The Sunday I Quit Polishing Sermons

Twenty years ago, I was a sermon-polishing junkie—one minute of prep for every minute in the pulpit. Bible college and seminary beat it into me.  And not just sermons, but every program, announcement, bulletin—everything. 

Polish equals power. Appearance trumps authenticity. It's all I knew.

One Saturday, I was stretched thin—sermon half-baked, slides unfinished—when the phone rang. A guy in my church, voice breaking, said his marriage was imploding. Right now. He needed someone, not something perfect. I could've dodged it, finished my masterpiece, and trusted God to fix his marriage Monday. But that's exactly what was killing my ministry.

I hung up, closed my laptop, and drove to his house. No notes, no polish—just a pastor who chose presence over perfection.

That Sunday's sermon was a beautiful train wreck. Nobody complained. Nobody left. I quit polishing once and for all that day. I had tried in the past, but I was addicted to the show. 

The Seminary Lie That's Killing Your Ministry

The lie was seminary's gift, backed by my dad's echo: "Polish makes the pastor." Design the perfect service. Craft the flawless announcement. Edit that email seventeen times. Appearance is everything—because that's the holy grail, right? (And we're still being sold that nonsense.)

They taught us, "People don't care how much you know until they know how much you care," then handed us a playbook that buried the caring under cosmetics. I bought it—thought my value was in the shine, not the showing up. It wasn't just killing my ministry; it was killing me. I'd become a production manager—present for the program, absent for the people—while marriages crumbled and faith faltered and I chased impressive PowerPoint transitions.

Jesus didn't play their game. Look at Mark 2—he left the crowd behind to eat with tax collectors. He chose connection when religious leaders demanded perfection. He didn't polish his way to ministry; he lived it raw among broken people. I was designing church while my congregation got a shell of me—programs—not a pastor.

Every extra hour you spend polishing is an hour stolen from the people God called you to serve.

That phone call cracked it open. I chose the marriage over the manuscript, sat there as he unloaded, and delivered an unpolished message Sunday. He didn't need my brilliance—he needed me there. Nobody critiqued my slides. He grabbed my arm after, said me showing up saved his family.

What Happened When I Broke the Rule

I ditched the polish addiction for good. The next week, I hacked prep to the bone—enough to trust God—and spent the hours where they counted. A widow’s heat was out; I fixed it. A teenager was spiraling; I listened over burgers. And for the first time in years, I could breathe.

And here’s what no one told me: My sermons didn’t get worse. They got better—because I was better. More engaged, more alive, more present in the room. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like a pastor again.
 

The One-Week Challenge That Could Save Your Ministry

This matters because you're not built to be a slave to polish—you’re a pastor. And that need to make everything perfect is eating you alive. Keep chasing the illusion, and you’ll miss the people who need you—your church, your family, yourself.

Maybe you’re not stuck yet. But you will be if you don’t break free.

I quit 20 years ago—my church got better—my life got easier. And guess what? Not one person ever said, "Tim, I wish your sermons had more polish." But I lost count of how many said, "Hey Tim, thanks for being there."

So here’s the challenge: Cut one hour of polish this week—just one.

Be fully present with someone instead. No agenda. No script. Just you.

See what happens.

The Real Question No One Wants to Ask

But let’s get real. The polish problem isn’t just about doing things well. It’s about why we do it.

We tell ourselves we’re giving God our best. But is that true?

Or are we just afraid?

• Afraid of what people might think if our sermon flops.
• Afraid our attendance will drop if the experience isn’t seamless.
• Afraid of losing relevance, credibility, or control.

So we keep perfecting, tweaking, rehearsing—not out of faith, but out of fear.

And in doing so, we feed the very machine that’s chewing us up.

We polish to keep them happy. But the more polished we get, the more they expect. The more they expect, the harder we work to meet the demand. And before we know it, we’ve built a consumer church that can’t survive without the show.

That’s not "giving God our best." That’s chasing validation. And it’s killing you.

So what if you stopped?

• What if you gave less polish and more presence?
• What if your church saw your heart instead of your highlight reel?
• What if your identity wasn’t built on how 'excellent' Sunday was, but on how faithful you were on Monday?

The polish addiction won’t die on its own. You have to kill it.

Cut one hour this week. Show up for someone. Watch what happens.

And if you need help stepping out of the trap? Reach out. We’ve walked this road. Drop us a line—we're veterans who've kicked the habit. ◼︎

Tim Eldred has spent over 35 years in pastoral ministry and coaches pastors and churches who are ready to move beyond merely surviving. He founded The Authentic Pastor to help ministry leaders find freedom from the pressures and systems that wear them down.