One Shift, Better Sermons
The Science Backed Secret To Sermons That Slap
It’s not about logging more hours hunched over the desk, eyes bleeding.
It’s not some shiny new exegesis from a hipster theologian, nor mastery of your ChatGPT overlords—though, hell, taming AI’s probably a slick move.
My pal Dennis dropped this truth-bomb a decade back, and it stuck like gum in my soul’s hair. I was a crammer, a sermon-jacker, gorging on other preachers’ homilies like a vulture at a roadkill buffet. It’s the vilest way to preach—your voice stays a ghost, a Xerox of someone else’s soul. Some of you are paralyzed, too scared to scribble an original line because you’ve only ever feasted on the carrion of others’ words. I’ve been there, drowning in self-doubt, wondering how these pulpit gods spun gold from dust.
Then I let the text breathe through me, preached it raw and ragged in my own timbre—boom, the insecurity dissolved like a bad acid trip.
Great, you’ve got your voice now. You’ve ditched the plagiarism panic for something authentically yours.
Massive.
But here’s the rub: you’re still cramming Friday nights, Saturday marathons, staggering into Sunday like a zombie Moses, tablets crumbling.
I get it. Sunday’s the Super Bowl. You’re wiped, buried in meetings—meetings oozing from every orifice—and you dodge the sermon prep because your habit’s this masochistic binge, emerging like you’ve wrestled God himself.
There’s a sharper path.
And there’s an insane amount of science behind it, which I’ll show you.
Actually I’m gonna spam you with a ton of science.
But here’s the kicker: material you’ve steeped in, slow-cooked over days, arms you with a pulpit swagger that radiates grace to the pews. When you’re loose, flowing, it shows—visibly, viscerally. When you’re half-lost, you ramble, you “uhhh,” you stall, flailing for the next point like a drunk groping for his keys.
“But time’s a tyrant!”
Five hours. That’s it. A week.
Never consecutive.
So what’s the trick? The pivot?
Here it is:
