preachers expect too much of their hearers; they take a number of
truths into the pulpit as a man might carry up a box of nails; and then,
supposing the congregation to be posts, they take out a nail, and expect
it to get into the post by itself. Now, that is not the way to do it.
You must take your nail, hold it up against the post, hammer it in, and
then clinch it on the other side; and then it is that you may expect the
great Master of assemblies to fasten the nails so that they will not
fall out." We must try thus to get the truth into the people, for it
will never get in of itself; and we must remember that the hearts of our
hearers are not open, like a church door, so that the truth may go in,
and take its place, and sit upon its throne to be worshiped there. No,
we have often to break open the doors with great effort, and to thrust
the truth into places where it will not at first be a welcome guest, but
where, afterward, the better it is known, the more it will be loved.
Illustrations and anecdotes will greatly help to make a way for the
truth to enter; and they will do it by catching the ear of the careless
and the inattentive. We must try to be like Mr. Whitefield, of whom a
shipbuilder said, "When I have been to hear anybody else preach, I have
always been able to lay down a ship from stem to stern; but when I
listen to Mr. Whitefield, I cannot even lay the keel." And another, a
weaver, said, "I have often, when I have been in church, calculated how
many looms the place would hold; but when I listen to that man, I forget
my weaving altogether." You must endeavor, brethren, to make your people
forget matters relating to this world by interweaving the whole of
divine truth with the passing things of every day, and this you will do
by a judicious use of anecdotes and illustrations.
* * * * *
Now, gentlemen, these seven reasons--that they interest the mind and
secure the attention of our hearers, that they render the teaching vivid
and lifelike, that they explain some difficult passages to dull
understandings, that they help the reasoning faculties of certain minds,
that they aid the memory, that they arouse the feelings, and that they
catch the ear of the careless--have reconciled me for many a day to the
use of anecdotes and illustrations, and I think it is very likely that
they will reconcile you to the use of them, too.
At the same time, I must repeat what I before said: we must take care
that we do not let our anecdotes and illustrations be like empty casks
that carry nothing. We must not have it truthfully said of our sermons,
as was said by a certain lady who, after having heard a clergyman
preach, was asked what she thought of the sermon, and whether there was
not much spirit in it. "Oh, yes!" she replied, "it was all spirit; there
was no body to it at all." There must be some "body" in every discourse,
some really sound doctrine, some suitable instruction for our hearers to
carry home; not merely stories to amuse them, but solid truth to be
received in the heart, and wrought out in the life. If this be so with
your sermons, my dear brethren, I shall not have spoken to you in vain
upon the uses of anecdotes and illustrations.
LECTURE IV.
WHERE CAN WE FIND ANECDOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS?
Dear brethren: After my last lecture to you, upon the uses of anecdotes
and illustrations, you are probably quite ready to employ them in your
discourses; but some of you may ask, "Where can we get them?" At the
very beginning of this afternoon's talk, let me say that _nobody need
make anecdotes_ in order to interest a congregation. I have heard of one
who called to see a minister on a Friday, and he was told by the servant
that her master could not be seen, for he was up in his study "making
anecdotes." That kind of work will not do for a Christian minister. I
would also bid you beware of the many common anecdotes, which are often
repeated, but which I half suspect could not be proved to be matters of
fact. Whenever I have the slightest suspicion about the truth of a
story, I drop it at once; and I think that every one else should do the
same. So long as the anecdotes are current, and are generally believed,
and provided they can be used for a profitable purpose, I believe they
may be told, without any affirmation as to their truthfulness being made
in a court of justice; but the moment any doubt comes across the mind of
the preacher as to whether the tale is at least founded on fact, I think
he had better look for something else, for he has the whole world to go
to as a storehouse of illustration.
