It is my great pleasure not to
introduce really, but to welcome
back home, one who is well known
and well loved in this place as
our preacher tonight, Dr. Fred
Craddock. Those of us who are
preachers, our preaching is
different because of Fred
Craddock. Who among us has not
told a Craddock story? Or two,
or twenty? It was Saint
Augustine in his textbook on
homiletics who said, There are
able preachers who have studied
rhetoric, and there are able
preachers who have not studied
rhetoric, but there are no able
preachers who have not admired
and imitated the truly eloquent.
Those of us who teach preaching,
our teaching is different
because of Fred. Drawing on
intellectual resources as wide
as Kierkegaard and Abeling, Fred
Craddock has crafted a new
homiletic. And in homiletics,
when we say we're PC, we don't
mean politically correct, we
mean pre-Craddock and post
-Craddock.
For those of us who listen to
sermons, the way we listen to
sermons is different because of
Fred Craddock. We come ready to
be delighted, our imaginations
invigorated by the biblical text
and the human experience. We
understand better what the
Gospel of Mark said of Jesus,
and the large crowd listened to
him with delight. Fred, we are
glad you've changed us. We are
glad that you called during part
of your career, Candler, your
home. We are glad you're here
tonight, but we are glad, most
of all, that you belong to the
one to whom you belong, and that
you are here to preach that
one's Gospel.
Let us pray.
Gracious God, you sit above the
heavens, you inhabit eternity,
your name is holy. And yet you
promised to dwell with those of
a humble and contrite heart. We
offer tonight the hospitality of
our hearts. Permit us this
evening to be your holy temple
in the name of Christ. Amen.
Not to enter until invited, but
you have invited us, and so
we're here. We've been here
before, but each time is as
though it were the first time.
Forgive our awkwardness, but to
be in your present is like
nothing else we know. When we
consider the heavens, the work
of your fingers, the moon, and
stars which you've ordained, who
are we that you're mindful of
us? Who are we that you visit
us? We wait for your blessing so
that we may properly worship
you. Gracious God, we know the
kingdom courtesy, not to speak
until spoken to, but you have
spoken to us, and so we speak.
We speak on behalf of all who
are afraid, for all who are
deeply angry, for all who have
been made to feel ashamed. We
speak on behalf of all who dread
the night, and all who dread the
break of day. We speak on behalf
of those who care deeply, and
those who do not care at all. We
speak on behalf of those who
live in undeserved poverty, and
those who live in undeserved
wealth, those who feel
powerless, and those who hold
the power.
Gracious God, we speak on behalf
of ourselves. Touch our limbs
with a love cold from your altar
that we may speak the truth in
love. In the name of Christ,
amen.
And I saw the seven angels who
stand before God, and seven
trumpets were given to them.
Another angel stood with a
golden censor and came and stood
at the altar. He was given a
great quantity of incense to
offer with the prayers of all
the saints on the golden altar
that is before the throne. And
the smoke of the incense with
the prayers of the saints rose
before God from the hand of the
angel. Then the angel took the
censor and filled it with fire
from the altar and threw it on
the earth. And there were peals
of thunder, rumblings, flashes
of lightning, and an earthquake.
Now the seven angels who had the
seven trumpets made ready to
blow them.
It is for me a real pleasure to
spend the evening in worship
with you. I'm grateful to this
congregation and to its
minister, Wesley Wackel. Is
Wesley still minister here?
It's been about two years and I
know how the itinerant system
works.
And for the generous
introduction by Tom Long, who
was yesterday installed in the
bandit chair preaching. Some
people say that I was the first
to occupy the chair. It's not
true. When I was there, it was a
hammock.
But the new dean is a rather
rigorous sort, and so they made
it into a chair. And I'm glad
I'm gone, really. There are many
fine teachers of preaching in
the seminaries of this country,
but Tom Long is number one. And
I hope the community
increasingly appreciates that.
I came here to talk to you about
silence.
If we had a question-answer
period following the session, I
know two questions that would be
raised. Number one is, isn't it
a contradiction to be talking
about silence? And the answer is
yes. But who cares?
The second question would be, we
noticed that tomorrow morning in
Cannon Chapel, you're going to
be speaking on sound. Do you
think you can separate silence
and sound? And the answer is no.
There is no surgeon that can do
that. They belong together. You
cannot separate them. Because
sound proceeds from silence,
silence waits for sound. I used
to try to emphasize to the
students that when you become
pastor of a church, you don't
have to be everywhere and you
don't have to say everything.
Let your presence proceed from
your absence. Let your words
proceed from your silence. It is
far better that way. Those two
questions would be raised and
since we hear no other
questions, I will proceed.
