Earlier this week, I posted some thoughts about Dracula Religion (churches who darken their sanctuaries during worship as though the Holy Ghost is a vampire who is only conjured out in the shadows). Those thoughts went viral, even by my standards, largely because it resonated with so many evangelicals who grow tired of church practices that are designed with everything but theology in mind.
What people seemed to have appreciated was my explanation for the origin of the light-dimming, which now seems ubiquitous to the Big Box church experience. Worshipping in the dark has never sat right with a good many people, and despite the Holy Ghost leading his people to the knowledge of the truth, there’s often not much more than a ‘gut feeling’ that something’s off. But understanding the origin of things sometimes helps folks understand why they feel the way they do.
The short summary of that thread (if you were reading my account on X) or article (if you were reading it here at Insight to Incite), was that lowering the lights to worship is such a new practice, its origins can be traced easily enough to an arch-heretic in the 1980s. It was part of accomplishing an over-all overhaul of the Lord’s Day gathering to focus on delivering what lost people preferred, which in the case of lighting, was to be disconnected from the people around them and change the corporate worship environment into a personal worship experience, done collectively.
Think of it like a self-pleasure booth you might have seen depicted on a television show, in which one dancing lady is visible to a half-dozen different perverts segregated into cubicles in which they dispense quarters to open the curtain. They’re all watching the same show, but separately. For this style of worship, it’s an intentional deconstruction of the entire purpose of the corporate worship gathering.
Many thousands responded affirmatively, albeit a few megachurch pastors chimed in to point out that some early Christians worshipped in darkened catacombs. This is true, because they were hiding from Roman persecutors. One wonders what they’re hiding from down at the abandoned warehouse congregation.
But in my diatribe about church lighting, it really wasn’t a matter of preference. In fact, it was a protest against preference-centered worship. The point was that at one time, churches thought about what was most pleasing to God, and somewhere along the way, they began to focus on what was most pleasing to men. It’s in that vein that I continue my mission of making aspiring mega-pastors hate my ever-loving guts.
WHO STOLE THE PULPITS?
Once upon a time, I tried to steal a pulpit, but I considered it a theft of principle. A little church house was built by Tennessee Baptists on a nearby Indian Reservation in North Dakota. After building the facility, they marked it as a ‘church plant’ on their Church Profile forms and the North American Mission Board notched their belt as having reached the Indians. But nothing further from the truth could have been the case, as shortly thereafter, the church planter they had chosen for the task turned a blind eye to Nativism syncretism (merging Christianity with indigenous religion) and the building had been taken over by the local shaman.
That was back when I was younger, and thought I’d be darned if a witchdoctor was going to do his voodoo from a Southern Baptist pulpit, so I went by to grab the pulpit which for me, represented ecclesiastical authority and they had none. So there I was, hauling the pulpit out on my back, when the Shaman - who had been sitting silentLY in the shadows, unseen by me - asked what was happening.
To my surprise, he was blind, and in a cartoonish scene, I put the pulpit back and introduced myself.
Eventually, we offered to their congregation our money and resources (and preachers) in a cooperative spirit to disciple them away from a religion best described as witchcraft. I ended up preaching there weekly for about a year or so.
But today, it seems that far more people than myself have conspired to remove the pulpit from the sanctuary. In fact, a quick look around, and you’ll see that they’ve succeeded. The pulpit has been replaced perhaps by a lectern, or possibly a podium of some kind, but most likely, a music stand or nothing at all. In its place is a curious piece of furniture I call “the preaching stool,” where the pastor will often hunch on when he tires of standing, much the way a stand-up comedian has one on stage which forms a pivot to station him in his stage wanderings.
But is this really such a big deal? Like church lighting, no specific verse in Scripture dictates this precisely. So then, why does it matter? Well, it does matter. Let me explain.