* * * * *
If you want to interest your congregation, and keep up their attention,
you can find anecdotes and illustrations in many channels, like golden
grains glistening among the mountain streams. For instance, there is
_current history_. You may take up the daily newspaper, and find
illustrations there. In my little book, "The Bible and the Newspaper," I
have given specimens of how this may be done; and when I was preparing
the present lecture, I took up a newspaper to see if I could find an
illustration in it, and I soon found one. There was an account of a man
at Wandsworth, who was discovered, with a gun and a dog, trespassing on
some gentleman's preserves, and he said that he was only looking for
mushrooms! Can you imagine what the gun and the dog had to do with
mushrooms? However, the keeper felt in the man's pocket, and laying
hold of something soft, asked, "What is this!" "Oh," said the poacher,
"it is only a rabbit!" When it was suggested to him that the creature's
ears were too long for a rabbit, he said that it was only a leveret,
whereas it proved to be a very fine and plump hare. The man then said
that he had found the hare lying near some mushrooms, but his intention
was to get the mushrooms only! Now, that is a capital illustration. As
soon as ever you lay hold of a man, and begin to accuse him of sin, he
says, "Sin, sir! Oh, dear, no! I was only doing a very proper thing,
just what I have a perfect right to do; I was looking for mushrooms; I
was not poaching!" You press him a little more closely, and try to bring
him to conviction of sin; and then he says, "Well, perhaps it was hardly
the thing, it may have been a little amiss; but it was only a rabbit!"
When the man cannot any longer deny that he is guilty of sin, he says
that it was only a very little one; and it is long before you can get
him to admit that sin is exceeding sinful; indeed, no human power can
ever produce genuine conviction in the heart of a single sinner; it must
be the work of the Holy Spirit.
I also read in the same newspaper of a calamitous shipwreck caused
through the lack of lights. You could easily turn that incident to
account by using it to illustrate the destruction of souls through the
want of a knowledge of Christ. I have no doubt, if you were to take up
any of this morning's daily papers, you would very readily find an
abundance of illustrations. Mr. Newman Hall, in addressing us once, said
that every Christian minister ought to read regularly his Bible and _The
Times_ newspaper. I should imagine from the usual mode of his address
that he does so himself. Whether you read that particular paper or any
other, you should somehow keep yourselves well stored with illustrations
taken from the ordinary transactions going on round about you. I pity
even a Sunday-school teacher, much more a minister of the gospel, who
could not make use of such incidents as the terrible burning of the
church at Santiago, the great fire at London Bridge, the entrance into
London of the Princess Alexandra, the taking of the census; and, indeed,
anything that attracts public attention. There is in all these events an
illustration, a simile, an allegory, which may point a moral and adorn a
tale.
* * * * *
You may sometimes adapt _local history_ to the illustration of your
subject. When a minister is preaching in any particular district he
will often find it best to catch the ears of the people, and engross
their attention, by relating some anecdote that relates to the place
where they live. Whenever I can, I get the histories of various
counties; for, having to go into all sorts of country towns and villages
to preach, I find that there is a great deal of useful material to be
dug out of even dull, dry, topographical books. They begin, perhaps,
with the name of John Smith, laborer, the man who keeps the parish
register, and winds up the parish clock, and makes mouse-traps, and
catches rats, and does fifty other useful things; but if you have the
patience to read on, you will find much information that you could get
nowhere else, and you will probably meet with many incidents and
anecdotes that you can use as illustrations of the truth you are seeking
to set forth.
Preaching at Winslow, in Buckinghamshire, it would not be at all amiss
to introduce the incident of good Benjamin Keach, the pastor of the
Baptist church in that town, standing in the pillory in the market-place
in the year 1664, "for writing, printing, and publishing a schismatical
book entitled, 'The Child's Instructor; or, a New and Easy Primmer.'" I
do not think, however, that if I were preaching at Wapping I should
call the people "_Wapping_ sinners," as Rowland Hill is said to have
done, when he told them that "Christ could save old sinners, great
sinners, yea, even Wapping sinners!" At Craven Chapel it would be most
appropriate to tell the story of Lord Craven, who was packing up his
goods to go into the country at the time of the Great Plague of London,
when his servant said to him, "My lord, does your God live only in the
country?" "No," replied Lord Craven, "he is here as well as there."