I want to talk to you about
silence because I think that's
what the church has to offer the
world.
I had occasion to come to
Atlanta two weeks ago, I guess.
Downtown to the Louder Milk
building. And I took the
occasion trying to find the
building and weave myself in and
out of Atlanta to notice the
location of churches. There are
churches that are built right up
against the house of wealth.
There are churches built very
close to the house of power in
Atlanta. There are churches
built right in the middle of
poverty and social
disorganization. There are
churches built very close to
guns and violence here.
There are churches built close
to courtrooms where the claims
of the orphan and the widow are
to be heard and the string of
truth pulled out of the meshes
of error. And next door is a
church. I think about Glen. Glen
sits here in this beautiful spot
but surrounded by houses of
inquiry. This is a university
and every other house on this
property is devoted to asking
the questions. Hard penetrating
questions and pursuing the
answer. What does a church do
when it's built in a nest of
houses of investigation?
My suggestion is that the church
has to offer the world silence.
Now I don't mean just any
silence. There are all kinds of
silence. There's good silence.
There's silence in the midst of
a musical score. It's powerful.
There's the silence of
meditation. Leave me alone.
That's good. There's the silence
between a couple, husband, wife,
long married, or between two
friends, long close to each
other. That's a good silence
too, can sit all evening and
hardly speak, but quite
comfortable with the silence.
Both of them reading or drive
for miles and miles and miles
and not speak. And then she
says, wasn't it along here about
20 years ago that we saw that
caravan of gypsy wagons? I was
just thinking the same thing.
We've been married too long.
We're reading each other's mind.
That's good silence. Good
silence. And then there's the
generic anonymous silence. 80
,000 people stand while the loud
speaker says, and now we pause
to remember all those who've
ever lost a ball game. We'll
have a moment of silence. Amen.
Don't get it, boys.
Then there is bad silence,
negative silence, ugly silence,
silence of unjust treatment.
You've heard of people being
silenced. You've heard of people
having no voice in their own
world. I think the most moving
story my mother ever told about
her life, and she didn't speak
of it a great deal, was the time
when she turned 21 and she was
allowed to vote. She rode a
horse, side saddle, five miles
to vote, to come home
triumphantly saying, now I have
a voice. We've had a lot of
triumphalism in this country
lately, a lot of beating the
chest and popping suspenders and
being imperious. But we ought to
remember that it was in the
1960s that we began to extend
equality. It was in the second
decade of the 20th century that
women were allowed to vote. We
should not be arrogant.
There is cowardly silence. Were
you there? Yeah, I was there. I
saw it all. I saw every bit of
it. I heard what was said. You
were? You were there? Well, did
you speak up? No, I didn't say
anything. But you saw it all.
You knew it was wrong. You heard
what was going on. Well, I don't
know. I was afraid they might
call me later to court to tell
it off. I just don't like to
hear it. But you were there.
And you said nothing? No, I said
nothing.
I guess I should have said
something, but I was silent.
There's the silence of cruelty,
punishing a child by not
speaking. Do you remember? Do
you remember Keim Potach's book,
The Promise, when the rabbi rib
Saunders wanted his son, Danny,
to suffer because the rabbi said
to be a Jew is to suffer. It is
not enough for a boy to be happy
in school and to eat ice cream
and go to the movies. He should
suffer. And so the rabbi did not
speak to his son when the son
was seven years old until he
finished college. Not a word. He
should suffer.
There's lonely silence. And
Nettie said you should go see
Mrs. Anderson. I said, I don't
know Mrs. Anderson. Well, she
knows you. Go see Mrs. Anderson.
Well, where is she? She's in the
nursing home. Well, maybe
sometime. Did you go see Mrs.
Anderson? Well, no. Go see Mrs.
Anderson. I can take a
suggestion.
I went out to the nursing home.
Beautiful place. Looked like a
motel. Tall silver flagpole with
two flags flopping at the top. A
bed of canas around the base of
the flagpole and that black
asphalt out to the side.
Visitors parking. I had my
choice of places. No car was
there. I went inside. Room 220.
Knocked at the door. Come in.
Mrs. Anderson, I'm Fred
Craddock. You know my wife,
Nettie? Yes. I said, what are
you in for, Mrs. Anderson?
And she said, talking to myself.
There's chaotic silence. I was
almost a part of chaotic
silence. Some of you know that I
attended a small work college, a
Bible college, on the French
Broad River in Upper East
Tennessee. It was a farm school,
herd of cattle, turkeys,
chickens. Had to raise the feed,
milk the cows, feed the animals,
take care of all of it.