FENCES AND TRADITIONS
At some point I’d heard the truism from a radio pundit that the difference between a conservative and a liberal is illustrated by a parable:
A man buys a farm and discovers upon his plot of land, a fence. Curiously, he can’t tell why the fence is there, or the pasture divided. What he does next will indicate if he’s a conservative or a liberal. The liberal thinks to himself, “I don’t know why this fence is here. It must not be needed, so I’ll remove it.” But the conservative thinks to himself, “I don’t know why this fence is here, so until I figure it out, I’ll let it remain.”
The liberal surmises that those who came before him are probably primitive, maybe stupid, and did nonsensical things that should be undone. The conservative surmises that those who came before him are no less intelligent, and despite sometimes not knowing why they did the things they did, will leave them left alone as they are, until a good reason is presented to change them.
On my own farm, which has been worked at least 125 years, I discovered an ancient berm of dirt that appeared to serve no purpose, perhaps just a mound of dirt left haphazardly a century ago, and out of place. But over the course of time, I discovered that at certain times of the year, that berm prevents my field from flooding when the nearby spring over-flows. And, I’m glad I left it in place, despite not knowing the reason it was made to begin with.
Certain things in the church, like pulpits, are like that berm. We might have forgotten why they were ever invented, but at one time or another, traditions served a utilitarian purpose. It’s our job to determine what for.
HISTORY OF THE PULPIT
The term "pulpit" comes from the Latin pulpitum, meaning a raised platform or stage, originally used in Roman theaters and public spaces. In the context of the Christian church, the pulpit evolved as a distinct feature for preaching and delivering sermons, though its roots can be traced back to earlier religious traditions.
The concept of a raised platform for reading sacred texts predates Christianity. In Jewish synagogues, a bimah—a raised stand—was used for reading the Torah. Early Christians, many of whom were Jewish converts, likely adapted this practice as they began to formalize their worship spaces.
By the 4th century, the ambo emerged as an early precursor to the pulpit. This was a raised platform, often with steps, used for reading Scripture during the liturgy. Ambos were common in Byzantine and early Roman churches, such as in Hagia Sophia, and often featured two platforms—one for readings and another for preaching.
As church architecture grew more elaborate in the Middle Ages, the pulpit became a distinct and prominent feature. By the 9th–10th centuries in Western Europe, the ambo evolved into the pulpit, reflecting a growing emphasis on preaching. Unlike the ambo, which was primarily for Scripture readings, the pulpit was designed specifically for sermons, often delivered in the vernacular to educate the largely illiterate laity. It was the place the teaching was done.
Medieval pulpits were often made of stone or wood and placed in the nave (the main body of the church), closer to the congregation. Some pulpits were elevated and accessed by stairs, symbolizing the authority of the Word of God.
The 16th century brought significant changes to the pulpit’s role and design. Martin Luther and other Reformers emphasized preaching as the cornerstone of worship, elevating the pulpit’s status over the altar in Protestant churches. Pulpits became larger and more central, often placed high above the congregation to symbolize the primacy of Scripture. In Lutheran and Calvinist churches, they were sometimes combined with a sounding board (a canopy) to amplify the preacher’s voice in large spaces without modern acoustics.
From the 18th century onward, the pulpit adapted to changing architectural trends. In Protestant traditions, especially in Puritan and evangelical churches, pulpits became simpler—often just a wooden lectern or desk—reflecting a focus on the message rather than ornamentation. Methodist and Baptist churches in the Americas often featured portable or modest pulpits.
THE THEOLOGY OF THE SACRED DESK
Throughout history, the pulpit has symbolized more than just a piece of furniture. It represents the authority of the preacher and the centrality of God’s Word. Phrases like “from the pulpit” denote moral or spiritual proclamations. Its design often mirrors the artistic and theological priorities of its time - for Protestant evangelicals they are simple, like our Gospel, but bold and sturdy, also like our gospel.
But in particular, pulpits serve some very practical purposes.
