We all have those Sundays when things don't go as we please in the pulpit. I remember a time early in my preaching career when I could just tell, the people were not with me. I just didn't understand why they weren't. I was explaining a C. S. Lewis quote in which Lewis declares that no person should be considered a mere mortal. Every person we meet, he insisted, was either "an immortal splendor or an immortal horror." No matter how hard I tried, puzzled looks was all I was getting in return. So I started giving examples, the person in front of you in the buffet at Mr. Gattis, the coworker in the next cubicle, all of them are going to live forever as immortal splendors in the presence of Christ of immortal horrors separated from God forever. More puzzled looks. I gave up, finished the sermon, and went home. Later I asked my wife what was so confusing. She answered, "It sounded like you were calling everyone who refuses to believe in God a whore. I know what you were trying to say, hor-ror. But you don't say that well. It sounded like 'whore.' 'Everyone is an immortal splendor or an immortal whore.'"
Hor-ror. Ho-rror. Hor....ror. I still can't say it. Next time I used that quote I made an editorial decision, "Everyone you meet is either an immortal splendor or an immortal terror." Much better. Now if I could just take back the time I accidentally said in a Sunday morning sermon, "You know, sex is better in the church."