preaching” does not in fact meet the definition.
Too many sermons focus on the biblical text, but fail to exposit the main point of the scriptural passage under consideration.  To be clear, this critique isn’t merely an academic or definitional one. If a sermon fails to unpack the main point of the text at hand, the pastor is failing to preach the whole counsel of God regardless of how throughly the speaker examines the scriptural passage. Such a sermon fails to communicate what God intended to communicate by inspiring that text.
Let’s be more specific. Two kinds of preaching are often confused with expository preaching because of a superficial resemblance: “sequential preaching” and “observational preaching.” We’ll discuss them below. We pray that this discussion will be edifying to preachers as you seek to feed your flocks.
1. Sequential preaching is not necessarily expository preaching.
Many preachers believe they’re engaged in expository preaching simply because they sequentially preach through a particular book of the Bible. While there’s much to commend about this approach, it doesn’t necessarily equate to expository preaching.
For example, a pastor may preach a 16-week series through the book of Romans. That fact by itself would cause many preachers to think they’re doing expository preaching. But it’s not. Whether the sequential preacher is delivering an expository sermon in any given week depends on two things:

whether the preacher has rightly identified the main point of the week’s assigned passage,
and whether the sermon then keeps as its focus the main point of the passage.

An example may clarify this point. If, in the third week of the series, the preacher delivers a sermon on Romans 3 that centers on and rightly explains the doctrine of inspiration, then the preacher would not be preaching an expository sermon. Why do we say that? Because the main point of Romans 3 is not the doctrine of inspiration, but rather the fallenness of man. The entire chapter builds to man’s fallenness; Paul surveys the Old Testament and concludes that “all have sinned and fall short of God’s glory” (3:23).
To be sure, the doctrine of inspiration is mentioned, but only in passing in verse 2 (“the very words of God,” NIV). Simply put, inspiration is not the main point of Romans 3. Rather, the inspiration of the Old Testament is invoked by Paul to give authoritative weight to his recitation of passages that make his main point.
Furthermore, the main point of Romans 3 is not the unbelief of Israel (vs. 3), the faithfulness of God (vs. 3), the righteousness of God (vs. 5), the coming judgment of the world (vs. 6), or the ways men demonstrate depravity (vs. 13–18). All of those concepts appear in Romans 3 not as ends in themselves, but rather as elements of an argument toward Paul’s main point: we all, Jew and Gentile alike, have a sin problem that we cannot solve.
What distinguishes an expository sermon is not simply that what the preacher is saying is biblically accurate, but that it draws its main truth from the main point of the passage. An expository sermon on Romans 3 requires that the main point of the sermon is the main point—not a sub-point, not peripheral to the main point—of Romans 3.
Of course, there’s value in sequentially preaching through books of the Bible. It helps to ensure that the whole counsel of God is preached and you have “kept nothing back that was profitable for” the congregation (Acts 20:20 KJV). Furthermore, by taking an entire book under study, the preacher is forced to grapple with the flow of the author’s argument throughout. This increases the likelihood that the preacher is rightly identifying the main point of a particular sermon’s text.
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Grace makes no earthly sense. It is undeserved. It is unearned. It is a gift offered to us totally based on the character of God and not our own character. It is based on his actions, not ours. It meets us in Christ when we have nothing to offer—when we feel unlovable and unworthy. It hunts us down when we feel out of control—when we feel we have no power to change. It pursues us even as we reject it.

You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:6–8)
What is love, anyway?
We say things like “I love tacos” and “I love basketball” and also “I love you.” We watch shows where people fall in and out of love. We’re told to follow our hearts. Yet sometimes our hearts aren’t reliable in the love arena. Sometimes they don’t fill with the weighty affection they once held for a boyfriend or girlfriend. And parents? Sometimes we struggle not to roll our eyes in disrespect.
In the Romans passage today, we read about the truest and realest love available: we read about Jesus. His love is the yardstick by which we measure all other loves. As 1 John 3:16 tells us, “This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us.” Jesus is love with skin on. He is the most perfect picture of love that’s ever existed.
So what is the nature of his love? Does it depend on how good we are? Does it depend on how much we pray? Does it depend on how well we care for those around us?
The good news of the gospel is this: while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. This love depends on him. Before we trusted him, he died for us. Before we even knew we needed him, he died for us. While we still chose to make ourselves the kings and queens of our own lives (instead of making him the King of our lives), he died for us. He loved us first, and he loved us unconditionally. This is the grace of God.
Grace makes no earthly sense. It is undeserved. It is unearned. It is a gift offered to us totally based on the character of God and not our own character. It is based on his actions, not ours. It meets us in Christ when we have nothing to offer—when we feel unlovable and unworthy. It hunts us down when we feel out of control—when we feel we have no power to change. It pursues us even as we reject it.
When we read that Jesus sacrificed his life on the cross for us, we are reading about a love that was willing to give up everything for our sake. That is how much God wanted to be in relationship with us. That is how much he wanted us to know our belovedness. He was willing to face death for us. There is no place he is not willing to go for us.
Reread the above verses from Romans 5. We are loved in our anxiety. We are not loved in spite of our anxiety. Jesus doesn’t roll his eyes at our struggle or sigh because of our inability to get over it. He doesn’t overlook it or ignore it. He sees every part of our glorious and broken selves, and he draws near to us. His grace cannot be thwarted by our fear, our worry, or our stress. His grace meets us just as we are.
When we’re rocked by the twists and turns life throws us, we can remember we are secured in God’s love by the grace of Jesus. This love will never stop pursuing us. This grace is limitless. Christ demonstrated his love for us in this: while we were still rebelling against him, he died for us. This is the Love who will never let go of us.
Breathe in: Even in my insecurity—Breathe out: God’s love pursues me.
When have you seen or heard of undeserved love being given to someone? Your example could be from a book, a show, a movie, or real life.
An Excerpt from Anxiety: Finding the Better Story by Liz Edrington. Used with permission.
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