Preaching to Persuade, Not Just Inform
Preaching is an art. It’s the art of speaking to real people, in real time, in a real place. It’s a collision of the ancient and the immediate, God’s eternal truth pressing into the lives of people who are anxious, cynical, tired, distracted, or barely holding on. Preaching isn’t just about content. It’s about contact. Real hearts. Real questions. Real resistance.
And yet, far too often, we settle for something less. We build sermons like lectures. We explain the history. We define Greek words. We quote commentaries. We load up on insights and context and background, hoping that if we say enough good things about the Bible, we’ve done our job. It’s not wrong, but it’s not enough.
On the other side, some have reacted by swinging the pendulum too far in the opposite direction. They ditch the information and try to TED Talk their way into inspiration, offering therapeutic, feel-good messages that lift moods but rarely confront lies or call for transformation. That misses the mark, too.
Because your people don’t just need information. And they don’t just need inspiration. They need to see Jesus. To believe He is who He says He is. To be convinced of the truth that “in him was life, and the life was the light of men” (John 1:4). They need light for their darkness. Hope for their confusion. Clarity for their chaos. And more facts, or more hype, won’t quite get them there.
The problem is, most of us were never taught how to preach for that. We were told to preach Christ, but what does that actually mean? We try to be faithful to the text, so we give people word studies, historical context, and theological details. Sometimes that helps. But often, we’re left wondering: What do I say? What do I leave out? When is this insight helpful, and when is it just a distraction?
Then it comes time to “apply” the text. After delivering a collection of disconnected insights, some cultural background, a word study, and a few theological facts, we pivot and try to land the sermon with a call to action. “Pray more.” “Be kind.” “Trust God.” The shift often feels jarring, not because those exhortations are wrong, but because they seem detached from everything that came before. The application feels hollow, not because it can’t be drawn from the passage, but because it doesn’t flow from the argument of the text; it just follows the information we happened to share. And when that happens, we end up unintentionally drifting into Christian legalism or moralism: here’s what the Bible says, now go try harder.
We preach sermons full of true things, yet still feel like something’s missing. And often, it is. Because the goal of preaching isn’t just to inform or to inspire. It’s to persuade.
Preaching Begins with the Argument
So I don’t just ask, “What is this passage about?” I ask, “What argument is this text making, and how do I join in persuading others of it?” That question changes everything. It reshapes tone and sifts what belongs in the sermon and what doesn’t. It forces you to think not just about interpretation, but implication, transforming a sermon from a data transfer into a kind of spiritual plea.
One benefit of this approach is that it doesn't just influence what I build; it changes how I deliver it. It frees me to preach conversationally. I don’t need to sound like I’m delivering a commencement speech or lecturing at an institution of higher learning. I’m not giving a speech, I’m making an argument. And arguments happen all the time in the most ordinary conversations. I argue with my kids to wear jackets when it’s cold outside. I make a case to my wife about taking a vacation. I present reasonable arguments in board meetings when we’re weighing ideas or initiatives. These are normal, persuasive conversations. They’re logical, grounded, and deeply human.
I’ve often said that if I were teaching a seminary course on preaching, I wouldn’t begin with technique. I’d start by asking students to study the text and just talk to me about what they saw. Not to perform it or outline it. Just tell me. Then I’d ask them to persuade me. Because I don’t just want solid hermeneutics or personality, I want them to make a case for Christ from the passage. Saturate yourself in the Word, then argue from it, about the things of Christ.
Test Your Thesis
Once I understand the argument, I test it. Could I say it to someone in a conversation? Does it hold weight? Can it carry the sermon? If I can reduce the text to one persuasive sentence, not just descriptive but directive, then I know I’m close. It’s not enough to say, “1 Corinthians 12 is about spiritual gifts.” That’s a category, not a message. But if I say, “Every gift matters because every part of the body matters,” I’ve now said something people can respond to, believe in, reject, or dare I say it, even argue with.
Next, I try to anticipate the resistance. Over the years, I’ve found myself preaching with a kind of invisible audience. The skeptic. The self-righteous. The weary. The deconstructing kid from the youth group. The anxious overthinker. The person who keeps showing up but still doesn’t know what they believe. I try to imagine how each of them would hear the argument and what objections they might have. Sometimes these objections are intellectual, but often they’re emotional or experiential. Sometimes they’ve been hurt. Sometimes they’ve been discipled by cynicism. Sometimes they’ve just never heard anyone say the thing out loud.
I don’t only want to deconstruct those objections. I want to understand them, because many of them are shared by both the churched and the unchurched. If I can identify the tension, I can deconstruct it, understand it, empathize with it, and discern how the text speaks to it.
Let the Argument Sift the Content
Even in highly exegetical sermons, I try to anchor everything in narrative. People don’t remember outlines; they remember stories. When I lose my place mid-sermon, I don’t look for a bullet point. I trace the thread of the story or the argument I’m building. One thread of thought pulls the next along. One memory unlocks the next paragraph. It’s how I memorize my messages, too. Not point by point, but thought by thought. Story by story. Argument by argument.
This also becomes the filter for what I include and what I leave out. The study always yields more than the sermon can hold. Historical context. Ancient geography. Lexical range in the Greek. Brilliant insights from commentaries. And it all feels important. But not every insight belongs in the sermon. One of the most difficult decisions a preacher has to make is what not to say.
As kids, my brother and I used to argue until one of us would throw out some off-topic jab, and the other would yell: “What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?” In other words, you’re not helping your case; you’re just trying to sound smart. Pastors do this all the time. Dropping in ancient city names that don’t matter. Explaining verb tenses that add nothing. Sharing quotes to impress rather than to illuminate. The question I always try to ask is: Does this help make the argument the text is making? Or is this just for me?
And that’s often the case: some of the most beautiful, insightful parts of the study are for me. They don’t make it into the sermon. They shape my heart. They deepen my understanding. They form my convictions. But they don’t serve the persuasion I’ve been called to bring to my people this week. And that’s okay. That’s part of the sacredness of the process.
Let Intellect Drive the Study, Let Empathy Drive the Sermon
I’ve learned to let intellect drive the study, but let empathy drive the delivery. I want to dig deep. I want to exegete faithfully. I want to chase down nuance and uncover beauty in the text. But when I stand up to preach, I’m not giving a lecture; I’m stepping into the hearts and minds of people. I’m entering into their questions, their stories, their resistance, their longing. And I’m asking: Why might they struggle to believe this? What wound does this truth heal? What idol does this truth confront? If I can do that, I’m not just applying the text, I’m incarnating it. And that’s where preaching becomes personal. It’s where persuasion becomes pastoral..
So if you’re early in your preaching journey, don’t worry about sounding impressive. Get your hermeneutics right. Let the argument emerge. Learn how people think by spending time with them. Preach with clarity, empathy, and conviction. And above all, don’t aim to wow them with what you’ve learned. Aim to persuade them with what God would have them believe.
So, the real question for you is, have I persuaded you yet?
Anthony Caiola
Anthony is a pastor, church planter, writer, and consultant who helps churches and leaders build healthy, mission-driven organizations. He serves as the Lead Pastor of Awaken 514 Church and works as a real estate entrepreneur and nonprofit leader, coaching teams to align values, systems, and culture for lasting impact. Originally from the New York Metro area, Anthony now lives in rural Pennsylvania with his wife and two children.