The term "sacred desk" as a name for the pulpit emerged primarily within certain Protestant Christian traditions, particularly in the English-speaking world, and reflects both its physical form and its spiritual significance. While not universally applied, the phrase gained traction in the 18th and 19th centuries, especially among denominations like Methodists, Baptists, and Presbyterians in Britain and America.
Preachers stood behind the pulpit to deliver sermons, often reading from Scripture or written manuscripts placed on it, much like a scholar or teacher at a desk. This utilitarian aspect reinforced the "desk" imagery. In other words, the pulpit is first and foremost the place where pastors put their (A) Bible, because it’s expected that they dang well better have their Bible open when they’re preaching and (B) their sermon notes, because they spent time diligently studying God’s Word during the week and they don’t just hop up on stage and start cracking joke or telling stories.
This may seem like too much common sense to be significant, but look around today. It’s not common. While some preachers take pride in not needing to study, or not looking like they study (mission: accomplished), the dutiful pastor ‘studies to show himself approved’ (2 Timothy 2:15). He wants the congregation to know that he earned his paycheck; he labored during the week to produce a sermon that was doctrinally astute and prayed-over in the power of the Holy Ghost.
In Protestant theology, particularly after the Reformation, the preaching of the Bible became central. The pulpit, as the platform for proclaiming God’s Word, was imbued with a sense of sanctity. The adjective "sacred" underscored its role as a consecrated object, set apart for divine service. What happens behind the pulpit is a sacred activity. It is special.
Today, the sacred aspect of preaching has been long forgotten. It’s no longer a sermon; they call it “a talk.” And for this reason, sermons largely more resemble a TedTalk these days than an exposition. Sermons have stopped being proclamations, but rather ‘conversations,’ and ‘thus saith the Lord’ oration has been replaced with a casual tone.
It’s not uncommon today to see preachers sit on their preaching stool, often dressed as casually as they might go to Starbucks on Monday morning, as though nothing of significance is happening at all. I’m personally annoyed at preachers who stand with one leg hiked behind the other, as though they’re using their own body as a leaning support. Or, perhaps, preaching with their hands in their pocket, as casually as two men might stand outside, talking about the weather.
But the delivery of God’s Word - not in prophetic utterance, but in exposition of the written Scriptures - is no casual matter. The spiritually dead come to life. The broken are bandaged up. The proud get broken. Souls are saved. The hopeless receive hope and sinners receive conviction. It’s all a very significant thing, and the pulpit came to represent that sacred nature of this sacred time on a sacred day of the week.
The pulpit also represented the authority of the preacher as a messenger of God. Calling it the "sacred desk" elevated its status beyond mere furniture, aligning it with the holy task of teaching and interpreting Scripture. It’s not for everyone. I never forbade anyone from using the pulpit as a lectern while I was a pastor, for example, a woman making a brief announcement at AWANA about the upcoming MOPS meeting. But interestingly enough, none dared stand behind it; they recognized the authority it represents. And that’s a healthy respect. And as I would call on deacons to read the Scriptures set apart for the worship service, between songs, they would sometimes look at me like, “Are you sure? You want me to stand there?”
That’s how you know the pulpit is doing its job. It’s representing the sacred nature of addressing the congregation of the Lord, even if it’s to give an announcement on a Wednesday night to a group of women, or only reading what the Holy Ghost inspired to written in the 66 Books.
During the Great Awakening in America and the Methodist movement in Britain, preachers like John Wesley and George Whitefield, often referring to it in sermons or writings as the "sacred desk" to highlight its spiritual gravity.
Charles Spurgeon occasionally referenced the pulpit as a "sacred desk" in his writings, emphasizing its role as a place of divine encounter. For instance, in Baptist circles, it was a rhetorical way to distinguish the preacher’s station from secular platforms.