Everybody worked. And the
schedule of the college was
based on the work. The cows were
milked at 3.30 in the morning
and 3.30 in the afternoon.
Breakfast was at 5.30. Greek
class began at 6.30.
All the schedule in routine of
the college was told by a large
bell in the tower of the main
building, and so it had been for
50 years. 3.30 in the morning. 5
.30. 6.30. 3.30 again. 5.30
again. And so it was. Some of us
smarted under the regimen. As we
approached our senior year, we
became more bold and courageous
and finally tried to protest to
no avail. So finally we were
pushed to desperate measures. No
protest, no more posters, no
more petitions, no more
appealing to the dean. None of
that. Two of the Huskier fellows
climbed the tower and removed
the clapper from the bell.
The next morning there was
silence. And there was silence,
and there was silence. And we
were sort of enjoying the
silence and going to classes
late or not at all. I didn't
hear the bell. Oh, it was a big
farce and there was chaos. We
didn't realize what effect it
would have on the whole
countryside. Farmers within
three miles of there were
confused and upset and came to
the campus and asked the
president of the school, what
are you doing to us? Our
schedule is set by that bell.
What is the matter that you're
not ringing the bell? And the
cows were confused. Animals in
the forest were saying, well,
I'm going back to bed. Cats and
dogs were saying, what time is
it? What time is it? What a
chaos. The clapper was recovered
and replaced. Three students
were sent packing and there was
again the sound of silence.
There are all kinds of silence,
but I'm not going to talk about
those. I want to say a word
about the silence that the
church offers. The silence that
belongs to the presence of God.
You know it as well as I do. The
scripture speaks of silence
belonging to God and to heaven
and to the activity of God. Do
you remember the text Revelation
8? When there is that great
conflict between the forces of
Rome under the booted heel of
emperor Domitian, contesting the
sovereignty of God in the world,
and this cruel emperor standing
like a colossus, one foot on
land, one foot on sea,
challenging heaven, and heaven
responds. And seven angels are
given seven trumpets. Before
they put the trumpets to their
lips. All is quiet. That unusual
apocalypse we call second estrus
says that before there was
creation, when there was only
God and the spirit brooding over
the face of the deep, there were
seven days of silence. And
Bishop Ignatius, when he was
writing to the church at
Ephesus, enjoyed talking about
all that God does in silence.
Mysterious silence. God is not
noisy. God doesn't talk and
chatter all the time. Some
things God does in silence.
Bishop Ignatius said, for
instance, God has done three
mysterious things in silence. In
Ignatius' world, may I say, that
in his world, many people
believe that the air above and
around us and the land beneath
us and the emptiness beneath the
land was all filled with spirits
whose sole desire was to thwart
and stop the purposes of God.
And when they picked up a rumor
that God was going to do
something wonderful in the
world, they would try to stop
it, thwart it, or change it. And
they heard a whisper that God
was sending God's Son into the
world. And so they said, let's
stop it. And they were standing
at every normal portal there was
will not come this way. Would
God, in God's silence, spoke to
a young virgin? They missed it.
They said, we'll get him when
he's born. Sent the demons to
every palace, every grand man or
every marvelous building. The
king's son will surely come as a
prince. And there was a cry of a
baby down in Bethlehem from a
stable. We missed it. Oh, we'll
get him when he sets up to do
his work. And so they watched
every grand place in the world.
When shall the Son of God do his
work, try to conquer everything?
And God put him on a cross
between thieves. And the demons
said, we missed it. And Ignatius
said, God works mysteriously in
silence. There is a silence
that's appropriate to God. It's
not a deadly silence. It's a
hopeful silence. It is full of
hope. You take the occasions in
Scripture that speak of the
silence of God. Something grand
and marvelous is about to
happen. Seven days of silence.
And then God said, and there was
light, and there was sun, and
moon, and stars. And God said,
out of the silence, as the
bishop said, the word of God
proceeds from silence.
Hopeful. Elijah running from
Jezebel went south. Exhausted
was fed by the ravens. He
continued the journey till he
came to the mountain of God. And
God hid him in the cleft of the
rock, and God passed by. And
there was trembling and wind and
storm and fire. And then there
was the sound of sheer silence.
And strangely enough, Elijah
heard the silence and went to
the mouth of the cave and
covered his face. And God said,
he heard the silence, moved to
the opening of the cave, ready.
It is a hopeful silence in the
text from Revelation 8. The
silence in heaven for half an
hour is expectant. It is full of
anticipation. Something is about
to happen. And seven trumpets
given to seven angels, and
everybody was quiet. Marrieds
upon marriage of angels. Quiet.
