Buttrick: GET the Prayer!
Elegy for an epic professor Dr. Gary Straub (f: Buttrick) Eastertide – 2017
Christian Century noted the death of Vanderbilt Homiletics Professor David Buttrick. He died during Eastertide, which resurrected remembrances of his gruff, gravelly voice calling for order in a class of rowdy “reverends-to-be.” His classic opener? To growl: “Let’s say our prayers.” Buttrick’s default to prayer was unique. He was the only Doctor of the Church to lead us in class prayer. Buttrick’s blunt, NYC persona did not invite warm pieties or sweet sentimentalities about a pale, sickly Savior. His Presbyterian deity got addressed with elegance, intelligence and candor. He did not suffer fools gladly, yet beneath the growl & gruffness lay a deep soul rarely revealed. The theologian Evagrius taught: “if you are a theologian you will truly pray. And if you pray truly, you are a theologian.” David prayed truly. When a student landed in jail, Buttrick showed up on their visitor list. When illness struck a Div School family, he kept bedside vigil. When a student suffered a ‘dark night of the soul,’ Buttrick came alongside to companion/guide a soul back to well-being. In a remarkable Holy Spirit way, he taught preaching, yet seldom preached. He followed St Francis: “Preach the Gospel at all times, only use words when necessary.”
In homiletics, Buttrick often strayed off topic. Yet his excursions proved even more educational than his prescribed syllabus. My recollection of his preaching methodology: first he announced a topic, then attacked it head-on to hammer out his thesis. Then proceed to vitiate all imaginary objections to his viewpoint. Finally, he would grin, make a wise crack, and declare a scholarly victory. Next? Benediction! David taught preaching like street-fighting: no holds barred. He perfected his approach through mastery of ancient Greco-Roman rhetoric. His logical arguments were impeccable; his conclusions impossible to nit-pick; try as we might. While chasing ‘rabbit trails’ in class, he dropped an off-hand remark about his composing prayers for the Presbyterian Prayerbook. I was incredulous and intrigued. This grizzled, grumpy, New York Yankee stranded in Nashville—a town famed for Southern Baptist Headquarters— yet HE’S composing Presbyterian prayers? I was awestruck. His comeback to me was the famous Lincoln quote: “I’m often driven to my knees by the overwhelming realization that I have no where else to go.” Then he offered a piece of priceless pastoral advice, which I still recall with great affection:
“As a preacher, you enter your study late Saturday night, head-in-hands, dreading to break out the midnight oil after a parish HELLWEEK of apocalyptic proportions. You’re beat and bowed in defeat. Yet two tasks lay between you and Sunday morning. You must finish off that blasted sermon you never got back around to, let alone polished. Plus, you’ve not yet composed your pastoral prayer. Your fatigued, finite energies force a choice: finish the sermon? Or compose the prayer? —GET THE PRAYER!” He reasoned: “most parishioners will forgive their parson for laying the occasional Sunday morning sermonic goose egg, but they come to church expecting to be prayed for— to hear their needs addressed before the Almighty.” SO: get the prayer!
When was the last time you heard a pastor pouring out their soul for the flock? I don’t mean lofty elocutions proving pastor’s poetic grasp of KJV language. Nor do I mean impressing the Almighty with clever syllogisms or impeccable intellectual rhymes. BE that honest-to-God parson driven to your knees in desperation for the soul-crushing needs of the flock in your care. The pastoral prayer offers up to God the ship-wrecks and heart-breaks; the relentless pressures and unspoken temptations, the daily dose of disillusionment sadly leading to self-pity and despair. Deep in the maws of our maligned dignity, we each await God’s healing word—the pastoral prayer attends wounds that eloquent sermons can’t even touch. SO: Get the prayer!
Whenever a pastor “gets the prayer;” the ancient art of seelsorg unfolds; binding up old agonies, redeeming harsh realities. Resilience sets in, as gritty grace determines destiny. The mind is set, attitudes molded. Hearts bow for anointing/blessing. Mercy meets despair. When you have to chose: GET the prayer! AND…. don’t make a habit of Saturday Nite Sermon Specials!