But the pulpit also served another very important purpose. It was designed to conceal the preacher. Now this one is really far out, for those who only know recent traditions in evangelical religion. Hear me out on this one…
A belief in the unction of the Holy Ghost, or his anointing, was not believed to be related to boisterousness or animation of the preacher himself. It had nothing to do with shouting or hollering or dancing up and down, as charismatics might now believe. The theology of this is that “faith comes by hearing” and whatever the Holy Ghost might accomplish, will be accomplished through the words spoken. It is the Word of God by which we’re born again (1 Peter 1:23). Because it’s all about God giving supernatural power to the words preached with unction, looking at the preacher was only a distraction from the supernatural power given to the words. The pulpit served a secondary (or perhaps tertiary) purpose of covering up everything but his head or upper body.
I’ll remind you that when the Holy Ghost moved so mightily through Jonathan Edwards, when he preached Sinners in the Hands of Angry God, he read the manuscript monotone. The words themselves, when carried along by God’s power, is what did God’s work. Jonathan Edwards wasn’t important in this scenario; his words were. The thought was, with the pulpit in front of him (and by design back then, often around him), emphasis was placed on the preaching and not the preacher.
In case you were unaware, the black robes of the early American clergy also served the same purpose. They didn’t want anyone focusing on the preacher’s attire. With his black robe, he often blurred into the backdrop of the church, with only his face visible, which was necessary because that’s where the words came from. You might not know that’s the origin of the preaching robe, considering now you see them bedazzled with fag flags and colored with rainbow colors, which are precisely the opposite of the point. But as weird as that tradition seems today, I’d take that over the flashy apparel and $1,800 cardigans worn by Steven Furtick. The website, Preacher Sneakers, kept track of the ridiculously expensive tennis shoes worn by prosperity preachers. The website is now defunct, but Protestia often highlights these expensive items from their social media platforms. These guys are clearly dressing to be seen.
There’s one other practical benefit of the pulpit that I admire, although I don’t know that it’s a historic one. In a day of ranting and raving and pacing the aisles - which I’m convinced is the preacher’s way of distracting you from the fact he doesn’t have a point and didn’t prepare his words - the pulpit helps the preacher stay in place (especially if his only mic is located there). On several occasions, I had to tell young men I was training in homiletics that if they didn’t “stop acting like you have ants in your pants” I was going to take away their lapel mic and glue their hands to the pulpit.
If your words as a preacher have a punch, if they’re chosen carefully for effectiveness and - as Ian Paisley said - “every word a thunder bolt,” you don’t need to jump around on stage like you’re avoiding a swarm of bees in order to get people’s attention. In fact, when preached with unction and conviction, you don’t even have to raise your voice to have people focused and on the edge of their seat.
I can’t think of a reason I’ll stand behind a pulpit ever again, but I’ll always remember the times that people literally sat so closely to edge of the pew it was a wonder they didn’t fall off it, visibly anticipatory of the next thing I might say, without so much as raising my voice or pacing the stage, because simply spoken but carefully chosen words were cutting to the quick and dividing soul and spirt, joint and marrow (because they were the words directly from God, as written in the Bible). Manning your station at the pulpit helps you focus on the words you’re preaching and not your mannerisms or bodily personality.
But most of all, the pulpit represents the supremacy of the preached Word of God. It is the central focus of the worship service (preaching is as much worship as singing). Preaching both plants seeds and harvests. It hardens the clay and melts ice, whichever needs to be done in the heart of the hearer. God moves mightily from it.
At the end of the day, there’s nothing mandatory about a pulpit. But like the fence recently discovered, it’s best to stop and wonder why it’s there, and what the reasons were for which it was built. If evangelical worshippers stop and consider that those who came before us were not less wise, but probably more so, we wouldn’t be so quick to get rid of tradition. Traditions then, as opposed to traditions now, were more likely to have developed from the sincerity of a heart desirous to obey God and glorify Him.
Even if the pulpits don’t return to our churches, I pray at the very least, the preaching would.
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