Fred B Craddock, a Disciples of Christ minister unlike any other, passed away last week at the age of 86. Dr. Craddock, who taught preaching at the Candler School of Theology until his retirement, was selected as one of the 12 most effective preachers in the English-speaking world in a poll of 341 seminary professors and editors of religious periodicals in 1996. (Oddly enough, the current president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville KY felt the need to go public with his distain of Dr. Craddock upon the announcement of his death. I just don't get some people. I really don't.)
I participated in a worship service with him many years ago. He was sweet and Southern and courtly. Then he got in the pulpit and proceeded to hold the congregation in a sway of Gospel, intellect, heart, and passion about bringing God's love and God's peace to a hurting world. The Holy Spirit was there and palpable. No cheers when he was through, no applause, no nothing. When he sat down, folks were quiet. Because they were thinking. Because they were wrestling. Because they were being transformed.
At the time, I was a newly installed senior minister at a good sized church. Dr. Craddock ("call me Fred, my dear", but of course I couldn't) asked me some questions about being a female in the role; we talked just a short time. I asked him for advice, and he gave it to me. Now, I harbor no illusion that he said this, uniquely, to me only; I know it was advice given to many other ministers over many other occasions. But it is still advice I heed every day:
Preach like you know they almost didn't come.
Your work is more important than what you are, or what you are feeling about the church or its people on any given day.
I like to think about Dr. Craddock in Heaven. I like to think that when he showed up, Jesus was there to give him a hug and say 'thank you' to him. Heaven knows the rest of us say 'thank you' for him.
I participated in a worship service with him many years ago. He was sweet and Southern and courtly. Then he got in the pulpit and proceeded to hold the congregation in a sway of Gospel, intellect, heart, and passion about bringing God's love and God's peace to a hurting world. The Holy Spirit was there and palpable. No cheers when he was through, no applause, no nothing. When he sat down, folks were quiet. Because they were thinking. Because they were wrestling. Because they were being transformed.
At the time, I was a newly installed senior minister at a good sized church. Dr. Craddock ("call me Fred, my dear", but of course I couldn't) asked me some questions about being a female in the role; we talked just a short time. I asked him for advice, and he gave it to me. Now, I harbor no illusion that he said this, uniquely, to me only; I know it was advice given to many other ministers over many other occasions. But it is still advice I heed every day:
Preach like you know they almost didn't come.
Your work is more important than what you are, or what you are feeling about the church or its people on any given day.
I like to think about Dr. Craddock in Heaven. I like to think that when he showed up, Jesus was there to give him a hug and say 'thank you' to him. Heaven knows the rest of us say 'thank you' for him.
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