Go ahead, take a guess.
What do you think my hobby is?
When I have some time to relax, what would I rather do than anything in the world? (Other than spend time with Holly and Elijah)

Did you guess:
Fishing?
If so, you couldn’t be more wrong. I used to like to fish with my dad, but that was just so I could get him out in the middle of the river and talk his head off for hours at a time. There’s a fine line between something being relaxing and boring. Putting a worm in the water crosses that line, for me.
Hunting?
Yeah, waking up at 4:00 in the morning and sitting perfectly still in a tree in the freezing cold is exactly how I want to unwind on a Saturday.
Golf?
I can’t play golf, because as a pastor, I try not to curse, except while I’m preaching. The few times I played golf, I wanted to say some pretty bad words to the ball. Think Happy Gilmore.

It turns out that my idea of a good time is…
Wait for it…
Listening to and watching other preachers.

I know, it’s sick. I realize that listening to preaching for fun must indicate a serious psychological problem. But what can I say?
I’m addicted to the art of preaching.
And it’s not just a phase. For the last 11 years and counting, I’ve devoured any preaching I can get my hands on. I love it all. Good preaching, bad preaching, country preachers, refined preachers, 3 point alliterated outlines, post-modern narrative ramblings, screamers, forced hushed devotional whisperers, edgy stuff, stuffy stuff… my appetite for sermons is never satisfied.

I even have a tape deck in our bathroom so I can play old Johnny Hunt preaching cassettes while I’m in the shower.

I would rather have a front row seat to hear my favorite preacher than a box seat at the Super Bowl. I know it’s weird. Leave me alone.
If the worst addiction I’m ever guilty of is preaching (#2 is Diet Coke), I think I’ll be just fine.

Gotta go, Joyce Meyer is on. After her, Charles Stanley.
I told you, I like it all.