I’m in a forced slowdown.
Before winter faded, I overestimated my ability to remain upright on the icy surfaces of Quebec in March and was rewarded with crutches and a cast. For the moment, my life involves a lot of sitting with my leg elevated. I’m ok with it.
There’s time to be quieter. To read and write. To listen. To pray. The last few years, those things have too often been pushed to the side, and that’s not how I want to live my life. Those things matter to me. I’m grateful for this forced slowdown.
I started listening to sermons. I don’t usually do this, to be honest. I’ve heard or preached at least one sermon every Sunday since I was in the womb. That’s a lot of sermons. The only exception was family vacations. When we went camping in the Rockies, the Maritimes or the Prairies, my family skipped church. Shocking, I know. Mind you, in those days, when we weren’t on vacation, we went to church twice on Sundays, so perhaps there was an assumption of surplus church time.
At any rate, I’ve heard a lot of sermons. Thirty years into pastoring, I’ve preached a lot of sermons, too. So, listening to another sermon is not my go-to.
But now I was in a forced slowdown, sitting with my leg elevated, and I found myself wanting to hear a good sermon. At first, I thought, “I should listen to voices I don’t know, voices outside my circle, voices that say profound and deep things I’ve never thought of.” It didn’t feel quite right, but I tried anyway.
I did a few online searches for “best preachers.” Big mistake. Don’t do this! First, lists confuse “most influential” with “best,” and one does not necessarily equate to the other. Some of those names will never, ever make my listening list. Second, no women showed up on those lists. I wasn’t necessarily looking for female preachers, but if a list is not even going to acknowledge their existence, I’m out.
So, I paused and thought, “You know, I’d really like to hear what so-and-so said in their church last Sunday. I know someone who attends there, and they love their pastor.” I found the church website and listened. It was great! Then, I thought of another person I knew and did the same.
The next day, I prayed, asking God to show me who to listen to. A friend’s name came to mind. I found and listened to their most recent message. And I just kept doing this, on and off, around other tasks for several days. People I know, people I don’t, some of them friends, some of them acquaintances, all except one of them in Canada. And you know what? Every single one of those pastors preached a great message. Every single one knew and loved their church and their community. They courageously proclaim the Good News—that Jesus is alive, loves, forgives, calls and welcomes—and have devoted themselves to following Jesus, wrestling hard with what that looks like in their lives. Each one is an imperfect person leading a church full of imperfect people who come together to fellowship, worship, be challenged, grow and serve—week after week, in one community after another, from sea to sea.
These pastors don’t make the headlines; only scandals make the headlines. These pastors are the faithful ones. The kind and compassionate ones. The ones who serve. The ones who pray. The ones who learn and grow, even as they teach and lead, and hope they’re getting it right. They are a bit tired, to be honest, but they’re still here, making a difference, one week, one sermon, one church, one person at a time, over a lifetime. There are scads of them in communities and cities across Canada, pointing to Jesus over and over again.
In 2 Timothy 4:2 (NLT), Paul reminds Timothy that this week-in-week-out activity matters.
“Preach the word of God.”
No one else will. It’s not anyone else’s job. It’s ours.
“Be prepared, whether the time is favorable or not.”
Because sometimes we preachers plan well in advance. And other times, the church basement floods, and now it’s Saturday night, and we’re frantically trying to finish a message.
“Patiently correct, rebuke, and encourage your people with good teaching.”
Patiently. Because we and those we pastor are shaped over a lifetime, and there are no shortcuts.
So, I’ve been listening to sermons in my forced slowdown, leg elevated. I’ve found myself smiling at all these local church pastors, preaching sermons week after week.
I’m proud to be one of them.
Patti Miller has pastored in urban settings for 30 years and is the lead pastor of Evangel Pentecostal Church in downtown Montreal, Que. She has been happily married to her husband, Jeff, since 1992.
This article appeared in the July/August/September 2025 issue of testimony/Enrich, a quarterly publication of The Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada. © 2025 The Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada. Photos © istockphoto.com.