We all tend to have an exalted view of our oratorical abilities, but strength is not always in the length. Sometimes, brevity is better. Yet, honoring the sufficiency of Scripture in our delivery is best of all. 

We were discussing the length of the preacher’s sermon in one of Paul’s letters. “Which rabbits are you chasing?” my friend asked rhetorically, “Are you chasing Paul’s rabbits or your own?” Often, our sermons are too long because we’re chasing the wrong rabbits.
As mentioned, actual sermons in Scripture (and in church history) vary in length (see our previous survey). We agree with Calvin and Luther: Often, we preach “too long” (Luther) and/or fail to consider “what the weakness of men could bear” (Calvin). Or, as my faithful deacon (a retired school teacher) stated, “The mind can bear no more than the rear end can endure!” We’ve all been there before.
Rather than quibble over whether to preach 60-minutes vs. 12-minutes, though, we are interested in a more pertinent issue: The minutes you allot to each point within the sermon (no matter the sermon’s length). We feel the implications of those “minute-allotments” have a direct bearing on the doctrine of the sufficiency of Scripture. No preaching book I know of makes this connection. We wonder why.
To truly uphold the sufficiency of Scripture, you must “weight” your points in alignment with the biblical author’s emphases (see prior articles: here, and here). Ultimately, this comes down to assigning a specified number of minutes to each point, sub-point, sub-sub-point, etc. To allot more minutes to a minor point and less minutes to a major point “could” misconstrue the biblical author’s intent. Who grants us the authority to take such liberties? If God has spoken in Scripture—and He has—isn’t it only fair (and right) that we reflect His “breathed-out” emphases in our presentation to men?
For instance, our sermon may have three points, but the biblical author might emphasize the last point more than the others. The last point demands more minutes within the sermon than the other two. Otherwise, we implicitly deny the sufficiency of Scripture by over (or under) emphasizing points more (or less) than did the biblical author.
Again, imagine someone stood to explain a short letter you wrote about an urgent issue. In their 30-minute explanation, suppose they spent 2 minutes on the urgent issue and 28 minutes expounding your 3-word salutation? How would you feel about that? In principle, it’s no different than Joel Osteen accentuating the positive portions of a preaching-text and minimizing (or ignoring altogether) the negative injunctions. It denies the the sufficiency of Scripture in the delivery.

The Achilles’ heel of the argument for paedocommunion, however, is the teaching of the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 11:17–34. In this passage, the Apostle addresses a particular problem in the Corinthian church and offers general guidelines regarding what is required of those who receive the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. After describing the divisive and unholy conduct of some of the Corinthians (vv. 17–22), the Apostle recalls the Lord’s institution of the Lord’s Supper (vv. 23–26) and thereafter provides instructions regarding a proper preparation for and partaking of Christ by faith in the sacrament (vv. 27–29).

Since the sixteenth century, Reformed and Presbyterian churches have not permitted baptized children of believing parents to partake of the Lord’s Supper without previously professing their faith (see Heidelberg Catechism 81; Belgic Confession, Art. 35; Westminster Larger Catechism 177). However, in recent decades, many Reformed denominations have had to respond to advocates of paedocommunion (“child communion”) who have vigorously challenged this consensus.
According to advocates of paedocommunion, the traditional practice of Reformed churches represents a departure from the historic practice of the Christian church. More importantly, paedocommunionists insist that the historic position of the Reformed churches is inconsistent with their doctrine of the covenant. Since the children of believers are members of the covenant community or visible church, they should be admitted to the Lord’s Table to be nourished in the faith and in fellowship with Jesus Christ.
The historical argument for paedocommunion is at best inconclusive. Unlike the significant evidence for the practice of infant baptism in the early church, there is no compelling evidence for the practice of paedocommunion. Though the Eastern church practices paedocommunion to the present day, there is no mention of this practice in the voluminous writings of the early church fathers. In the early third century, Origen expressly stated that children were not given holy communion.1
Whatever the historical evidence for paedocommunion suggests, the more fundamental question is, What do the Scriptures teach about the proper recipients of the Lord’s Supper?
Advocates of paedocommunion often appeal to the Old Testament Passover Feast as a precedent for the admission of covenant children to the Lord’s Supper. Just as covenant children participated in this annual feast and in other covenant meals under the Old Testament economy, so they should be welcomed to participate in the new covenant meal, the Lord’s Supper.
Although the appeal to the analogy of the Passover is a key component of the argument for paedocommunion, it has several significant problems. First, the Deuteronomic instructions regarding the Passover require only males to celebrate this feast annually in the place where the Lord has chosen to place His name (Deut. 16:1–8, 16).
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Just as a shipwreck victim longs to feel land beneath his feet, so we long to remember the solidity and security of former times. What we need to remember, therefore, is that even when the floods rise up—even when the rivers continue their relentless pounding—the throne of Yahweh remains fixed and immovable. 

The LORD reigns… (Psalm 93:1)
Some truths break upon the soul like fire: they come quickly, with much heat and light. Others rise to our awareness more gradually, like the creeping realization that the ground is beneath your feet — and, indeed, has always been there. The truth under present consideration is this latter kind, and comes in the opening words of the ninety-third psalm: “The LORD reigns.” This, I’m sure, is a familiar observation for most — and perhaps feels a bit elementary — but that’s precisely the reason we should focus upon it. Though simple, it contains worlds of wonder.
The reality of God’s reign is treated as a brute fact throughout the entirety of the psalm. It is presented as an immovable fixture of reality comparable to the permanence of the world itself. Just as the world has been “established” and shall never be moved, so Yahweh’s throne is “established from of old” (v. 2). It, too, shall never be moved.
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