Where Do My Sermons Go?

This morning, September 29, 2026, I found myself going through some of my grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s old sermon notes—messages dating from the 1940s through the early 1970s.

Among those yellowing pages, I discovered a question written by my great-grandfather, Alex Smith, who pastored in Colorado and also traveled throughout the Rocky Mountains doing evangelistic work.

It was a simple question, but one that stopped me in my tracks:

Where Do My Sermons Go?

I was looking through stacks of old sermons, handwritten notes, Bible studies, and messages that had accumulated through the years.

Some were carefully typed. Others were scribbled on yellowing paper. Some had verses underlined, thoughts crossed out, and last-minute ideas written in the margins.

And there, among those piles of sermon notes, was this question:

Where do sermons go?

A sermon is preached on a Sunday morning, a Wednesday night, at a camp, around a campfire, at a funeral, or in a small gathering somewhere.

The preacher closes his Bible.

The people go home.

Another week begins.

But is that really where the sermon ends?

My great-grandfather was asking a much deeper question.

He was really asking:

“Where has the influence gone of all these sermons I have preached?”

What a question.

The truth is, we may never fully know.

Some sermons fall like rain on ground we may never see again.

Some become seeds.

A sentence is remembered during a difficult season.

A Scripture comes back to someone years later.

A young person sitting in the back row senses a call from God.

A marriage holds together because someone remembered one biblical truth.

A missionary goes to another nation.

A pastor decides to keep going.

A father changes the way he leads his family.

Someone comes to Christ.

And often, the preacher never hears about it.

The sermon is bigger than the sermon.

God’s Word has a life far beyond the notes sitting on a preacher’s desk.

Isaiah 55:11 reminds us that God’s Word does not return empty but accomplishes the purpose for which He sends it.

That means the effectiveness of a message cannot always be measured by what happened at the altar, how many people responded, how many people complimented the sermon, or how many views it received online.

Some of the greatest fruit may not appear until years later.

As I continued digging through those old sermon notes, I came across another stack.

Written across the top in large letters was one simple word:

“OVER.”

It almost sounded final.

The sermon is over.

The service is over.

The preacher’s work is over.

But then I turned the stack of sermon notes over.

And there, on the other side, I found my great-grandfather’s answer to the question:

“Where do sermons go?”

He had written:

“Where are last year’s sun rays? They have gone into fruits, crops, grains and vegetables to feed billions on the earth.

Where are last year’s raindrops? Forgotten by most people, of course, but they did their refreshing work, and their influence still does what it needs to do.

So, too, my sermons have gone into the lives of people and hopefully made them better people, more Christlike, and better fitted for Heaven.”

— Alex Smith, my great-grandfather

What a beautiful picture.

The sunlight disappears, but the fruit remains.

The raindrops vanish into the ground, but the harvest tells us they were there.

And perhaps sermons are much the same.

A preacher may never see where every word lands.

He may never know which sentence someone carried home, which Scripture stayed with them through a difficult season, or which message quietly redirected the course of a life.

But that does not mean the sermon disappeared.

It may have become fruit.

It may have become courage.

It may have become faith.

It may have become a calling.

It may have become another generation following Jesus.

Looking at these old notes reminds me that faithful preaching is a lot like planting trees under whose shade we may never sit.

We preach.

We teach.

We write.

We encourage.

We scatter the seed.

And then we trust God with where it goes.

These pages may eventually become brittle.

The ink may fade.

The preacher’s name may someday be forgotten.

But the Word of God keeps traveling.

Perhaps that is one of the beautiful mysteries of ministry: we rarely get to see the full reach of our obedience.

So, to every pastor, teacher, parent, small-group leader, missionary, and follower of Jesus who has ever wondered whether your words made a difference:

Keep opening the Bible.

Keep preparing.

Keep speaking truth.

Keep planting.

Keep trusting God with the harvest.

Because somewhere, someone may still be living from a word you shared years ago.

Where do sermons go?

Into hearts.

Into homes.

Into marriages.

Into ministries.

Into callings.

Into future generations.

And ultimately, into the purposes of God.

“So is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty…” — Isaiah 55:11

As I look back over more than 80 years of preaching, teaching, and ministry within our small family tribe of preachers, I am deeply grateful for the men who kept—and continue to keep—the flame of the Gospel burning.

I asked AI to help me create a picture representing the men in our family who have carried that flame from one generation to the next.

These were ordinary men who said yes to an extraordinary calling.

Some preached from pulpits.

Some preached in churches, revival meetings, small towns, and mountain communities.

Some have already finished their race.

Others are still carrying the torch.

But together, their lives remind me that the Gospel has a way of traveling from one generation to another.

Perhaps that is the answer my great-grandfather was looking for all those years ago.

Where did his sermons go?

Some of them came down through our family.

Some of them helped shape children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

Some of them became faith.

Some became ministry.

Some became another preacher.

And more than 80 years later, the flame is still burning.

So today, I am grateful for men like Jim Adams, Ralph Hutchinson, Henry Lummer, Alex Smith, and the other pastors and preachers in our family who faithfully carried the Gospel before us—and for those of us who have the privilege of carrying it now.

The sermons may be over.

The pages may be old.

The voices may grow quiet.

But the influence continues.

The rain has fallen.

The sun has shone.

The seed has been planted.

And by the grace of God, the harvest is still coming in.

Thanks for your faithfulness pastor friends…. you ARE making a difference and remember to play the LONG game.

Steve