Edward Rosenbaum's visits to the hospital were not like yours. He never had to complete reams of forms or endure the nervous tedium of the waiting room. When Rosenbaum entered, he passed through a private door and rode on a special elevator. He even called the doctors by their first names.

But once he was diagnosed with cancer this relationship took on a different cast. The next time he entered the hospital it was not as chief of medicine and president of the staff but as a patient. The experience was transformational. In his book entitled A Taste of My Own Medicine, Rosenbaum writes: "I have heard it said that to be a doctor, you must first be a patient. It wasn't until then that I learned that the physician and patient are not on the same track. The view is entirely different when you are standing at the side of the bed from when you are lying in it."

The same could be said of preaching. The sermon sounds very different from the other side of the pulpit. When I joined the faculty of Moody Bible Institute, after nine years of pastoral ministry, I found that my experience of the preaching event changed radically.

The Challenge of Listening

Occasionally one of the members of my church would chide me after the service for preaching too long. "Good sermon, pastor" he would say on the way out the door. Then with a smile he would add, "But if it can't be said in twenty minutes, it doesn't need to be said." Although I did not agree with him, in those moments when I emerged from the prophetic rapture of sermon delivery, I had to admit that not everyone in my audience was as interested in listening as I was in preaching.

There was Dave, three rows back on the left hand side, bobbing his head drowsily. Behind him sat Jim, with eyes closed, unashamedly asleep. Meanwhile, a tired mother near the back tried to divide her attention between my message and the child seated next to her, who was busily asking questions about the picture she was coloring. Not one of these people appeared to find the worship experience quite as compelling me.

The Noisiest Pew in Church

It took only a few Sundays in the pew to discover how much competition the preacher faces during the message. One Sunday the background noise in the church seemed to be unusually high. It was certainly higher than anything I had encountered during my years in the pulpit. I could barely hear what the pastor was saying above the din of rustling pages, scribbling pencils, and tapping feet. Scanning the congregation for the source of the disruption, I was dismayed to find that it not only originated in my pew, it was being generated by my own children. When I raised my eyebrows to signal my displeasure to my wife, she gazed placidly ahead, apparently unconcerned about the racket being made by these unruly creatures.

I used to imagine what it would be like to worship with my family on Sunday. I envisioned the children eagerly sitting next to me, listening to the preacher with rapt attention. I thought that we would discuss the sermon together on the way home in the car, as I added my own valuable insight. The Sunday my youngest took a pencil from the pew rack and launched it across the sanctuary, it occurred to me that my perception of life in the pew may have been somewhat unrealistic.