"Well, then," said the servant, "if I were your lordship, I think I
would stop here; you will be as safe in the city as in the country;" and
Lord Craven did stop there, relying upon the good providence of God.
* * * * *
Besides this, brethren, you have the marvelous storehouse of _ancient
and modern history_--Roman, Greek, and English--with which, of course,
you are seeking to become well acquainted. Who can possibly read the old
classic tales without feeling his soul on fire? As you rise from their
perusal, you will not merely be familiar with the events which happened
in "the brave days of old," but you will have learned many lessons that
may be of service in your preaching to-day. For instance, there is the
story of Phidias and the statue of the god which he had carved. After
he had finished it, he had chiseled in the corner, in small letters, the
word "Phidias," and it was objected that the statue could not be
worshiped as a god, nor considered sacred, while it bore the sculptor's
name. It was even seriously questioned whether Phidias should not be
stoned to death because he had so desecrated the statue. How could he
dare, they asked, to put his own name on the image of a god? So, some of
us are very apt to want to put our little names down at the bottom of
any work which we have done for God, that we may be remembered, whereas
we ought rather to upbraid ourselves for wishing to have any of the
credit of that which God the Holy Ghost enables us to do.
Then there is that other story of an ancient sculptor, who was about to
put the image of a god into a heathen temple, although he had not
finished that portion of the statue which was to be embedded in the
wall. The priest demurred, and declared that the statue was not
completed. The sculptor said, "That part of the god will never be seen,
for it will be built into the wall." "The gods can see in the wall,"
answered the priest. In like manner, the most private parts of our
life--those secret matters that can never reach the human eye--are
still under the ken of the Almighty, and ought to be attended to with
the greatest care. It is not sufficient for us to maintain our public
reputation among our fellow-creatures, for our God can see in the wall;
he notices our coldness in the closet of communion, and he perceives our
faults and failures in the family.
Trying once to set forth how the Lord Jesus Christ delights in his
people because they are his own handiwork, I found a classic story of
Cyrus extremely useful. When showing a foreign ambassador round his
garden, Cyrus said to him, "You cannot possibly take such an interest in
these flowers and trees as I do, for I laid out the whole garden myself,
and every plant here I planted with my own hand. I have watered them,
and I have seen them grow, I have been a husbandman to them, and
therefore I love them far better than you can." So, the Lord Jesus
Christ loves the fair garden of his church, because he laid it all out,
and planted it with his own gracious hand, and he has watched over every
plant, and nourished and cherished it.
The days of the Crusaders are a peculiarly rich period for noble stories
that will make good illustrations. We read that the soldiers of Godfrey
de Bouillon, when they came within sight of the city of Jerusalem, were
so charmed with the view that they fell on their faces, and then rose to
their feet, and clapped their hands, and made the mountains ring with
their shouts of joy. Thus, when we get within sight of the New
Jerusalem, our happy home on high, whose name is ever dear to us, we
will make our dying-chamber ring with hallelujahs, and even the angels
shall hear our songs of praise and thanksgiving. It is also recorded,
concerning this same Godfrey, that, when he had entered Jerusalem at the
head of his victorious army, he refused to wear the crown with which his
soldiers wanted to deck his brow. "For," said he, "why should I wear a
crown of gold in the city where my Lord wore a crown of thorns!" This is
a good lesson for us to learn for ourselves, and to teach to our people.
In the world where Christ was despised and rejected of men, it would be
unseemly for a Christian to be seeking to win earthly honors, or
ambitiously hunting after fame. The disciple must not think of being
above his Master, nor the servant above his Lord.
Then you might easily make an illustration out of that romantic story,
which may or may not be true, of Queen Eleanor sucking the poison out of
her husband's wounded arm. Many of us, I trust, would be willing, as it
were, to suck out all the slander and venom from the arm of Christ's
church, and to bear any amount of suffering ourselves, so long as the
church itself might escape and live. Would not any one of you, my
brethren, gladly put his lips to the envenomed wounds of the church
to-day, and suffer even unto death, sooner than let the doctrines of
Christ be impugned, and the cause of God be dishonored?
