“Story” in preaching is like a Christmas box with manger straw, dusty sandals, thorns woven into a crown, and bloody nails inside, all wrapped up with a bow the color of Easter’s dawn.

I don’t claim to be an expert on “story” in preaching. There are those among us who are, most notably my friend, Mark Paustian, who pursued his doctoral degree and shows what he has mastered in his classroom and in his writing. Read his work and listen to him preach to learn the importance of biblical narrative and story. Others like Rich Gurgel have also written about and taught narrative preaching in marvelous fashion. Call up those articles. They are worth their weight in gold and will enrich your preaching.

When I encourage the use of “story” in preaching, I’m not talking about sermon introductions or illustrations that describe what your kids did in the backyard or what standing in line at the store was like for you. I’m not talking about stories describing some war hero or hard-working, down-on-his-luck inventor that you can pluck from the internet. I’m not talking about information for information’s sake to exercise the brain’s storage capacity, nor am I talking about persuasion, because our preaching is not Arminian persuasion but biblical, Lutheran inspiration. Persuasion is what Super Bowl commercials do. Inspiration is what God’s promises do.

When I encourage “story,” I am talking the story that is the sermon text itself—and every text has a story—which leads to God’s story: he casts us down, squashes us, and drives us away then draws us back in, lifts us up, and resurrects us.

To get you to think about telling that “story,” how about some examples? No one does it better than our Lord Jesus. Check his parables. Don’t merely re-read them, but put yourself in them. Ah! That’s the key! Read Luther’s Genesis commentary, in particular his description of Joseph in chapters 37, 39–45, and 50. See if Luther does not pull you into the story so that you are right there experiencing the bumpy camel ride, the ripped robe in the hands of the boss’s wife, the prison rats nibbling at your toes, the tears of brother-recognition, the heart thumping with forgiveness.

Story will resonate with your listeners. Think of it. That’s how the human brain works. With your infant in arms, what did you do? You sang and told stories. Sure! Some “Itsy-bitsy spider” and “Twinkle-twinkle,” but also “I Am Jesus’ Little Lamb” and “Away in the Manger.” Tucking in toddlers, what did they hear from you? Excel-sheet data on the number of Israelites killed by plague or spear? The names-list of 2 Chronicles 1-9? No! You told stories of Noah, Jonah, and Jesus. When you asked your kids, “What was the best part about school today?” besides, “Recess!” and “Lunch!” didn’t they blurt, “Story time!”?

Study the text. Read it in English—a lot! Dig into the original, mindful of both its context and color. Keep asking yourself, “What is God doing?” and, so imperative for preaching, “What is God doing to me?” Let the story emerge. Then tell it. Every text has or is a story. Then, Israelites killed by plague or spear will not be an Excel-sheet data recitation but an “I-was-there” moment, feeling the restlessness and red-hot 100+ fever of your forehead and the whiz of a spear that parts your hair and embeds in the ribs of your fellow soldier. Then 2 Chronicles 1-9 is not a dry and dusty list of names, but a Vietnam-Memorial-Wall-tear-jerking experience.

Tell the story. The obvious ones are the narratives of the Old Testament and the stories of Jesus’ life and ministry. I have found that retelling stories with (hopefully) winsome anachronisms not only puts a smile on listeners faces but embeds the imagery and the truism in their minds and hearts. For example, I have described the Twelve as unlikely spokesmen for Jesus, coloring those from Bethsaida as hailing from “up-Nort” with a Wisconsin twang, Simon the Zealot with his X-shaped bandolier and Ka-Bar knife, James and John as Harley-riding “Sons of Thunder,” and Judas Iscariot as the only one appearing to have his act together in 3-piece suit with his CPA degree from the U. of Jerusalem. I heard a seminary senior preach on the pigs-over-the-cliff account in Luke 8 from the perspective of the townspeople—very Christ-centered, engaging, and memorable. I’m not a fan of 1st person sermons (and have only done that once or twice), but you can put yourself into a Gospel account and tell the story from what the Phoenician woman or Jairus or the widow of Nain or Zacchaeus saw, thought, and felt.

What about Isaiah texts (and other prophets)? Gorgeous poetry. Deep, impactful, biblical doctrine. But do you hear the tone of the Savior LORD calling his people to repentance and announcing a deliverer? Of course you do! So, why not put yourself and your listeners in Isaiah’s sandals and describe him trudging the byways of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem? Clear-eyed, bearded, weathered skin, jaw-fixed in Messiah-messaging. Or switch it up and be one of the Israelites listening to him. What clothes are you wearing, what family situation, what angst or nonchalance? What does the sky look like, the streets, the roads? What’s your lifestyle when Isaiah has his jaw moving?

What about texts from Paul’s letters? You’ve written your sermon. You know that it is doctrinally on point. You are ready to recite the warnings and threats, the promises and hope. But before you do, go back and re-read what you wrote. Are you “there”? Can you be—in order to tell the story! How about a text from the Captivity Letters? Paul is not in a dungeon until 2 Timothy. He’s under house arrest. Can you get there and take your listeners there? Is Paul at a writing desk, a chain snaking from his ankle to a loop on the wall? Is he looking up from his fountain pen to the Roman soldier and writing Ephesians 6:10-20? How about other letters? Put yourself in Ephesus with Paul writing to the Corinthians—the room, the parchment, the heart-pounding emotions. Or sit with the Corinthians, gathered with smug faces that all is well, and hearing chapter by chapter of Paul’s loving but corrective first missive? What was that like? What did that look like, feel like?

There is a pattern to these articles and, thus, a connection. To connect the text to people and people to the text, you have to know yourself and know your people, not merely facts but feelings. To make that connection and to proclaim in an engaging, winsome, hell-heat and heaven-scented way, explore your use of language, and be creative. But because you want to drive home the main point and do so in all Christo-centricity, tell the story.