of the public ear. We must use every occasion that comes in our way, and
every tool that is likely to help us in our work; and we must rouse up
all our faculties, and put forth all our energies, if that by any means
we may get the people to heed that which they are so slow to regard, the
great story of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come. We shall
need to read much, and to study hard, or else we shall not be able to
influence our day and generation for good. I believe that the greatest
industry is necessary to make a thoroughly efficient preacher, and the
best natural ability, too; and it is my firm conviction that, when you
have the best natural ability, you must supplement it with the greatest
imaginable industry, if you are really to do much service for God among
this crooked and perverse generation.
The fool in Scotland who got into the pulpit before the preacher arrived
was requested by the minister to come down. "Nay, nay," answered the
man, "you come up, too, for it will take both of us to move this
stiff-necked generation." It will certainly take all the wisdom that we
can obtain to move the people among whom our lot is cast; and if we do
not use every lawful means of interesting the minds of our hearers, we
shall find that they will be like a certain other congregation, in which
the people were all asleep except one poor idiot. The minister woke them
up, and tried to reprove them by saying, "There, you were all asleep
except poor Jock the idiot;" but his rebuke was cut short by Jock, who
exclaimed, "And if I had not been an idiot, I should have been asleep
too."
I will leave the moral of that well-known story to speak for itself, and
will pass on to my second point, which is, that the use of anecdotes and
illustrations _renders our preaching lifelike and vivid_. This is a most
important matter. Of all things that we have to avoid, one of the most
essential is that of giving our people the idea, when we are preaching,
that we are acting a part. Everything theatrical in the pulpit, either
in tone, manner, or anything else, I loathe from my very soul. Just go
into the pulpit and talk to the people as you would in the kitchen, or
the drawing-room, and say what you have to tell them in your ordinary
tone of voice. Let me conjure you, by everything that is good, to throw
away all stilted styles of speech, and anything approaching affectation.
Nothing can succeed with the masses except naturalness and simplicity.
Why, some ministers cannot even give out a hymn in a natural manner!
"Let us sing to the praise and glory of God" (spoken in the tone that is
sometimes heard in churches or chapels)--who would ever think of
speaking like that at the tea-table? "I shall be greatly obliged if you
will kindly give me another cup of tea" (spoken in the same unnatural
way)--you would never think of giving any tea to a man who talked like
that; and if we preach in that stupid style, the people will not believe
what we say; they will think it is our business, our occupation, and
that we are doing the whole thing in a professional manner. We must
shake off professionalism of every kind, as Paul shook off the viper
into the fire; and we must speak as God has ordained that we should
speak, and not by any strange, out-of-the-way, new-fangled method of
pulpit oratory.
Our Lord's teaching was amazingly lifelike and vivid; it was the setting
out of truth before the eye, not as a flat picture, but as in a
stereoscope, making it stand up, with all its lines and angles of
beauty in lifelike reality. That was a fine living sermon when he took a
little child, and set him in the midst of the disciples; and that was
another powerful discourse when he preached about abstaining from
carking cares, and stooped down and plucked a lily (as I suppose he did)
and said, "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil
not, neither do they spin." I can readily suppose that some ravens were
flying just over his head, and that he pointed to them, and said,
"Consider the ravens; for they neither sow nor reap; which neither have
storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them." There was a lifelikeness;
you see, a vividness, about the whole thing. We cannot always literally
imitate our Lord, as we have mostly to preach in places of worship. It
is a blessing that we have so many houses of prayer, and I thank God
that there are so many of them springing up all around us; yet I should
praise the Lord still more if half the ministers who preach in our
various buildings were made to turn out of them, and to speak for their
Master in the highways and byways, and anywhere that the people would go
to listen to them. We are to go out into all the world, and preach the
gospel to every creature--not to stop in our chapels waiting for every
creature to come in to hear what we have to say. A sportsman who should
sit at his parlor window, with his gun loaded all ready for shooting
partridges, would probably not make up a very heavy bag of game. No; he
must put on his buskins, and tramp off over the fields, and then he will
get a shot at the birds he is seeking. So must we do, brethren; we must
always have our buskins ready for field work, and be ever on the watch
for opportunities of going out among the souls of men, that we may bring
them back as trophies of the power of the gospel we have to proclaim.