God is about to do something.
What did the prophet say? The
Lord has come into his holy
tent. Let everybody be quiet.
The day of the Lord has finally
come. Let all the earth be
silent. Silence, everyone. I
hear the stirring of God. The
silence of God is full of
anticipation. It's not deadly,
lifeless. It is expectant. It is
hopeful. But at the same time,
not arrogant, making no claims
to what God is going to do. You
don't know what God's going to
do. I don't know what God's
going to do, but whoever comes
to the altar and kneels at the
altar and touches the velvet
rope, leaves full of hope, but
humbled by what we don't know.
If there is anything
inappropriate in our world, it's
for anybody in a legitimate
profession, including the
ministry, to be arrogant. To be
a scientist and arrogant is a
contradiction. To be a physician
and arrogant is a contradiction.
To be an attorney and arrogant
is a contradiction. To be a
teacher, a preacher and arrogant
is a contradiction. What do you
know? What do I know? I don't
know. But I touch the velvet
rope, and I trust that God is
going to do something. I don't
like. I get the burrs. When
somebody comes up to me and
presses the claims of Jesus upon
my life, when it's obvious
they've never knelt at the
altar, they've never touched the
rope, they're so superior, so
wrong. I'll tell you the truth.
I'd rather take my chances as a
pagan, suckled in some outworn
creed than to strut through the
world, reciting the Apostles'
Creed while I ate popcorn and
made fun of other people. I
don't know. You don't know. But
this we know. I was near the
silence, and I left with some of
that silence within me. When you
come to the altar and kneel,
when you touch the velvet rope
and leave, you take a little
piece of the silence of God with
you, and it's evident. I can
tell when someone waits on me in
a grocery if they've touched the
velvet rope, I can tell if the
man working on my car has
touched it. If the surgeon
working me over has touched the
velvet rope, you can tell it is
a reverence that grows out of
participating in the silence of
God. There is nothing like
reverence, nothing at all. If I
had the knowledge and the
ability to write a book on
ethics, I would begin at the
altar, I would close at the
altar, because frankly, I don't
know the difference between
reverence and tenderness.
Reverence and caring.
Reverence and truthfulness.
Do you know the difference? I
don't. But I know when I meet
somebody who's reverent. I
remember years ago hearing Scott
Mamaday, some of you know Scott
Mamaday, teaches literature at
University of Arizona, written a
number of books, Kiowa Indian,
and he was at our little school
when I taught in Oklahoma, and
he told, and maybe somewhere he
has written this, I don't know,
he told when he was a boy on the
reservation near Lawton,
Oklahoma, Fort Seale, his
grandmother was everything to
him. When he got out of school,
he ran to her little house, and
her broad apron was his
fortress, and her kitchen was
his arsenal, and he was
comfortable and safe every
afternoon. One afternoon, he was
delayed, either with playmates
after school or school itself,
he didn't remember, but it was
almost dark when he got to her
house, and he ran into the back
door into the kitchen, Grandma!
No answer. Grandma! No answer.
Grandma! No answer. He said,
then I moved through the kitchen
to the other room. She had two
rooms, to the other room, and I
got to the doorway, and I was
stopped, because in that dark
room, already the kerosene lamp
was lit, and she was at the foot
of the bed, and she was in her
customary fashion of her tribe,
bowing and rising and bowing,
hallowed be thy name, thy
kingdom come. He said, I was
scared to death. And I said to
myself, I have no right in here.
I fight to be in this room. But
I knew that moment, why my
grandmother was the wonderful
person she was.
And the trumpets were handed to
the seven angels. And if you
remember the account in the book
of Revelation, starting there in
chapter 8, the first trumpet,
the second trumpet, the third
trumpet, fourth trumpet, fifth
trumpet, sixth trumpet, one
after another, and everything
was breaking loose, and it just
seemed that everything was in
convulsion and shaking and
falling. But where's the seventh
trumpet? You go to chapter 9?
No. Chapter 10? No. You get on
through almost through chapter
11, and then it says, and then
the angel with the seventh
trumpet. Ah! And the trumpet was
sounded, and the blast of the
trumpet shattered the clear
glass of silence. And a thousand
voices rang out beyond the
silence. Holy, holy, holy Lord
God Almighty, the kingdoms of
this earth have become the
kingdom of our Lord and His
Christ, and He will reign
forever and ever and twenty-four
elders on the twelve thrones,
bowed to the ground and said,
All wisdom and glory and power
belong to God. Amen.