Farewell, You Old Codger

A while back I preached this sermon, detailing my experience of learning how to preach from Fred Craddock.  Today, I learned that Fred has joined the church triumphant.  I spent all of about five days with Fred, if you had asked him about me, he would not have known me from Adam, but he affected me.  He gave me the courage to get out from behind my protective shield when I preach, both literally from behind the pulpit, and figuratively in the sense that he cut me loose from trying to emulate someone else.
Craddock is one of the most gifted preachers you will ever hear.  He could do the same sort of thing that we hear Jesus doing in his teaching: come up beside you, tell you a good story, get you feeling the right feelings and thinking the right thoughts and then kind of level you with a truth that you really didn't expect.  Fred was also, when I spent my time with him, a grumpy old man, and I mean that in the kindest possible sense.  He was a curmudgeon, an old fashioned southern gentleman who warned us against ever saying that someone had "issues," because his granddaughter (who is most likely about my age) was rather fond of just saying "issues," whenever someone was acting odd.
For my part, even as star struck as I was, I knew that I was never going to give up on one of my favorite little Gen-Xish phrases.  I rather enjoy defining someone with an odd personality or quirky behavior or random phobia as having issues.
Fred had issues, with our use of the word issues, or maybe he just had issues with a world that seemed like it was changing a little too quickly, and he really liked the way things used to be.  I don't know, but I do know he gave us young whippersnappers some really good advice.
He told us that there never was, and there never will be a preacher who was good enough for us to imitate, including himself.  Which was shocking because we were in the middle of spending the better part of a week learning about how he prepared and delivered his famous sermons.  I won't claim that this advice really sunk in right away.  My own issues at the time were delusions of grandeur and learning how to preach like Fred Craddock, of being a sort of preaching celebrity like him, of being able to turn the tide of a church that was in decline by simply being an amazing preacher.
I needed to learn that that idea was just wrong.  I needed to realize that that idea was going to kill me inside.  I needed to learn that that idea was going to keep me from actually being a good preacher.  And I think I could really only learn that from one of the best preachers in the world, because I have issues.
My week with Fred made me a better preacher, or at least a different preacher.  I made the manuscript just a step in the process of preparation, the written word now stayed at home and a rough outline went with me to the pulpit, and then I left it there, and I went out into the great wide open and preached naked (not literally, I have always been fully clothed).  I told stories, sometimes stories about myself, and about painful or funny or instructive things that happened to me.  I stopped leaning so much on other people's stories and the dry theories of theologians, I started talking about my own living relationship with the Word, not all at once mind you, but steadily that is what it became.
I credit the old curmudgeon with giving me the nudge out of the nest that I needed.  Even if maybe I'm not the preacher he thinks I should be, I'm pretty sure I'm the preacher I need to be, and he gave me permission to go that way, whether he knew it or not.  It was his authority as a teacher that set me free.
I am thankful for the gift of that time and that gift.  I know that I was part of one of the last groups that he gave that gift, his health was in decline, and he just couldn't get around like he used to.  Our paths crossed at the right moment, and I know that was no accident.  So when I saw the news today, I was rather grieved.  I only spent a week with him, but he has been with me ever since, every time I step out from behind that pulpit, I take that step in honor of Fred.
So Craddock, do me one last favor, tell Jesus I said, "Hey."