It might not be wise for us to try to make our sermons lifelike and
vivid in the style in which quaint old Matthew Wilks sometimes did; as
when, one Sabbath morning, he took into the pulpit a little box, and
after a while, opened it, and displayed to the congregation a small pair
of scales, and then, turning over the leaves of the Bible with great
deliberation, held up the balances, and announced as his text, "Thou art
weighed in the balances, and art found wanting." I think, however, that
was puerile rather than powerful. I like Matthew Wilks better when, on
another occasion, his text being, "See that ye walk circumspectly," he
commenced by saying, "Did you ever see a tom-cat walking on the top of
a high wall that was covered with bits of broken glass bottles? If so,
you had just then an accurate illustration of what is meant by the
injunction, 'See that ye walk circumspectly.'" There is the case, too,
of good "Father Taylor," who, preaching in the streets in one of the
towns of California, stood on the top of a whisky-barrel. By way of
illustration, he stamped his foot on the cask and said, "This barrel is
like man's heart, full of evil stuff; and there are some people who say
that if sin is within you, it may just as well come out." "No," said the
speaker, "it is not so; now here is this whisky that is in the barrel
under my foot: it is a bad thing; it is a damnable thing; it is a
devilish thing; but as long as it is kept tightly bunged up in the
barrel, it certainly will not do the hurt that it will if it is taken
over to the liquor-bar, and sold out to the drunkards of the
neighborhood, sending them home to beat their wives or kill their
children. So, if you keep your sins in your own heart, they will be evil
and devilish, and God will damn you for them; but they will not do so
much hurt to other people, at any rate, as if they are seen in public."
Stamping his foot again on the barrel, the preacher said, "Suppose you
try to pass this cask over the boundaries of the country, and the
custom-house officer comes and demands the duty upon its contents. You
say that you will not let any of the whisky get out; but the officer
tells you that he cannot allow it to pass. So, if it were possible for
us to abstain from outward sin, yet, since the heart is full of all
manner of evil, it would be impossible for us to pass the frontiers of
heaven, and to be found in that holy and happy place." That I thought to
be somewhat of a lifelike illustration, and a capital way of teaching
truth, although I should not like always to have a whisky-barrel for a
pulpit, for fear the head might fall in, and I might fall in, too.
I should not recommend any of you to be so lifelike in your ministry as
that notable French priest, who, addressing his congregation, said, "As
to the Magdalenes and those who commit the sins of the flesh, such
persons are very common; they abound even in this church; and I am going
to throw this mass-book at a woman who is a Magdalene," whereupon all
the women in the place bent down their heads. So the priest said, "No,
surely you are not all Magdalenes; I hardly thought that was the case;
but you see how your sin finds you out!" Nor should I even recommend you
to follow the example of the clergyman, who, when a collection was to be
made for lighting and warming the church, after he had preached some
time, blew out the candles on both sides of the pulpit, saying that the
collection was for the lights and the fires, and he did not require any
light, for he did not read his sermon, "but," he added, "when Roger
gives out the psalm presently, you will want a light to see your books;
so the candles are for yourselves. And as for the stove, I do not need
its heat, for my exercise in preaching is sufficient to keep me warm;
therefore you see that the collection is wholly for yourselves on this
occasion. Nobody can say that the clergy are collecting for themselves
this time, for on this Sunday it is wholly for your own selves." I
thought the man was a fool for making such remarks, though I find that
his conduct has been referred to as being a very excellent instance of
boldness in preaching.
