When the Sermon No Longer Fits

Unravelling and Reweaving

When the Words Stopped Fitting

I remember standing in the pulpit for what I knew would be the last time. My iPad lay open in front of me, the screen glowing as though it too was restless. I had preached in that space for years, offering words that people expected to hear. But on that day, as I spoke about “God’s design,” something broke inside me.

I realised I could no longer carry on. Preparing sermons had become a battle. Each week I wrestled, not with the text alone, but with the dissonance between the God I was coming to know and the narrow version of God that the conservative church demanded. I had always quietly disagreed, questioning the way women were diminished, the way outsiders were pushed further out, the way LGBT people were told they could never belong. For a time I could tread carefully, offering words that were never outright lies but never my truth either.

Yet neutrality has an expiry date. Eventually the silence in my own preaching grew heavier than the risk of honesty. What I saw in the life of Jesus was a God who drew close, who lifted people up, who never demanded their humanity be crushed before they were welcomed. The church I was part of did the opposite. The Bible, meant to be a source of life, had become a weapon. For decades I believed its threats, hiding myself for fear of divine rejection. But that morning in the pulpit, the mask was too tight. The sermon no longer fit.

When Silence Becomes a Mask

Many of us know that moment, even if it does not happen in a pulpit. You may find yourself at work, repeating the company line though you know it no longer sits right. Or at a family table, nodding along while silence feels safer than truth. We stay in character because honesty looks costly. We tell ourselves we are keeping the peace, when really we are splitting in two.

The trouble is, you cannot keep saying what others demand without losing yourself in the process. Faith, work, relationships, all of them become distorted when the mask takes over. If your words are draining the life out of you, something needs to change.

Where Truth Can Begin

Here is one small way to begin: write a single sentence you can say truthfully today. It does not have to be grand or risky. It might be as simple as, “I am tired and need rest,” or “I don’t know if I agree with that.” Let your own words remind you of who you are.

Faith should never leave you isolated, broken, or diminished. At its heart, it is meant to be love, encouragement, and purpose. Start there.

Learning to Speak Again

When I stepped away from the pulpit, I did not suddenly find a bold, unshakable voice. What I found was space to experiment with honesty in ways that felt small, almost fragile. I chose words in conversations that carried love rather than certainty. I let myself say, “I’m not sure,” where once I would have forced an answer. These were not grand declarations, but they were real.

And each small act of truth gave me breath again.

The fear of honesty never fully vanishes. There are still people who will not understand. But the more I practised saying what I genuinely believed, the lighter I became. I discovered that truth, even when halting, creates room for relationship to deepen rather than collapse. Those who could not stay, left. But those who remained, remained with me, not the mask.

Tools for practising small acts of truth

If you are standing at your own pulpit - whatever form that takes - here are ways to start:

1. Recognise inner dissonance

• Notice when your body tenses before you speak.

• Pay attention to phrases you repeat automatically.

• Ask yourself, “Does this sentence bring life, or does it drain me?”

2. Journal through the tension

• Write down three statements you often say that do not feel wholly yours.

• Next to each, write what you would want to say if fear was not in the way.

• End by writing one line of truth you can carry into the week.

3. Practise in safe contexts

• Share your truth with a trusted friend before you share it in riskier places.

• Use “I” statements to keep ownership: “I feel…”, “I believe…”, “I hope…”

• Allow yourself to pause in conversation instead of filling silence with a mask.

These steps are not about tearing everything down at once. They are about loosening the mask so you can breathe.

The Pulpit Was Never the Enemy

Looking back, I see that

The pulpit was never my enemy. It was simply the stage where the fault lines in my faith became visible. The real enemy was the fear that told me silence was safer than truth.

You may not be a preacher, but you have your own stage. Your words matter there. They can wound you if they are false, but they can also heal when they are true.

So let yourself try. Speak one honest sentence. Write one unfiltered line. Let the sermon that no longer fits fall away. And step into the voice that is already waiting for you.