* * * * *
What a fine field of illustration lies open to you in _religious
history_! It is difficult to tell where to begin digging in this mine of
precious treasure. The story of Luther and the Jew might be used to set
forth the evil of sin, and how to avoid it. A Jew was seeking an
opportunity of stabbing the Reformer; but Luther received a portrait of
the would-be murderer, so that, wherever he went, he was on his guard
against the assassin. Using this fact himself as an illustration, Luther
said: "God knows that there are sins that would destroy us, and he has
therefore given us portraits of them in his Word, so that, wherever we
see them, we may say, 'That is a sin that would stab me; I must beware
of that evil thing, and keep out of its way.'"
Stout Hugh Latimer, in that famous story of an incident in his trial
before several bishops, brings out very clearly the omnipresence and
omniscience of God, and the care that we ought to exercise in the
presence of One who can read our most secret thoughts and imaginations.
He says: "I was once in examination before five or six bishops, where I
had much trouble; thrice every week I came to examinations, and many
traps and snares were laid to get something.... At last I was brought
forth to be examined in a chamber hung with arras, where I was wont to
be examined; but now at this time the chamber was somewhat altered. For
whereas, before, there was wont always to be a fire in the chimney, now
the fire was taken away, and arras hung over the chimney, and the table
stood near the fireplace. There was, among the bishops who examined me,
one with whom I had been very familiar, and took him for my great
friend, an aged man, and he sat next to the table's end. Then, among all
other questions, he put forth a very subtle and crafty one, and such a
one, indeed, as I could not think so great danger in. And when I should
make answer, 'I pray you, Mr. Latimer,' said one, 'speak out; I am very
thick of hearing, and there may be many that sit far off.' I marveled at
this, that I was bid to speak out, and began to suspect, and give an
ear to the chimney; and there I heard a pen writing in the chimney
behind the cloth. They had appointed one there to write all mine
answers, for they made sure that I should not start from them; and there
was no starting from them. God was my good Lord, and gave me answer,
else I could never have escaped." Preaching, some years afterward,
Latimer himself told the story, and applied the illustration. "My
hearer," said he, "there is a recording pen always at work behind the
arras, taking down all thou sayest, and noting all thou doest: therefore
be thou careful that thy words and acts are worthy of record in God's
Book of Remembrance."
You might aptly illustrate the doctrine of God's special providential
care of his servants by relating the story of John Knox, who, one
evening, refused to sit in his usual seat, though he did not know any
particular reason for so acting. No one was allowed to occupy that
chair, and during the evening a shot came in through the window, and
struck a candlestick that stood immediately opposite where John Knox
would have been sitting if he had taken his accustomed place. There is
also the case of the godly minister, who, in escaping from his
persecutors, went into a hay-loft, and hid himself in the hay. The
soldiers went into the place, pricking and thrusting with their swords
and bayonets, and the good man even felt the cold steel touch the sole
of his foot, and the scratch which was made remained for years: yet his
enemies did not discover him. Afterward a hen came and laid an egg every
day hard by the place where he was hidden, and so he was sustained as
well as preserved until it was safe for him to leave his hiding-place.
It was either the same minister, or one of his persecuted brethren, who
was providentially protected by such a humble agent as a spider. This is
the story as I have read it: "Receiving friendly warning of an intended
attempt to apprehend him, and finding men were on his track, he took
refuge in a malt-house, and crept into the empty kiln, where he lay
down. Immediately after, he saw a spider lower itself across the narrow
entrance by which he had got in, thus fixing the first line of what was
soon wrought into a large and beautiful web. The weaver and the web,
placed directly between him and the light, were very conspicuous. He was
so much struck with the skill and diligence of the spider, and so much
absorbed in watching her work, that he forgot his own danger. By the
time the network was completed, crossing and re-crossing the mouth of
the kiln in every direction, his pursuers came into the malt-house to
search for him. He noted their steps, and listened to their cruel words
while they looked about. Then they came close to the kiln, and he
overheard one say to another, 'It's no use to look in _there_; the old
villain can never be there: _look at that spider's web; he could never
have got in there without breaking it_.' Without further search they
went to seek elsewhere, and he escaped safely out of their hands."