There is a story told about myself, which, like very many of the tales
told about me, is a _story_ in two senses. It is said that in order to
show the way in which men backslide, I once slid down the banisters of
the pulpit. I only mention this, in passing, because it is a remarkable
fact that, at the time the story was told, my pulpit was fixed in the
wall, and there was no banister, so that the reverend fool (which he
would have been if he had done what people said) could not have
performed the antic if he had been inclined to attempt it. But the
anecdote, although it is not true, serves all the purposes of the
lifelikeness I have tried to describe.
You probably recollect the instance of Whitefield depicting the blind
man, with his dog, walking on the brink of a precipice, and his foot
almost slipping over the edge. The preacher's description was so
graphic, and the illustration so vivid and lifelike, that Lord
Chesterfield sprang up and exclaimed, "Good God, he's gone!" but
Whitefield answered, "No, my lord, he is not quite gone; let us hope
that he may yet be saved." Then he went on to speak of the blind man as
being led by his reason, which is only like a dog, showing that a man
led only by reason is ready to fall into hell. How vividly one would see
the love of money set forth in the story told by our venerable friend,
Mr. Rogers, of a man who, when he lay a-dying, would put his money in
his mouth because he loved it so and wanted to take some of it with him!
How strikingly is the non-utility of worldly wealth, as a comfort to us
in our last days, brought before us by the narrative in which good
Jeremiah Burroughes speaks of a miser who had his money-bags laid near
his hand on his dying-bed! He kept taking them up, and saying, "Must I
leave you? Must I leave you? Have I lived all these years for you, and
now must I leave you?" And so he died. There is a tale told of another,
who had many pains in his death, and especially the great pain of a
disturbed conscience. He also had his money-bags brought, one by one,
with his mortgages, and bonds, and deeds, and putting them near his
heart, he sighed, and said, "These won't do; these won't do; these won't
do; take them away! What poor things they all are when I most need
comfort in my dying moments!"
How distinctly love to Christ is brought out in the story of John
Lambert, fastened to the stake, and burning to death, yet clapping his
hands as he was burning, and crying out, "None but Christ! None but
Christ!" until his nether extremities were burned, and he fell from the
chains into the fire, still exclaiming in the midst of the flames, "None
but Christ! None but Christ!" How clearly the truth stands out before
you when you hear such stories as these! You can realize it almost as
well as if the incident happened before your eyes. How well you can see
the folly of misunderstanding between Christians in Mr. Jay's story of
two men who were walking from opposite directions on a foggy night!
Each saw what he thought was a terrible monster moving toward him, and
making his heart beat with terror; as they came nearer to each other,
they found that the dreadful monsters were brothers. So, men of
different denominations are often afraid of one another; but when they
get close to each other, and know each other's hearts, they find out
that they are brethren after all. The story of the negro and his master
well illustrates the need of beginning at the beginning in heavenly
things, and not meddling with the deeper points of our holy religion
till we have learned its elements thoroughly. A poor negro was laboring
hard to bring his master to a knowledge of the truth, and was urging him
to exercise faith in Christ, when he excused himself because he could
not understand the doctrine of election. "Ah! Massa," said the negro,
"don't you know what comes before de Epistle to de Romans? You must read
de Book de right way; de doctrine ob election is in Romans, and dere is
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, first. You are only in Matthew yet; dat
is about repentance; and when you get to John, you will read where de
Lord Jesus Christ said dat God so loved de world, dat he gave his only
begotten Son, dat whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but hab
everlasting life." So, brethren, you can say to your hearers, "You will
do better by reading the four Gospels first than by beginning to read in
Romans; first study Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and then you can go
on to the Epistles."
But I must not keep on giving you illustrations, because so many will
suggest themselves. I have given you sufficient to show that they do
make our preaching vivid and lifelike; therefore, the more you have of
them, the better. At the same time, gentlemen, I must warn you against
the danger of having too many anecdotes in any one sermon. You ought,
perhaps, to have a dish of salad on the table; but if you ask your
friends to dinner, and give them nothing but salad, they will not fare
very well, and will not care to come to your house again.
