I chickened out. There are no two ways around it. It was right there in my manuscript. I wrote it Thursday morning and practiced it in my office earlier that Sunday, but when the time came to just say the word, I didn’t. I chickened out.

I had already challenged the congregation. Made them feel uncomfortable. Told them a hard truth that was going to ruffle feathers. God’s grace, when taken to its end, tends to do that. I could see and hear the squirming. At least, that was what I told myself as I was going along. The self-justification I clung to.

You know how even when you’re talking out loud there’s still a running commentary in the back of your head? Well, mine was telling me to move along. Substitute the word for something else. Make it more palatable. Sanitary. Safe. That internal commentary said, I know you’re trying to show the vulgar lengths God is willing to go for the least, last, lost, little, and dead…you know, those the world deems vulgar. “Shit” is the right word here, but your mom didn’t even let you say “crap” growing up. You don’t want people to be talking about the cuss word you said, instead of the good news you tried to proclaim. Don’t say it.

So, I didn’t say it.

The problem was that there were going to be people who saw that I wrote it, even if I didn’t say it. Probably the population who would most likely have had a problem with me saying it. They had the evidence in their hands.

You see, I was taught always to produce a manuscript when preaching. Even if I wasn’t taught to do this, I would. It helps me organize my thoughts, try out phrases, and make sure I know where I’m going. You know, beginning, middle, and end. Without a manuscript I’m prone to wander, Lord I feel it. So, I always go into the pulpit with my size 18-font manuscript.

When I had some older members share with me their troubles with hearing, I knew the solution. Moving pews in the church was a non-starter. Turning up their hearing aids left everyone around them buzzing. Even the hearing loop in through our sound system wasn’t working right. At my suggestion, I started printing off copies of my manuscript as an aid for them to receive the Good News. I told them I don’t read from the pages, but I stick pretty closely so they’d be able to recognize when I went “off-script.”

Who knew I was my own foreshadow?

I thought I was going to hear about it in the handshake line after the service. I just knew one of those 8 ½ x 11 pages was going to make its way back to me with a complaint. “How could you write such a thing in a sermon!?!” I imagined they would say. The pit in my stomach sank every time someone passed by.

Then: “I’ve got a bone to pick with you!” I heard her say.

Oh boy, here it comes, I thought to myself. Sure enough, Carol stepped forward with the evidence.

“Oh?” I feigned ignorance and innocence.

“How come you didn’t say it?”

“What?”

“You wrote “shit” in your sermon. I saw it. How come you didn’t say it?”

Confused, I said “I don’t know. I thought it would have been distracting. Taken away from the message. I don’t know…”

“Well, if you’re going to write it, say it!”

She hugged me and went on her way.

If you’re going to write it, say it. They trust me to be honest, to be forthright, to speak the truth, to share the goods. They trust me to be vulnerable, to take risks. If I’m going to chicken-out on a four-letter word, what about something that is actually challenging, like God’s grace and mercy and love? Would I chicken out then?

If you’re going to write it, say it. Who would ever believe such a thing?

Published in the October 2023 issue of For the Messengers

Rev. Will Ryan, husband of Rev. Hannah Ryan and father of Abigail Ryan, resides in Columbia, MO and is the Senior Minister of First Christian Church in Fulton, MO. A sixth generation Disciple, he is thankful for the preachers who helped form him: Tim, Bryan, Dave, and, of course, Hannah.