“I get paid to tell people what to think.”  

That’s the “cocktail party job-description” LCMS pastor and district president Heath Curtis suggests for pastors (2). Curtis argues that his pithy description can apply to almost every aspect of our varied work, whether at deathbeds, in counseling, in private confession and absolution, and so on. Yet this is an especially fitting title for his “A Concise Homiletics for Lutheran Parish Pastors” because he argues that the sermon, at the center of the church’s most important and regular gathering, is the paramount opportunity to be Telling People What to Think. So he writes his rather eclectic yet concise homiletics book to bring an active parish pastor’s perspective to the conversation around sermons. He wants the sermon to accomplish as much good as possible in exactly that setting. 

Is the Lutheran sermon accomplishing all it can? While Curtis likes most of the preaching within his own synod, he insists Lutheran preachers can do more. Many homiletical overgeneralizations become troublesome when taken to their extremes. These include slogans such as “preaching is proclamation” and “the sermon is the great absolution” (11). Curtis argues that the sermon is not only proclamation. Of course, proclamation is essential –  κηρύξατε τὸ εὐαγγέλιον! – but Curtis insists that proclamation never meant squeezing every biblical text into the same Law-Gospel outline. “The problem with cliched Law-and-Gospel preaching was never the proper distinction of Law and Gospel. The culprit was Gospel reductionism. The issue was preaching as if Romans stopped at Chapter 5 and Galatians stopped at Chapter 2” (62). Peter’s Pentecost sermon certainly fits the simple Law-Gospel outline, but Peter was preaching to the unconverted. If preachers want to be apostolic, then they should also teach and exhort Christians, as the apostles were unafraid to do (33-35).  

Interestingly, Curtis claims this emphasis stems from an overcorrection to the “dry, dusty discourses on theology” in the early to mid-20th century (62). In this context, LCMS seminary professor Richard Caemmerer developed the “Goal-Malady-Means” rhetorical framework to help pastors deliver more goal-oriented sermons that proclaim the gospel, rather than merely speak about it. Yet, “Caemmerer never intended that Lutheran preachers should avoid explicit teaching and encouragement to godly living” (63). Over time, instead of a tool in sermon preparation, “Goal-Malady-Means” itself became the common form of the sermon. Variety in preaching again became rare, this time swapping the “dry, dusty discourses on theology,” for “nothing but the accusation of the Law and the comfort of the Gospel, to the near exclusion of instruction in doctrine and exhortation to living a godly Christian life,” which Curtis says “has been the chief cause of the impoverishment of our preaching” (12). 

This oversimplified preaching pits Jesus’ mandates in Lk 24:47 (“the forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed…”) against Mt 28:19 (“…teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you”) (12). If people aren’t learning about the whole counsel of God in the sermon, when are they? Curtis cites Pew Research that the personal Bible reading of LCMS members is at an all-time low. He speculates that some blame could be preachers’ lack of exhortation to the same (38). He also discourages an overly optimistic view of Bible Class. “Among [the average LCMS pastor], 75-80% of the church never hears the teaching we give outside of the Divine Service” (37). Therefore, “We must reclaim the sermon’s role as the chief time of teaching, doctrinal instruction, exhortation, and catechesis that it held for Augustine, Chrysostom, Luther, and Walther” (39).  

Curtis describes how the sermon’s many contexts provide an excellent opportunity to do just that: teach. First among them is the liturgy. The sermon is at the heart of the Divine Service, when the fast-paced liturgy slows down, and the pastor has the chance to expound on and connect its many parts and readings (10). It is part of a whole service that already includes two explicit absolutions, one before the sermon and one after (the Lord’s Supper). The sermon has the opportunity to beautifully bring together the day’s focus, which the lectionary provides, while also grounding it in the Church Year itself. It also occurs “within orality,” a means of learning that people are engaged in, especially with the recent popularity of podcasts (25). Now, more than ever, “your sermons will be more engaging if you speak in your natural voice (not a ‘stained glass voice’)” (44).  

So how do preachers effectively add more teaching and exhortation to their proclamation? The eclectic nature of Curtis’ book makes it difficult to sufficiently list or summarize his suggestions here, though here are a few that stood out: 

• Our daily life as a pastor and as a “champion generalist.” “In a very real sense you are paid to be the most well-rounded, educated man in your parish” (52). Curtis helped me realize our routine is not unrelated to preaching but serves it. Daily Bible and Confession reading, getting to know our people, adopting hobbies, using our flexible time to be curious learners—these are not separate from the preaching task, but very much a part. 

• Look to the lectionary for opportunities to teach! It’s surprising just how often a particular doctrine comes up throughout the church year when you look for it. Curtis recently conducted this study for stewardship and found that it appeared “about a dozen times” in both the 1-year and 3-year lectionaries (95). Past preachers, such as Luther, were not afraid to use the sermon to teach a specific doctrine when it arose in the lectionary.  

• Familiarize yourself with many sermon forms, but keep them “ministerial not magisterial” (61). Let the text dictate what will work best. If we attempt to make every sermon an impressive narrative event, it may flop. And like a bad movie, failed Lowry Loops or other narrative sermons can be challenging to sit through. Don’t be afraid to use an expository or topical sermon, as these are less likely to flop. 

• Use the “Boxing Out” method to teach, especially for narrative preachers. This method pauses just before the climax in a narrative to teach a relevant topic, something which highlights and contextualizes the climax even more, which “heightens narrative tension” (74).  

The prospective reader should know that when Curtis calls his book “concise,” he means it. The content portion is just under 100 pages long. That leaves an equal number of pages of almost 30 “illustrative sermons.” While I found a few of these helpful, the section feels oversized and not well integrated with the main content, especially when Curtis himself wrote, “Some of our best men have put our volumes of sermons, and these are invaluable. But we need something more, just as tennis players need something more than film of Djokovic playing tennis” (4). A table of contents or clearer cross-references in the content portion of the book would have made these sermons more effective. There are, however, brief descriptions above each sermon that explain what it illustrates.  

Overall, Curtis’ short book inspires me to continually improve my craft. For the seasoned pastor, I anticipate that this book will serve as a refreshing reinvigoration for preaching. It reads like a conference on preaching from your living room couch, with numerous practical ideas coming at you quickly. While some might not land, others might immediately impact your weekly routine, or, at a minimum, reinvigorate your desire to make the most of this blessed preaching task. If you are inspired to do more in preaching or are feeling stuck in routine, then Telling People What to Think is worth the short read. But whether this book or another, I agree with Curtis that we should all seek to be practitioners of the craft, because “the only bad choice is to be self-satisfied and stagnant” (81).