Over the years I’ve served one church as pastor and ten churches as interim pastor. Besides that, I’ve served as a supply preacher or missionary speaker at countless churches. At many churches after the service, the preacher stands at the main exit and speaks to the folks as they leave. Many feel compelled to say something about the sermon.
The comments the departing attenders make vary widely and wildly. If you are a visiting preacher, they often say thanks for coming or thanks for preaching for us today. However, if you are the pastor or interim pastor, the comments change. Of course, many say, “Good sermon.” Old-timers sometimes comment, “You really stepped on my toes today.” Other times, people say things that are humorous, frustrating, or touching. Here are some that I recall vividly.
I spoke on missions at a church in East Texas. After the service, a man came to me and said, “Most missionary presentations are terrible, but yours wasn’t half bad.” (I believe that is called “being damned by faint praise.”)
At a church where I served as the interim pastor, an elderly gentleman paused to say, “Brother Mark, I sure do like your preaching.” (I thought—now here’s a guy who appreciates a well-crafted sermon.) Then he continued, “Yes, sir, you always let us out on time.” (That’s the main thing, after all.)
At that same church, I preached a sermon entitled “Grow Up,” based on 2 Peter 3:18. After the service, one of the deacons said, “Brother Mark, those people really needed to hear that sermon.” (This comment made by a man who was conducting a long public feud with his brother, who was a deacon in a sister church.)
At the church I pastored in Kentucky, a woman came to me after the sermon. She said, “How did you know I needed that sermon? How did you know my personal situation?” (In fact, I did not know about her problem.) I replied, “ I did not know about your situation. I planned to preach that sermon six months ago. That was the Holy Spirit at work.” (On occasions like that I can only say, Wow!)
Of course, I have preached sermons on repentance from sins of commission or omission, and people said, “I really enjoyed that sermon.” (Comments like that frustrate me, and I want to blurt out—“It wasn’t meant for your enjoyment.”)
I normally preach expository sermons. One time after preaching in West Texas an older lady approached me. She said, “Brother Terry, I know where you got your outline. It was right there in the Bible.” I responded, “Yes, that is exactly right. I took my outline from the Bible passage.” She replied, “You know, I never heard a sermon like that before.” (That made me wonder.)
Well, what about you? Have folks made comments to you that
People can bless you or frustrate you or make you laugh out loud with their after sermon comments. I once invited a young man to preach at our church and he did a great job. A lady who didn’t particularly like me said as she came through shaking hands, “That was the best message that I’ve heard in a long (looking at me) LONG time!”
My favorite was the time I had a missionary friend speak in the church I was pastoring, and a long time member who was in the habit of saying the same thing on the way out the door every Sunday, told me, ‘You preached a good sermon today preacher!’.
I asked our Wednesday night Bible Study crowd for things that helped them in their devotional life. A woman who isn’t particularly fond of me replied, “Sermons.” “Wow,” I thought, “Maybe I’m getting through to her after all.” “Yes,” she continued, “There are two or three preachers on the radio that I really like to listen to.”
From someone else’s after sermon comments: An old preacher from our community was well known for his thunderous voice. After one particularly rousing sermon, a deacon commented, “Brother W____, you know it’s lightning that kills, and not thunder.” True story. I retold it in my “Sandy Valley News” with names changed to protect the innocent and the guilty.
https://baptistsearch.blogspot.com/2017/12/sandy-valley-its-lightning-that-kills.html
I was back in the US from the field and the folks in Richmond asked me to speak on a LMCO Sunday at a church I had never attended. As I entered the back of the church prior to the service, an older woman was leaving. An older man called out to her, “Where are you going, Edith?” “Haven’t you heard,” she replied, “There’s a missionary speaking today.” “Hold on,” said the man, “I’m coming with you.”
This post reminds me of why I have never adopted the habit of standing at the exit after the worship service. I have found it more beneficial to stay up front and maybe have one or two “real” conversations with those who approach me.
Having said that here’s my sermon comment story:
Whenever I preach at my home church (the church I grew up in) I usually joke about trying to make it up to those who were unfortunate enough to endure some of my early sermons. I am referring to the sermons I preached as a teenage–30 years ago (I’m thankful some of those stinkers are only available on cassette tape).
The last time I preached there a lady in the church mentioned my joke and said she wasn’t impressed with some of the first sermons she had heard from me. She proceeded to complement my improvement. But as the conversation continued I realized the unimpressive sermons she was referring to probably happened 10 years ago. At least she complemented my current “work.”
I’ve received a comment several times that leaves me a little uncertain on how to reply. “Pastor, I like your children’s messages. I get more out of them than your sermons.” That is either an indictment of them or me…not sure. I would like to reply, “Well, I try to relate to every maturity level in the room.” However, I usually reply, “Thanks!”
I’m in my third year pastoring and preach about twice a month as the Associate/Executive Pastor. Had a a lady tell me the other day, “I really enjoyed your message Sunday! We don’t leave anymore when you preach!”
I guess that means I’m getting better?
Ouch! That is the way I would interpret her comment.
Nine months in as pastor at this church, last Sunday an older lady said to me, “I’ve just decided that you’re crazy… but it’s a lot of fun!”
What can you reply to that?