Not too long ago, I was flying into Guatemala City. It was dark, late, and extremely bumpy because of a terrible storm. I had a window seat, and as I looked out, all I could see was lightning. Lots of it.
I wondered, “How often does a plane gets struck by lightning?” At that instant, it felt as if the plane dropped about 1,000 feet. Everyone on the plane screamed or gasped. I might have shrieked like a little girl.
Several Guatemalans grabbed their rosary beads and began to pray. I grabbed the armrest (not nearly as helpful) and started to cry out, “Oh God, I’m ready for heaven, but I’d rather not die in an air disaster!”
As we neared the landing strip, it looked as if we were about to land on the runway lights instead of in the middle of the airstrip (because we were). Suddenly, the pilot went full-throttle and pulled up. Apparently, due to severe wind shear, we were about to land off the pavement, and the captain wanted a do-over.
Thankfully, close calls in airplanes aren’t common to me, but I’ve crashed my fair share of sermons. Many times, I’ve wished I had the opportunity for a do-over.
It’s embarrassing when I think about it, but I’ve come to the end of way too many powerful and potentially life-changing sermons only to run everything into the ground in the last five minutes.
Before we go on, let’s define the phrase “crashing a sermon.” For me, it means not saying what needs to be said to bring a talk to a clear and persuasive conclusion.
We crash when we abruptly or clumsily end our sermon without a smooth landing.
For example, I heard one pastor say, “Well, that’s it, I guess. (Uncomfortable pause.) Time to get out of here and onto bigger and better things . . . like lunch!”
Awkward.
We crash a sermon when we leave people wondering, What did he just say, and why did I bother to come today?
I once ineptly declared at the end of a message, “I’m not sure why you came today or what I just tried to say, but hopefully you got something out of it. If not, better luck next time!”
Wow. That inspired confidence. (Not really.)
Then, of course, there are the pastors who don’t know when to stop. They drone on and on circling the runway, desperately trying to find a way to finish. It’s obvious to everyone that they haven’t thought out their landing.
Nobody likes it when the preacher says, “In conclusion . . .” and then goes on for what seems like an eternity.
I was at a pastor’s conference some time ago, and the keynote speaker spent more time talking after he said, “In conclusion” than he did before his lengthy wrap-up.
It was painful.
We also land in a mess of debris and burning metal when we craft a conclusion that has absolutely nothing to do with any of the points we made.
It’s like the guy who did a Christmas Eve message that ended with why Evangelicals don’t baptize for the dead.
Seriously? How does anyone get from the Virgin birth to bashing a Mormon doctrine?
So, the plane must land and land well.
Here are some ways to make that happen.
First, invest as much time in the conclusion as you do the introduction and the body of your talk.
My wife and I have four grown children. When they were in school, all of them performed in either bands or choirs. Attending junior high concerts can be, well, challenging, to say the least. I remember one band concert in particular. My youngest daughter played the flute, and she was excited to have her parents in the audience.
The concert was going as well as you’d expect from a junior high band. But during the very last song, it seemed like no one was playing the same melody. The tempo was off. The notes and music collided like birds against a window. It was horrible.
The band director was flustered, and in desperation, he finally stopped, turned to the crowd and said, “I’ll think we’ll try this one again from the beginning.”
People cheered (out of both relief and compassion), but what do you think the parents and the band members remember most?
We all know the value of a good hook to create interest at the beginning of a sermon. Obviously, we need meaningful content throughout. But what is said last, lasts. In fact, it’s probably what most of our listeners will remember.
Second, before you wrap it up, make sure you’ve answered the “So What?”
Whether your listeners know it or not (and sometimes they don’t), what they need is for you to give them practical, real-world applications. They need to know what’s next. All the inspiration in the world isn’t worth as much as one or two pragmatic next steps.
Some time ago, I had the privilege of listening to world-renowned apologist Dr. Ravi Zacharias. He’s one of the smartest men and most eloquent speakers I know. The guy is brilliant. In fact, I’ve listened to him before and thought, “Why do I ever stand up in front of a crowd with my second-rate intellect?” Of course, I also felt encouraged that somebody this smart is so radically in love with Jesus.
Most important, however, I walked away with an extremely helpful strategy for answering the faith questions of skeptics. Dr. Zacharias didn’t just stretch my brain; he told me how to share my hope. He gave me a doable way to “always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks” regarding the hope I have in Christ (1 Peter 3:15).
An ounce of application is worth more than a pound of inspiration. Transformation is always more important than information.
Too often, I’ve heard exceptional speakers load folks up with so much information that people’s brains hurt. Sadly though, the teacher never gets to what matters most—telling people how to do something important with what they’ve heard.
Certainly, practical instruction is relevant throughout your talk, but again, what is said last, lasts.
By the way, you don’t always have to recap your entire sermon at the end; I find that common practice too predictable and a bit too boring. It might even make the listeners feel like you underestimate their intelligence. You should, however, boldly challenge the hearers to action. That’s a strong finish that leads to life change.
One final thing will help you land the plane well: illustrate your big idea in the conclusion with a moving or humorous story.
I typically end in a way that brings it all together with a story that makes clear the main concept I want folks to remember. I may have had three points (it’s what we preachers do) or twenty points (it’s what my hero John Maxwell does). But whatever lesson I have attempted to communicate, if I can finish with a great narrative or illustration, people will walk out thinking, “Wow, that was so good today!”
As you know, Jesus was an incredible storyteller. He used real life stories (like the ones about the lost sheep or the lost coin) to connect his truth to the hearts of his followers. Few things are more effective than a well-placed anecdote, and it’s best to conclude with something memorable.
Witty one-liners work as a wrap-up, but nothing is quite as impactful as a story that relates to people on an emotional level. What they feel, they remember. If you doubt me, ask your spouse about the last time they got mad at you. They probably remember.
Several years ago, I did a message series called Big Questions. At the end of a message about suffering and doubt, I told the story of my grandson, Phineas, who died nine years ago after surviving for only an hour after birth.
I cried.
People wept.
Mascara flowed like a river and boxes of Kleenex were passed down the aisles.
That heartbreaking story was a moving and inspirational way to say, “When an unexpected and devastating event happens and rips your soul to shreds, take your pain to God.”
Trust me, nobody remembers my three points that day (including me), but no one will forget the impact of my story of struggle during the worst loss of my life. No one.
Finish well. It matters. Invest as much time on your conclusion as you do on everything else.
Nobody wants to witness a plane or a sermon crash and burn.
