Nobody likes to get yelled at.
Especially kids.
Many years ago, in my second pastorate, I was preaching one Sunday morning.
So the nursery workers could hear the service, someone installed a loudspeaker high on the nursery wall. (I was always amazed that any parent put their child in that nursery because it smelled of gas. We never did discover the source of the problem.)
Anyway, on this particular Sunday, I must have been passionate about some issue, because one of the little kids heard my voice, looked up at the speaker on the wall, and cried out:
“Don’t yell, God!”
I wonder how many people have been driven out of churches because the pastor yelled.
A pastor needs passion or people will fall asleep.
A pastor needs to vary his voice pitch to sound interesting.
A pastor needs to get excited every now and then.
But yelling?
I was scheduled to go to the dentist today, but my appointment has been postponed until next week.
Why is it that most people don’t like to go to the denist?
At least in my case, it’s not just the pain … I know I’ll leave that place alive.
I’m more afraid of the dentist yelling at me for not taking care of my teeth perfectly … even though I floss every day.
And I don’t like to get yelled at.
Let me share three reasons why pastors don’t need to yell when they preach:
First, yelling never makes a point more emphatic.
I once read about a pastor who took his notes into the pulpit with him. In one place, he wrote, “Weak point. Yell louder.”
My wife and I recently attended a church service where the pastor spoke a mile a minute during his message. He sounded like former Lakers’ broadcaster Chick Hearn on steroids.
After the service, I told my wife, “He could have made his points more effectively if he had slowed down and spoken softer at times.”
I wish our politicians would quit yelling when they speak. Maybe pastors can lead the way.
Second, yelling assumes that people aren’t listening.
I’ll never forget the third sermon I ever preached. (It was much better than the first two.) It was on 1 Peter 4:8. I went to my pastor that morning and asked him if it would be all right if I pounded the pulpit when I preached that night.
He said it was fine.
When I pounded the pulpit, I’m sure I felt better … but I’m not sure anyone else felt better.
Like many pastors, I once assumed that if I sensed I was losing people as I preached, I had to yell a bit to recapture their attention.
I no longer believe that … especially in a day when pastors use amplification when they speak!
Finally, yelling makes people feel that God is yelling at them, too.
I stay away from people who yell at me. Most people act the same way.
And when a pastor yells at a congregation, some listeners – maybe most of them – sense that God is yelling at them, too.
That’s certainly the way the kid in the nursery reacted to me many years ago.
He so identified my voice with the voice of God that when I yelled, he thought God was yelling at him.
But doesn’t God also speak through a still small voice? Elijah needed to learn that lesson.
I think the day of yelling preachers is long gone. It doesn’t work anymore.
Passion is good. Conviction is necessary. Even an occasional rant is okay.
But yelling?
I agree with my small friend:
“Don’t yell, God!”






















Getting the Creeps … In Church
April 4, 2012 by Jim Meyer
Have you ever gone to church and suddenly developed a serious case of … the creeps?
It happened to me recently.
My wife and I visited a church that was recommended by a colleague.
After parking our car, we felt creepy because we didn’t know where the worship center was – so we guessed its location. Fortunately, we guessed correctly.
As we walked toward the worship center, though, we didn’t know where to enter it. Suddenly, a flustered woman appeared and tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge.
It felt … creepy.
She did open it on the second attempt, though, and we walked into a small worship center jammed with people … and I instantly felt claustrophobic.
And creepy.
We couldn’t find seats without assistance, so an usher pointed out two empty seats near the back. We hurriedly sat down.
The worship time was somewhat pleasant, but also felt … well, you know. I’ve seen worship bands arranged on the stage in various ways, but I’ve never seen six band members on the right side of the stage while the worship leader stood in the corner on the left side of the stage before. It looked awkward.
I wore jeans to church, like I usually do, but the elders – who served communion – all wore coats and ties. Some of you may be acclimated to that kind of formal attire, but nobody in our church in Arizona dressed formally, so it felt uncomfortable.
But nothing prepared me for the pastor’s message.
I look for three things when I hear a message: biblical accuracy, intellectual stimulation, and emotional connection.
The pastor was biblically accurate.
There was zero intellectual stimulation. Many churchgoers may not need that, but I do. Platitudes aren’t enough.
But I was most troubled by the pastor’s tone while preaching. It was like he was divine and expected divinity from the rest of us. We weren’t allowed to be human … nor was anyone else.
A pastor connects best with a congregation when he admits his humanity. He includes himself in his preaching by using the term “we” and by telling stories that demonstrate that he’s struggling with living like Jesus, just like the rest of us.
But this pastor didn’t tell even one story … and made me feel like I could never measure up to his expectations, much less those of Jesus.
At the conclusion of his message, he told us that if we had fear or anxiety in our lives, we needed to repent of our sin before the Lord.
I felt terrible, because the church had already created so much fear and anxiety in me that by the end of the service, I still hadn’t repented of all my fear and anxiety.
Creepyville.
We couldn’t wait to leave. All I was thinking was, “Where did I park? Get me out of here.”
I freely admit that I am not the measure of normalcy when it comes to churchgoing. There were people who seemed to love the church regardless of my feelings about it.
But the number one feeling I had that morning was:
THIS CHURCH IS NOT FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME.
And, quite frankly, they aren’t ready for any newcomers, either.
I felt like I invaded their secret club.
Have you ever had a creepy church experience? If so, my readers would love to hear about it.
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