The worst sermon I ever preached had its roots in shame and iniquity. And the worst part is that I knew it was going to be a terrible sermon before I preached it.
It was one of those dry weeks when I couldn't come up with a thing to say, and the lectionary texts weren't helping. I didn't have time to study them before the church secretary needed a sermon title for the big sign outside our church.
It was going to be a holiday weekend, and I was already irritated. I was angry at all those slackers who would skip the terrible sermon I had not yet put any work into. What could I possibly put on the sign outside the church that might entice someone who was thinking of skipping church to come in? And what topic was vague enough to cover whatever the muse might give me in the days ahead? Then it hit me, in a moment of marketing genius: "Thank God for Grandmothers." Who could resist that?