* * * * *
Thirdly, anecdotes and illustrations may be used _to explain either
doctrines or duties to dull understandings_. They may, in fact, be the
very best form of exposition. A preacher should instance, and
illustrate, and exemplify his subject, so that his hearers may have real
acquaintance with the matter he is bringing before them. If a man
attempted to give me a description of a piece of machinery, he would
possibly fail to make me comprehend what it was like; but if he will
have the goodness to let me see a drawing of the various sections, and
then of the whole machine, I will, somehow or other, by hook or by
crook, make out how it works. The pictorial representation of a thing is
always a much more powerful means of instruction than any mere verbal
description ever could be. It is just in this way that anecdotes and
illustrations are so helpful to our hearers. For instance, take this
anecdote as illustrating the text, "Thou, when thou prayest, enter into
thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which
is in secret." A little boy used to go up into a hay-loft to pray; but
he found that, sometimes, persons came up and disturbed him; therefore,
the next time he climbed into the loft, he pulled the ladder up after
him. Telling this story, you might explain how the boy thus entered into
his closet and shut the door. The meaning is not so much the literal
entrance into a closet, or the shutting of the door, as the getting away
from earthly sources of distraction, pulling up the ladder after us, and
keeping out anything that might come in to hinder our secret devotions.
I wish we could always pull the ladder up after us when we retire for
private prayer; but many things try to climb that ladder. The devil
himself will come up to disturb us if he can; and he can get into the
hay-loft without any ladder.
What a capital exposition of the fifth commandment was that which was
given by Corporal Trim, when he was asked, "What dost thou mean by
honoring thy father and thy mother?" and he answered, "Please, your
honor, it is allowing them a shilling a week out of my pay when they
grow old." That was an admirable explanation of the meaning of the text.
Then, if you are trying to show how we are to be doers of the Word, and
not hearers only, there is a story of a woman who, when asked by the
minister what he had said on Sunday, replied that she did not remember
the sermon; but it had touched her conscience, for when she got home she
burned her bushel, which was short measure. There is another story which
also goes to show that the gospel may be useful even to hearers who
forget what they have heard. A woman is called upon by her minister on
the Monday, and he finds her washing wool in a sieve, holding it under
the pump. He asks her, "How did you enjoy last Sabbath's discourses?"
and she says that they did her much good. "Well, what was the text?" She
does not recollect. "What was the subject?" "Ah, sir, it is quite gone
from me!" says the poor woman. Does she remember any of the remarks
that were made? No, they are all gone. "Well, then, Mary," says the
minister, "it could not have done you much good." Oh! but it had done
her a great deal of good; and she explained it to him by saying, "I will
tell you, sir, how it is; I put this wool in the sieve under the pump, I
pump on it, and all the water runs through the sieve, but then it washes
the wool. So it is with your sermon; it comes into my heart, and then it
runs right through my poor memory, which is like a sieve, but it washes
em clean, sir." You might talk for a long while about the cleansing and
sanctifying power of the Word, and it would not make such an impression
upon your hearers as that simple story would.
