The Temptation of the Eloquent: What Paul Teaches Us About Preaching in a Performance-Driven Culture

When Duane Litfin set out to write Paul’s Theology of Preaching: The Apostle’s Challenge to the Art of Persuasion in Ancient Corinth, he asked a simple but important question: How did the Apostle Paul understand his own preaching, and what convictions shaped his approach?

It’s a question that feels particularly relevant in our moment, when preaching has become not only proclamation but also content. Many of us—often unintentionally—write sermons with an Instagram reel in mind or what might cause the reaction we seek. We craft a turn of phrase, a quotable line, or an emotional moment that might resonate online. We hope the “clip” captures something true or inspiring, but if we’re honest, there’s also a subtle temptation to preach for reach—to chase a moment, that soundbite, that sense of influence.

Litfin’s work reminds us that this impulse is not entirely new. The world Paul preached in was equally captivated by eloquence and public performance. In Corinth, rhetorical brilliance was the social currency of the day. The best orators were treated like celebrities; their ability to persuade was their power. And yet, Paul chose another way. He deliberately distanced himself from the art of persuasion, insisting that his message and method must align with the scandal of the cross—a message that is powerful precisely because it offends human pride and dismantles self-promotion.

At the heart of Litfin’s argument is a striking truth: Paul’s preaching was not an act of personal expression but of spiritual submission. He was not an orator performing for approval but a herald proclaiming a message that was not his own.

The Rhetorical World Paul Rejected

Litfin begins by setting the scene in the Greco-Roman world, where rhetoric was a highly developed art form refined by figures like Aristotle, Cicero, and Quintilian. The goal of the orator was not truth, but persuasion. The audience’s reaction determined success. Words were a tool of control.

Paul, however, refused to participate in that system. His method of proclamation stood in deliberate contrast to it. His goal was not to impress the listener but to demonstrate the power of God.

In Corinth, where public speakers competed for prestige and applause, Paul’s unimpressive delivery would have seemed scandalous. Yet, as Litfin shows, this was not accidental. It was theological. Paul’s rejection of worldly eloquence was not born of inability—it was born of conviction. He understood that if people were won by rhetorical polish, their faith would rest on human wisdom rather than divine power.

For Paul, the method had to match the message. The cross—weak, foolish, and unimpressive by human standards—could not be preached through the means of self-glorifying performance.

The Herald, Not the Orator

This is where Litfin introduces one of his most helpful distinctions: Paul saw himself not as an orator but as a herald.

An orator persuades; a herald proclaims.
An orator aims for applause; a herald aims for obedience.
An orator measures success by response; a herald measures success by faithfulness.

The herald’s task is to deliver a message on behalf of another without alteration or embellishment. For Paul, the message was the kerygma—the announcement that Jesus Christ is Lord, crucified and risen. His job was not to sell the gospel but to declare it.

This is where modern preachers, especially in a digital age, feel the tension. We live in a culture of metrics—views, likes, followers, engagement. The orator’s world of Corinth isn’t that far from ours. Whether it’s the standing ovation, the sermon clip, or the viral post, the temptation to measure fruitfulness by visibility is real.

But Paul’s model frees us from that trap. Our task is not to make the message more palatable or more marketable. It’s to proclaim the gospel clearly and humbly, trusting that the Spirit does what no algorithm ever can—convict, convert, and transform hearts.

Weakness as the Way

Paul’s weakness became the platform for God’s power. He understood that eloquence could obscure the cross just as easily as error could. By refusing to rely on rhetorical flash, he kept the focus where it belonged—on Christ crucified.

Litfin shows that Paul’s theology of preaching was built around dependence on the Holy Spirit. Paul didn’t reject rhetoric because it was inherently sinful, but because he refused to use any tool that would shift credit for salvation from God to human skill. His was a deliberate theology of weakness—a recognition that the preacher’s inadequacy magnifies divine sufficiency.

That’s hard for us to swallow in a world that celebrates polished communicators and platform builders. But Paul’s “unimpressive” preaching was not the absence of excellence—it was the presence of surrender.

Implications for Preachers and Teachers Today

Litfin’s work serves as a mirror for the modern pulpit. The parallels between Corinth and our own age are uncanny. In a culture saturated with charisma and celebrity, Paul’s model of preaching calls us back to something radically countercultural: faithfulness over fame.

Here are three takeaways for those of us who preach, teach, or lead in today’s environment:

1. Reclaim the role of the herald.
   The goal is not to go viral but to go vertical—to faithfully deliver the King’s message without distortion. Success is measured not in reach but in obedience.

2. Refuse the pressure to perform.
   Our confidence must rest in the Spirit’s work, not our own. God’s power is displayed in dependence, not polish.

3. Remember that the cross shapes the method.
   The gospel we proclaim must shape how we proclaim it. We do not preach a self-promoting message, so we cannot preach it through self-promoting means.

Conclusion: Preach the Cross, Not the Clip

Litfin’s Paul’s Theology of Preaching is more than a historical or exegetical study—it’s a prophetic word to our time. It reminds every preacher and teacher that the ministry of the Word is not a performance to master but a trust to steward.

The question is not, “Did it land?” but “Was it faithful?”

The gospel doesn’t need cleverness to be compelling. It doesn’t need our polish to be powerful. It simply needs to be proclaimed—clearly, humbly, and in full dependence on the Spirit who still works through weakness.

Because in the end, the goal of preaching is not that people would say, “What a powerful communicator,” but that they would say, “What a powerful Savior.”