There is another story I have somewhere met with, of a prisoner, during
the American war, who was put into a cell in which there was a little
slit, through which a soldier's eye always watched him day and night.
Whatever the prisoner did, whether he ate, or drank, or slept, the
sentinel's eye was perpetually gazing at him; and the thought of it, he
said, was perfectly dreadful to him, it almost drove him mad; he could
not bear the idea of having that man's eye always scrutinizing him. He
could scarcely sleep; his very breathing became a misery, because, turn
which way he would, he could never escape from the gaze of that
soldier's eye. That story might be used as an illustration of the fact
that God's omniscient eye is always looking at every one of us.
I remember making two or three of my congregation speak out pretty
loudly by telling them this story, which I read in a tract. I suppose it
may be true; I receive it as reliable, and I wish I could tell it as it
is printed. A Christian minister, residing near the backwoods, took a
walk one evening for silent meditation. He went much farther than he
intended, and, missing the track, wandered away into the woods. He kept
on, endeavoring to find the road to his home; but failed to do so. He
was afraid that he would have to spend the night in some tree; but
suddenly, as he was going forward, he saw the glimmer of lights in the
distance, and therefore pressed on, hoping to find shelter in a friendly
cottage. A strange sight met his gaze; a meeting was being held in a
clearing in the middle of the woods, the place being lit up with blazing
pine-torches. He thought, "Well, here are some Christian people met to
worship God; I am glad that what I thought was an awkward mistake in
losing my way has brought me here; I may, perhaps, both do good and get
good."
To his horror, however, he found that it was an atheistical gathering,
and that the speakers were venting their blasphemous thoughts against
God with very great boldness and determination. The minister sat down
full of grief. A young man declared that he did not believe in the
existence of God, and dared Jehovah to destroy him then and there if
there was such a God. The good man's heart was meditating how he ought
to reply, but his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth; and
the infidel orator sat down amid loud acclamations of admiration and
approval. Our friend did not wish to be a craven, or to hold back in the
day of battle, and therefore he was almost inclined to rise and speak,
when a hale, burly man, who had passed the meridian of life, but who was
still exceedingly vigorous, and seemed a strong, muscular clearer of the
backwoods, rose and said, "I should like to speak if you will give me a
hearing. I am not going to say anything about the topic which has been
discussed by the orator who has just sat down; I am only going to tell
you a fact: will you hear me?" "Yes, yes," they shouted; it was a free
discussion, so they would hear him, especially as he was not going to
controvert. "A week ago," he began, "I was working up yonder, on the
river's bank, felling trees. You know the rapids down below. Well, while
I was at my employment, at some little distance from them, I heard cries
and shrieks, mingled with prayers to God for help. I ran down to the
water's edge, for I guessed what was the matter. There I saw a young
man, who could not manage his boat; the current was getting the mastery
of him, and he was drifting down the stream, and ere long, unless some
one had interposed, he would most certainly have been swept over the
falls, and carried down to a dreadful death. I saw that young man kneel
down in the boat, and pray to the Most High God, by the love of Christ,
and by his precious blood, to save him. He confessed that he had been an
infidel; but said that, if he might but be delivered this once, he would
declare his belief in God. I at once sprang into the river. My arms are
not very weak, I think, though they are not so strong as they used to
be. I managed to get into the boat, turned her round, brought her to the
shore, and so I saved that young man's life; and that young man is the
one who has just sat down, and who has been denying the existence of
God, and daring the Most High to destroy him!" Of course I used that
story to show that it was an easy thing to brag and boast about holding
infidel sentiments in a place of safety; but that, when men come into
peril of their lives, then they talk in a very different fashion.