Playing in Church: Insights from the Boundaries of the Sermon Genre

As a child growing up in the African Methodist Episcopal Church, I had the joy of listening to a reading of the Ten Commandments every first Sunday of the month. This reading was always rather dramatic with sung responses after each commandment: “Lord, have mercy upon us and incline our hearts to keep this law.” One of the ministers would take it a little further. He would introduce the Commandments in his normal speaking voice, but when he began reading the actual Commandments, he would drop two full octaves and adopt a James Earl Jones baritone, “I am the Lord thy God, who brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. Thou shalt have no other gods but me.” And on he would thunder through the entire Decalogue. Hearing this assumption of the divine voice tickled me so much that I would wait for it with glee and then play with divine voices of my own—some helium-tank high. I have memories of being shushed because I became a little too loud. One might dismiss this game of mine as childhood entertainment, but I want to believe that I had not yet fully internalized the idea that God sounded like James Earl Jones. Decades have passed since then, yet that conception of God and of the divine spokesperson persists and sometimes overdetermines contemporary approaches to African American preaching. Too often, notions of charisma and authority are hampered by the archetype of the cisgender, heterosexual, able-bodied man who manifests his anointing in spellbinding oratory and a Hollywood voice. The appeal of this approach to preaching persists for good reasons. First, there were historical situations in which African American communities needed charismatic Moses-like spokespersons. Relying on them today feels justified given that the legacy of slavery continues to stifle Black life on a daily basis. Second, through their brilliant artistry and variety of styles, preachers of this ilk provide an invaluable ecclesial and cultural gift. Traditional African-American preaching is some of the most vibrant preaching to be heard today and offers urgent, justice-oriented, biblically based arguments that distill what Christianity is and why it matters in the contemporary moment. Even some of the less well-known practitioners demonstrate astonishing skill. We are right to cherish this tradition. At the same time, I find that when this Moses model of preaching stands alone as the model, it presents enormous hurdles for the Miriams and Aarons among us who preach in different