And so, next Sunday, I sleepily got back in the car again—walked inside, sat down, sang some songs, sat down, and then the preacher stood up. He wore a different suit but held the same Bible.
He began with the same slow, sleepy intro: “Open your Bibles to Genesis 6. We’ll begin in Verse 9.”
I tapped my friend on the shoulder and whispered, “This is weird. What’s he doing?” He laughed. I didn’t. I was lost. I’d never seen a preacher just pick up where he left off, like an episode of 24 or something.
For the next 40 minutes, the preacher preached from the book of Genesis yet again. The shape of the sermon was the same, but its contours had changed according to the passage in question. And so I listened again, transfixed again.
And at some point, things began to click. I realized what I’d heard the week before wasn’t just a one-off. It was a way to do church, a way to think about the Christian life. I couldn’t believe I’d never heard of it before, and I couldn’t wait to learn more.
That’s why this second expositional sermon was the most influential sermon I ever heard. It sparked in me a shocking revelation: I’ve been missing out on something I never knew existed.