Lately I’ve been doing a lot of listening to other preachers as I drive here and there—not ‘big name,’ famous people—just a whole range of Aussies from various state and denominations, trying to make faith connect with their congregations and community.

My observation from listening is that preaching seems to have become significantly more expositional in its approach. ie. following a passage of scripture from verse x to y and explaining its content with an occasional illustration if deemed necessary.

The era I learnt to preach in (admittedly self taught) was equally intent on communicating the truth of scripture, but involved more story telling, both to keep attention but also to help people grasp an idea. I am noticing the absence of story from a whole lot of preaching and I am wondering why.

Is it simply a shift in the way people are preaching? Is this method taught exclusively in Bible college? Is it learnt thru watching other pastors? Or do busy pastors no longer have sufficient time to connect real life stories to text?

I get the value of expositional preaching and it was a significant part of our diet when I was a pastor, but I definitely don’t see it as the only way of communicating – and it was also done with an element of story present. Jesus was very big on story – usually real life stuff and he seemed to realise that people ‘lean in’ when a story is told.

From the time I began preaching I knew that stories generally captured and held people’s attention, whereas raw theological explanation tended to see minds wander if the material became tough or dense. Has the approach changed and if so why?

Every time I hear a sermon open with ‘turn in your Bibles to…’ or ‘Today we are talking about X’ and I find myself wondering, ‘why didn’t you try harder to capture your audience’s attention right at the front end?‘ Why open with something so pedestrian?

I remember it being said that you have around 30 seconds to capture people’s attention and if you haven’t given them a reason to listen, then chances are their minds will wander elsewhere. This is where good story is so valuable. When it is used well, preaching becomes less of a theology lecture and more of a way of helping people really engage with the text and find a way to live it out the next day. Of course story can be used badly and can detract from the focus if there is no point to it.

But I’m wondering if I am observing a shift. Have we intentionally moved away from the use of good story telling to more expositional preaching? Or have I generally worked alongside good story tellers and assumed this was the norm?

I’m not much good at keeping track of dates – lucky to remember my own birthday let alone anyone else…

But this morning I looked down at my watch, saw that it is the 24th — and now 2 1/2 years since Sam drowned. It feels like if the event was an earthquake then the aftershocks have largely stopped but we live in the rubble of what remains.

And this is where it gets a little complicated. I love my life—pretty much every part of it—so on one hand I am as happy as a pig in mud. But through it all there is a scar of absence—of wishing things were different—but then just picking up and carrying on—because they’re not. He is dead. Not coming back, so for now we have no choice. Actually not true—we do have a choice— whether we learn how to live with pain, or we allow ourselves to be crushed and disabled by it.

I decided early on I would choose to let the pain form me and I wouldn’t run from it—partly because the other option, of simply being ruined by it, couldn’t be allowed to win the day.

And it definitely has been formative, especially in shaping how I respond to others in deep sorrow. Empathy was never a strong point for me — and it’s still not my natural inclination—but through this tragedy I have learnt how to sit with devastated people and not hurry them on. That is good. Not worth losing a son to learn—but still good.

Our family suffers deeply from the lack of his big presence. You knew when he was in the room. He took up space emotionally, verbally and just with pure energy. It also meant that when he was struggling the same was true. Sam had ongoing mental health stuff around OCD—essentially thinking he was a bad person and unworthy of love. (I know it sounds strange and hard to fathom—but there you go—we all have our ‘demons’) So when he was in pain and wrestling with intrusive thoughts we all felt it. He seemed to be just getting on top of the issue when he died so we didn’t get to see a more mature and resolved Sam.

As a dad I often feel the absence of my son—the man in whom I wanted to invest my own energy and fatherly love. I observe other men with their sons and wish it were different for me. But it’s not. And I accept that.

I have been blessed with many other younger men in my life who are happy to spend time with an older ‘father-type’ bloke, so I send my unused energy in those directions—knowing it’s not the same—but it’s also one thing I can do that negates wallowing or self pity.

A few weeks back we watched the movie ‘Unsung Hero’, the story of Helen Smallbone and her family’s move to America after a large financial loss in Australia. In her audio book she says ‘we lost everything‘. And as Danelle and I heard those words we both looked at each other and shook our heads. We have also had a huge financial loss, but I remember my mantra in that time was simply, ‘no-one has died. No one is going to die. It is just money.’ When someone dies it raises the stakes. Even then we didn’t lose everything. It just made me aware of how careful we need to be with language in this space. I imagine a refugee whose, home, livelihood and family has been decimated may have the right to use those words, but they shouldn’t be used lightly and certainly not to describe a financial loss.

What does the road look like from here?

Our trip to Denmark mid-year was a marker for me. I have long mused on moving to the country and living rural—bush and beach being the dream. But as I pondered that life more deliberately it drew me to realising what we would lose. Fifteen years in one small community means we know many people and are also well known. It would mean starting over with friends and church communities. In my head I figured if we did move, it would be our final move and we would be ‘there’ until the end.

But for someone with a sense of calling to local mission it seems a bit futile to do the spadework of digging deep into the soil of a community, only to pull stumps when the hard work is done. I put a flag in the ground after that trip that said, barring a voice from heaven, we will stay here. We will allow those roots to go deeper and the fruit of a local life to ripen. To be honest I can’t help but keep an eye out for those idyllic properties, but these days it’ just pure window-shopping.

As a result we both agreed to be elders at our local church here in Yanchep, not a role I take lightly. It means deliberate bedding down, choosing a focus and giving it significant energy. I will still do some speaking around the place in the mornings, but our commitment will be to Yanchep church and it’s health.

Alongside that I will run my various business ventures at a pace that fits the life we feel called to live and I will enjoy the many significant and beautiful connections that have come from living in this place.

Similarly Danelle has a small venture up and running now, recycling vintage fabrics into beautiful clothing. In the sewing and creating she has found joy again and whether it’s rollicking business success or not is somewhat irrelevant. She is feeling renewed and able to function again in a more healthy way.

Most days we just get on with life and do our various things but occasionally there are moments when memories flood back, glimpses of him haunt you or you just simply reflect on the loss. This was our last photo of him alive, and it is so full of joy and connectedness that I can’t look at it without tears. Two ‘kids’ just loving life—so totally unaware of what was about to happen.

We miss him deeply, but he is never far from our hearts and thoughts.