Life Lessons

Three-Point Sermons: How the Baptists Taught Me to Write (& Lie)

Confessions of a misspent youth at church

I first started to go awry the year I started fifth grade. My friend group at school was changing, as I drifted toward troublemakers like Loretta Kazepski (that’s not her real last name, but that’s how I remember pronouncing it) and Mark Synerski (ditto for Mark). That whole group that wasn’t part of the “good/smart” stratosphere I’d always been part of. My parents were concerned.

The day I got off Loretta’s bus stop instead of my own was the last straw. Mom and Dad pulled me abruptly from public school mid-year and enrolled me in a Baptist school 15 miles away, where my older siblings already attended.

We weren’t Baptist (a point of rebellious pride — then and now), but close enough. My family was at our own home church nearly every day of the week for various services, meetings, or activities. And that turned out to be a good thing, because the new school required that we certify attending four services a week: Sunday school, Sunday morning worship, Sunday night service, and midweek.

Reporting wasn’t enough. We also needed to submit a 3"x5" ruled index card every Monday morning with our handwritten notes from the sermon. This would provide concrete evidence of our attendance…and attention. It was unclear if the notes were actually read; we’d get them back with a red check mark at the end of the week. But I completed the assignment fastidiously, just in case.

Taking notes shouldn’t have been a problem. I was always at church on Sunday; we never skipped. Sure, I begged and wheedled regularly to help out in the toddler room during Sunday morning service to avoid sitting through the sermon, but that just meant I needed to take notes Sunday night. Eventually, the older I got, the less I wanted to sing “Deep and Wide” with toddlers and the more I wanted to sit with my friends in church.

My friends and I paid attention the first half of the service — singing hymns was fun (I still love singing hymns), and announcements were interesting. But the sermons? Not so fun. We found an ideal place to sit, where we could talk, pass hilarious notes, and laugh through the sermon with minimal disruption to others. The “overflow room” was a side room with a clear view to the pulpit, but little visibility from the congregation. For early teens, this was an ideal setup. Occasionally we’d get dirty looks and shushes from adults, but we were “church kids,” so no one cared too much about our shenanigans.

At first, I tried to juggle: listen to the sermon while snickering and talking with friends. I learned quickly that most sermons have three points. There was a main Bible text as a reference, a story by the minister, and then three points, elucidated with other stories or underscored with other texts. I dropped in and out of listening and taking notes.

Soon enough, multitasking became difficult. I was missing some of the best laughs while scrawling my sermon notes. Something had to give; note-taking fell by the wayside.

Sermon notes were still due first thing Monday morning, so a new ritual began. In the back seat on the drive to school, I’d pull out my index card and my Bible. I started out using the actual text and pieces of the real sermon I’d heard. But that got boring. I needed a challenge.

Soon I began using texts that I was familiar with and making up my own three points. It was easier than you’d think and somewhat entertaining. For example, you know the verse “Jesus wept”? Easy.

Text: John 11:35 Sermon title: “The Day Jesus Cried”

1. God took on human form and felt human pain.

2. God understands your feelings.

3. God cares about you.

Boom.

Over time, like many sermon fakers, I (gulp) escalated. More challenge was needed. I started choosing texts randomly. Even Old Testament passages — MUCH more difficult. Take Genesis, for example. Once you get past Creation, it’s a lot of genealogy. Not easy to come up with three points, but I did it.

Ironically, this dishonest activity did more to improve my mind than the actual assignment of robotically writing down spoken words. I learned to be creative, stumbled into techniques to analyze text and construct arguments supporting a message (often using other texts), and, of all things, became more familiar with the Bible and its structure. Being able to quickly analyze texts became a huge advantage as an English major in college and throughout my communications career.

In a twisted way, deception helped me become a writer.

As I sat down to write this piece, I wondered if I am still up to the task of making up a sermon on the spot. But what text to use? Something random. Oh wait…I’ve got it! I’ll use this very article as the source text! (Soooo meta, as the kids say.) Here we go.

Text: Smith 7:20 Title: “What We Learned Today”

1. Baptist schools are overly controlling and needlessly legalistic.

2. Mischievous kids will turn out just fine.

3. Break some rules and feed your creativity.

Pass the plate, and shall we pray?

These days [when we’re not in lockdown], you’ll still find me in church on Sunday mornings. My fellow teenaged miscreants also attend their own churches regularly, too, by the way.

Now I sit in the alto section of the choir loft, which is right behind the pulpit and in full view of the congregants. No talking or giggling for me.

But neither will you find me taking notes.

I’ve had enough of that.

© Tina L. Smith, 2020

About the author: Tina L. Smith survived Baptist school and went on to lead a mostly normal life (twitch, twitch). She works by day as an administrator of an academic medical research program and by night as a writer and a partner in her boyfriend’s commercial photography business.

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