I am an itinerant preacher. My work at Forward Movement takes me away from home more than I’m home, and quite often it is my task to preach. Now, I consider myself a competent preacher. Most sermons, I hope, get the job done. Occasionally I have a better than average sermon, and now and then I am left delivering a sermon that is, charitably, a text that had potential with more work.

What always astounds me are the comments I receive. Every preacher knows that when you stand in the handshake line, people say kind things. “Nice sermon, Father” is muttered on auto-pilot. I’ve even heard that one when I hadn’t preached. Beyond the rote comments, one sometimes hears specific comments or criticisms. I’m always grateful for these, especially if they afford feedback that might help me get better.

When I preach, I hear two consistent compliments. The first one goes something like this: “I loved your sermon. I could understand it.” By this, I’ve learned, people mean either they could comprehend the ideas I expressed or, sometimes, they could literally hear all the words I said. The second compliment usually goes like this: “Thanks for your sermon. It was so refreshing to hear a biblical sermon.”

Now, I like compliments as much as the next person. And I know these are offered with grateful hearts, and the mere fact that someone took the time to tell me these things says that my sermon was effective in some way for them. That’s all good.

But I can’t help but wonder what these particular comments mean in the larger context of preaching in the Episcopal Church. Apparently it’s unusual to be able to make out what the preacher is saying. It’s not common to track the ideas that the preacher is trying to convey. And, finally, it is noteworthy that a preacher made good use of the scriptural texts assigned for the day. Viewed this way, these compliments make me a bit sad.

Imagine taking a car ride with someone. At the end of the ride, you remark, “That was some great driving! You didn’t hit anyone, and you stayed in the lane markings most of the time!” Don’t we hope the standards for “great driving” are a bit higher?

We should expect more from our preachers.

Many of those who climb into pulpits next Sunday will offer fine sermons. Some will be great. Statistics would tell us that some of them will inevitably be lousy. I know this, because every now and then, despite my best efforts, I’m the one offering the lousy sermon. My worry is that too many sermons won’t quite fall to the level of “lousy” but neither will they rise to the level of competent.

I think of the sermon I heard a few years ago in which the preacher spent 15-16 minutes reviewing a novel he’d just finished and then wrapped up the sermon with two or three minutes mentioning the day’s readings. Or the sermon at a Great Vigil of Easter in which the entire sermon consisted of a story about an elephant. Or the times I’ve heard sermons that seemingly launched a new homily with each paragraph, resulting in a dizzying array of sermons from which to choose, in the space of about ten minutes. Or, my least favorite, the ones where a preacher says the Bible is wrong or undermines a core doctrine of the church.

How do we fix this? How can we make sure that it won’t be worth commenting when we understand our preachers and when our preachers comment on God’s word in the scriptures.

My friend, the Rev. Carol Anderson, herself an outstanding preacher, tells me she sees two problems with many preachers. First, preachers simply don’t spent enough time doing their work. Sermons don’t write themselves; they take hours to prepare and craft. Second, too many preachers try to be clever. But as Anderson notes, people don’t come to church to hear something clever. They come to church to hear a message of hope. “Instead of being clever, say something for the person who is sitting in the pew who wonders how they’re going to make it until Monday.”

I’ve taken that to heart, but there’s one more thing I ponder each time I climb into a pulpit. It’s quite possible there’s someone sitting there right in front of you who has never been to church as an adult. You are about to preach the first sermon they’ll have ever heard. How do you want to make a first impression for the Gospel of Jesus Christ?

Hint: it’s not a clever take using historical-critical method. It’s not a political commentary every bit as good as what’s on Fox or MSNBC. It’s not another todo list, things we must do in order to be a decent person.

No, I think the sermon does well if it delivers a message of hope, grace, and mercy. We don’t need to get on God’s good side; we’re already there. We don’t need to do stuff to please God. Rather, our lives will show forth the fruits of a sanctified life if we begin to grasp God the Father’s love for us. Well, yes, preachers may well comment on politics, but let’s do that in way that’s about God’ redemptive love.

You can ignore everything I’m saying about what I try to do when I preach. Maybe listen to a great preacher for better advice. But hear this: make sure you preach God’s word in a way that people can understand. Work on your delivery if needed. Study the Bible more. Get help with organizing your thoughts.

St. Paul advises us to preach Christ and him crucified. It’s 100% solid advice. And if we’re going to do that, we’ll need it to be unremarkable that we preached a biblical sermon in a way that made sense.