Why Every Sermon Needs a Disclaimer
In our everyday lives, disclaimers are everywhere, and perhaps none is more relevant to the church than the idea of a Sermon Disclaimer. For example, when medicines are advertised on television, the commercial inevitably ends with a lengthy statement warning viewers that the miracle drug may produce side effects even worse than the condition it’s meant to treat. Similarly, television networks make it clear that the opinions expressed by their hosts do not necessarily reflect those of the network itself.
Given this widespread use of disclaimers, it seems only fitting that sermons should come with their own disclaimer as well. While I don’t expect this to become standard practice any time soon, I believe that every sermon presented would benefit from a clear disclaimer to be read beforehand. Such a disclaimer would help set realistic expectations and remind listeners to approach the message thoughtfully and critically.
Sermon Disclaimer (For Your Spiritual Safety)
The sermon you’re about to hear—often marketed as “the truth,” “the gospel,” “the Word of God,” or some other equally impressive label—is, in reality, a finely curated collection of personal opinions. These opinions may be inspired by scripture (depending on the translation of the week), borrowed from centuries-old commentaries, copied from the internet, extracted from my favorite author, or—let’s be honest—lifted straight from the latest Christian author’s book tour.
Today’s message will feature my own unique blend of opinions, beliefs, ideas, and interpretations—painstakingly crafted through years of church attendance, seminary lectures, overheard sermons, personal experiences, theological debates, and the occasional existential crisis. Some of these insights were forged in deep spiritual pain, others in ecstatic moments of faith, and a few, perhaps, in the fog of too much coffee and too little sleep.
Now, because this sermon format doesn’t allow for open discussion, disagreement, or even a politely raised eyebrow, and because I stand here elevated on this holy platform known as the pulpit—complete with a man-made title that gives me borrowed authority—you are expected to accept what I say as absolute truth. My words, by virtue of their delivery from this wooden stage, are to be received as the gospel, unquestioned and unchallenged.
Should you happen to disagree with my message, please note that this church will automatically classify you as a “troublemaker,” “rebellious spirit,” or perhaps even “the devil’s intern.” You may, of course, find another church that preaches a different set of opinions—excuse me, truths—but rest assured, they too will insist that their version is the one true Word of God. That’s why their church exists just three blocks down from ours.
As you listen today, remember: this message is for the most part man-breathed, not God-breathed. The pulpit raises my voice above yours, so my view is more important than yours. My opinions may sound lofty, and are deemed to be truth, but note they remain exactly that—opinions, dressed in Sunday best.
If today’s sermon offends, confuses, or simply fails to resonate, please keep those thoughts to yourself. Publicly expressing dissent may be interpreted as sowing discord in the body of Christ—a crime punishable by being labeled “a worker of iniquity.”
Now, sit back, open your heart, and prepare to be told what to believe—or at least, what to say you believe—by today’s message.
Amen.
Conclusion
I doubt many pastors or speakers would ever admit something like this from the stage—but wouldn’t it be refreshing if they did?
Over time, I’ve come to realize that much of what happens in today’s modern American church often revolves more around the pastor and the sermon than around Jesus himself. The entire service tends to build toward that one central moment—the message. The music prepares us, the lights dim, and all eyes turn toward the stage as the “word from the Lord” is delivered.
Having personally preached thousands of sermons, I can now admit that much of what I shared over the years was my opinion—honestly held, sincerely believed, but still my opinion. I used to call those words “truth,” but I’ve learned that true truth doesn’t change, but our understanding of it does—at least it probably should.
Not long ago, I heard about a well-known preacher who publicly changed his views on several things he once taught with absolute confidence. I actually found that comforting—because it reminded me I’m not alone. Many of us are learning, growing, and discovering that we’ve gotten some things wrong along the way.
Some of what I grew up believing within the church community turned out to be misguided, and at times even hurtful. The judgment and condemnation that can come from religious systems are heavy burdens to carry. I’ve often said, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus—but sometimes, there is plenty for those who are in the church.”
Looking back, I can see that many of my sermons didn’t truly reflect the Jesus I now know—the Jesus of grace, compassion, and love. That was never intentional. I preached what I understood at the time, with a sincere heart. But as I’ve grown in my understanding of God’s goodness, I’ve come to see that we don’t have all the answers—and that’s okay.
I’ve shared opinions on everything from healing to spiritual gifts, from the rapture to the very nature of the gospel and holiness. And while my views and understanding have changed over time, one thing has not: God’s faithfulness. Despite my mistakes, He never stopped loving me. In fact, I believe He’s using even my recognition of those mistakes to bring me closer to His truth.
I’ve also come to believe that our modern church model might need rethinking. Too often, it elevates a single voice and encourages passive listening rather than shared discovery. The image of believers as “sheep” has become a bit too literal—we sit, we listen, we consume, and then we go home, week after week. But faith was never meant to be a spectator sport.
Just as our physical health can suffer from processed, artificial food, our spiritual health can be affected by a steady diet of prepackaged sermons designed to keep us coming back for more. Church shouldn’t be about consuming spiritual content—it should be about living out faith together.
What if our gatherings looked different? What if instead of one person doing all the talking, we opened space for discussion, questions, and the Holy Spirit to lead through the entire body? Imagine a community where Scripture is explored together, where multiple voices share, and where learning is mutual.
That’s the kind of church I long to see—a place not centered on a stage or a sermon, but on Jesus Himself, alive and active among His people.
Maybe someday I will find that. Hopefully.
