What argot shall I mortgage

Today we went to a bland church. On the outside the church building and grounds were beautiful and relaxing. Inside though, the sanctuary was devoid of any decoration, which is fine if the architectural lines are strong and the texture of the walls presents some visual interest of play of light. There were no banners, no flowers, just cold white sterile walls covering evident dry wall. Then the worship leaders proceeded to deliver the liturgy in a flawless monotone. "Worship the Lord today!" - now say that like you might doze off. And then the sermon didn't have a focus or a function: the "what do you want to say" and the "what do you want people to do" one-two punch we're taught these days - and the minister used qualified language, lots of "perhaps" - it was a wonderful exposition of what my class was taught "not to do." I was reading Placher's "Jesus the savior", and he quotes Barth as saying, "The sermon must not be boring." Barth goes on to say that the sermon must be biblical, that a biblical sermon cannot be boring. Yet I would say that this minister, who relied on commentaries a lot [and maybe that's a sign that cutting and pasting what commentaries say is not necessarily biblical, even though it's ostensibly biblical material], pulled it off.
Needless to say the Philippians passage dealing with kenosis was not used, the safe territory of recounting how the triumphal entry leads to the cross was. But I should say that such territory is "safe" with caution. You could be boring. You could pepper your sermon with vague personal anecdotes and talk about what commentaries say and then offer some bland hope that "perhaps" we'll meet Jesus, if we"perhaps" attend to this. What's the point if I'm facing a double-perhaps. The double-perhaps is the the "I have to wash my hair tonight" of sermon expositions. If there's only a vague happenstance that we'll meet Jesus in this practice, then screw it. The ACC tournament is on; I've got books I haven't read; I need to get a haircut.
We went to the bland little church in the wildwood in order to avoid the possibility of hearing a preacher who tends to meander a lot before getting to the point. But now I see my mistake: he at least has a point and his preaching is biblical and he is not boring. He has passion.
What is then biblical preaching? As I mentioned, the preacher above certainly spent time telling us what commentators had said, especially about the donkey and the colt and the foal (I thought, "not this shit again.") ; however, there was no evidence that she'd grappled with the commentators, taking issue with them, had an existential moment in her own soul about them. I couldn't tell what in this text she was passionate about. I thought, "why should I care?" And that sentence is a key. If the preacher doesn't care, why should the listeners care?
Barth mentions joy often in his dogmatics, recognizing that if a Christian's testimony is to a morose gospel, then two failures have occurred: the world believes wrongly that Christianity is joyless, and a Christian has misunderstood the gospel (and I believe Barth is talking about believers who generally display depression and disaffection about their faith, not people who are sad during a crisis or limit situation) or else become focused on the nothingness of the world.
Enough of my carping.
I take sermons seriously, just as I do paintings. I know in art that it is possible to get away with "pretty" paintings that seem well done, but are artless - no struggle, no discovery, no development, no process or progress. People who buy them might as well frame squares of wall paper. Do I think the same thing happens with sermons? I think it's endemic to America now a days: we are presented with the fake as the authentic- indeed the fake is authentic enough.
Now consider this, that we are coming to the end of Lentapalooza. Every Lent's end effects me. I suppose I miss the parties, the comradship, the all you can eat steak dinners and the two for one bloody Marys. The Lenten bloody Mary comes with an extra celery stick and no salt on the rim. When I watch those kids coming in the door to the sanctuary waving those palms, their bright eyes and their ill fitting clothes, I'm reminded of all that is good and clean and real. And I wonder what happened? What happens to the child when she wakes up and is 20 and needs to write a paper all night; what happens to the child when he wakes up and he's 69 and needs an operation. In their experience of the Church what will we have given them that stays with them and is true, that is a symbol of joy that shines in their dark moments? Do we build a wall between them and Jesus - the real Jesus in the Bible who gets himself killed because he cares more about pleasing God than pleasing people, not the fake American Jesus who waves a flag and helps people hate immigrants and shoot the enemy.
I had meant to discuss epistemological problems today, as well as ontology and phenomenology, in my attempt to get some understanding on how life is spaced out, and understanding what is happening when it is happening just in case something could be said to be happening.
About the Philippians text, Sarah Coakley writes about kenosis in her book "submission and the powers" where she mentions that NT Wright has posited at least 5 different ways this text has been understood through the centuries. I think that those who preached on this text this palm Sunday were brave. The incarnation is incredibly important to understand in order to think and to ethically behave as a Christian, and often it is schloffed off. Like with the Trinity our main doctrines don't seem to be exciting enough to preach on.
There, I've dug myself a nice hole. I've taken my typical elitist position, with my shoddy thinking and my unreal expectations. Here I sit; I can do no other.