What finer exposition of the text, "Weep with them that weep," can you
have than this pretty anecdote? "Mother," said little Annie, "I cannot
make out why poor Widow Brown likes me to go in to see her; she says I
do comfort her so; but, mother, I cannot say anything to comfort her,
and as soon as she begins crying, I put my arms round her neck, and I
cry too, and she says that that comforts her." And so it does; that is
the very essence of the comfort, the sympathy, the fellow-feeling that
moved the little girl to weep with the weeping widow. Mr. Hervey thus
illustrates the great truth of the different appearance of sin to the
eye of God and the eye of man. He says that you may take a small insect,
and with the tiniest needle make a puncture in it so minute that you can
scarcely see it with the naked eye; but when you look at it through a
microscope, you see an enormous rent, out of which there flows a purple
stream, making the creature seem to you as though it had been smitten
with the ax that killeth an ox. It is but a defect of our vision that we
cannot see things correctly; but the microscope reveals them as they
really are. Thus you may explain to your hearers how God's microscopic
eye sees sin in its true aspects. Suppose that you wanted to set forth
the character of Caleb, who followed the Lord fully; it would greatly
help many of your people if you said that the name Caleb signifies a
dog, and then showed how a dog follows his master. There is his owner on
horseback, riding along the miry roads; but the dog keeps as close to
him as he can, no matter how much mud and dirt are splashed upon him,
and not heeding the kicks he might get from the horse's heels. Even so
should we follow the Lord. If you wish to exemplify the shortness of
time, you might bring in the poor seamstress, with her little piece of
candle, stitching away to get her work done before the light went out.
Many preachers find the greatest difficulty in getting suitable
metaphors to set forth simple faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. There is a
capital anecdote of an idiot who was asked by the minister, who was
trying to instruct him, whether he had a soul. To the utter
consternation of his kind teacher, he replied, "No, I have no soul." The
preacher said he was greatly surprised, after he had been taught for
years, that he did not know better than that; but the poor fellow thus
explained himself, "I had a soul once, but I lost it; and Jesus Christ
came and found it, and now I let him keep it, for it is his, it does not
belong to me any longer." That is a fine picture of the way of salvation
by simple faith in the substitution of the Lord Jesus Christ; and the
smallest child in the congregation might be able to understand it
through the story of the poor idiot.
* * * * *
Fourthly, _there is a kind of reasoning in anecdotes and illustrations_,
which is very clear to illogical minds; and many of our hearers,
unfortunately, have such minds, yet they can understand illustrative
instances and stubborn facts. Truthful anecdotes are facts, and facts
are stubborn things. Instances, when sufficiently multiplied, as we know
by the inductive philosophy, prove a point. Two instances may not prove
it; but twenty may prove it to a demonstration. Take the very important
matter of answers to prayer. You can prove that God answers prayer by
quoting anecdote after anecdote, that you know to be authentic, of
instances in which God has really heard and answered prayer. Take that
capital little book by Mr. Prime on the "Power of Prayer"; there I
believe you have the truth upon this subject demonstrated as clearly as
you could have it in any proposition in Euclid. I think that, if such a
number of facts could be instanced in connection with any question
relating to geology or astronomy, the point would be regarded as
settled. The writer brings such abundant proofs of God's having heard
prayer, that even men who reject inspiration ought, at least, to
acknowledge that this is a marvelous phenomenon for which they cannot
account by any other explanation than the one which proclaims that there
is a God who sitteth in heaven, and who hath respect unto the cry of his
people upon the earth.
I have heard of some persons who have had objections to labor for the
conversion of their children, on the ground that God would save his own
without any effort on our part. I remember making one man wince who held
this view, by telling him of a father who would never teach his child to
pray, or have him instructed even as to the meaning of prayer. He
thought it was wrong, and that such work ought to be left to God's Holy
Spirit. The boy fell down and broke his leg, and had to have it taken
off; and all the while the surgeon was amputating it the boy was cursing
and swearing in the most frightful manner. The good surgeon said to the
father, "You see, you would not teach your boy to pray, but the devil
evidently had no objection to teach him to swear." That is the mischief
of it; if we do not try our best to bring our children to Christ, there
is another who will do his worst to drag them down to hell. A mother
once said to her sick son, who was about to die, and was in a dreadful
state of mind, "My boy, I am sorry you are in such trouble; I am sure I
never taught you any hurt." "No, mother," he answered, "but you never
taught me any good; and therefore there was room for all sorts of evil
to get into me." All these stories will be to many people the very best
kind of argument that you could possibly use with them. You bring to
them facts, and these facts reach their conscience, even though it is
embedded in several inches of callousness.