The Order of a Sermon
The Exordium.
Divisions.
Proofs.
Are there many Unbelievers in France?
Manner of refuting Objections.
After getting to know the people and to be known of them, to love
them and to be loved by them in return, the next step is to lead
them to the knowledge and love of God and His Gospel by means of
oral teaching. ... In carrying this out, use plain speech, and
aim straight at your object, which is to expound the truth
proposed to be treated in such a way as shall cause it to be
listened to with interest. Let it be perceived at once what the
subject is, and what you intend to say. Sketch out your truth in
a few sententious words, clearly and emphatically enunciated.
Let there be none of those vague and halting considerations which
give the speaker the air of a man who is blindfolded, and strikes
at random,--none of those perplexing exordiums wherein every
conceivable fancy is brought to bear upon a single idea, and
which frequently elicit the remark:--"What is he driving at? what
topic is he going to discuss?"
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Let the subject-matter be vigorously stated at the outset, so
that it may rivet the minds and engage the attention of the
audience.
Generally speaking, at the commencement of a discourse, there is
profound silence, and all eyes are fixed on the preacher. Avail
yourself of that opportunity to arrest the imagination of your
hearers, to attract their attention, which you should maintain
throughout, and to withdraw their minds from the things of earth
and from themselves, in order that they may live your life for
the space of half-an-hour.
Let your onset be bold and vigorous, that your audience may catch
a glimpse of the strength of your position, your means of
defence, and the triumph of the truth which you are about to
handle. ... "I prefer," says Montaigne, "those discourses which
level the first charge against the strongest doubt. I look for
good and solid reasons to come after."
This should be followed by a word of appeal to the heart, to
restrain its evil promptings--something genial and earnest,
calculated to open out the soul, and which, coupled with a simple
and modest demeanor, shall at once bespeak the preacher as
sincerely attached to his audience.
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If preaching on the duty of charity toward the poor, you might
say:--"I come before you on the present occasion to plead a cause
which will secure me against all adverse criticism, for I know
your charity. I have not to address you to-day in language of
censure or rebuke, but in words of encouragement and blessing."
If a severe truth is to be urged on the congregation, it might be
introduced thus:--"You will permit me to declare the truth unto
you; for you love the truth. The people have never been hostile
to it. ... You yourselves would not be satisfied with half
truths; you desire something better. Therefore I shall deem it my
duty to tell you the whole truth with the freedom of an apostle,
but at the same time, with all Christian charity."
In a word, you should exhibit that gentle admixture of power and
benignity which so well befits him who speaks in the name of the
Most High; exciting the love of your hearers as with the
influence of a mother. Or, following therein the example of Saint
Paul, being like one who serves, and not like one who rules;
condescending toward all; striving to withdraw them from the
sorrows and passions of life, that you may lead them to the
truth, to virtue, and to heaven. ...
On great occasions it is usual to recite the _Ave Maria_ before
the sermon. It is a venerable and edifying practice which ought
to be followed; but forbear invoking the Holy Spirit or the
blessed Virgin unless you do it devoutly and sincerely.
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It is frequently otherwise: one appeals to heaven, and fixes his
eyes on the earth: another, instead of the posture of prayer,
assumes the attitude of menace, and looks very much like a man
who demands your money or your life.
There should be order in the sermon, and the ideas should be
linked together, and should mutually support each other. But it
should not be laid down as an invariable rule always to follow
those categorical divisions which necessarily cut up a truth into
two or three parts, these to be cut up again into two or three
sections of truth, giving the speaker the air of a man who is
amusing himself with pulling a machine to pieces, and then
putting it together again. The Fathers did not ordinarily follow
that course. Indeed all discourses cannot be so subdivided; for
not every subject will bear it without losing much of its
interest. ... Most sermons seem to be modelled on the same
pattern, so much so, that the hearer is disposed at the very
outset to remark:--"I have heard that already twenty times over,
set forth just in the same way. What use is there in my listening
to it again?" This is one drawback, in addition to the
consideration that it is not prudent to take the audience into
your confidence as to the conclusion to which you intend to lead
them. ... Or another listener will say:--"Alas! we are still at
the second subdivision of the first part.
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What a long sermon it will be!" He is seized with _ennui_, and
then farewell to all feeling of interest in the Divine word, and
to all hope of any benefit to be derived from it.
It is preferable to have a range of ideas known to yourself
alone, with intervening pauses. In that way you will carry the
hearers along with you. They will listen, will be moved, will
forget how time passes, and at the conclusion will not feel tired
with having followed you. It appears that the mania for
subdividing every thing is a complaint of long standing. La
Bruyère has passed his judgment upon it; which, apart from
exaggeration--the inseparable companion of criticism--is not
inapplicable at the present day.
Speaking of preachers he says:--"They hold three things to be of
indispensable and geometrical necessity, and to deserve your
admiring attention. They will prove a certain proposition in the
first part of their discourse, another in the second part, and an
other in the third. Thus, you are to be convinced, first, of a
certain truth--that is their first point; then of a third
truth--which is their third point; so that the first reflection
is to instruct you on one of the most fundamental principles of
religion; the second, on another not less so; and the third, on a
third and last principle, the most important of all, but which,
nevertheless, must be postponed for lack of time to another
occasion. Finally, in order to resume and sum up these divisions,
and to form a plan. ...
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What! you are ready to exclaim, more yet! And are these merely
the preliminaries to a discourse of forty-five minutes duration
which is still to follow! Why, the more they attempt to digest
and throw light upon the subject, the more they confuse me! I
readily believe you, for it is the most natural effect of that
heap of ideas, which always turns upon one and the same thought,
with which they pitilessly burden the memory of their hearers. It
would seem, to witness their obstinate adherence to this
practice, as if the grace of conversion was attached to these
preposterous divisions. I heartily wish that they would pause in
their impetuous course to take breath, and give a little
breathing-time to others. Vain discourses! Words thrown away! The
time of homilies exists no longer; our Basils and Chrysostoms
will fail to reclaim them; people will pass over into other
dioceses to be beyond the reach of their voice and familiar
instructions: for men in general like set phrases and finely
turned periods, admire what they don't understand, consider
themselves edified thereby, and rest satisfied with deciding
between the first and second points of a discourse, or between
the last sermon and that which preceded it."
Division must not be sought for; it must present itself, and
spring out of the subject which you are about to discuss, or the
object which you have in view.
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For instance, you intend to treat on deference to man's opinion.
Establish these two points:--1st. That there is no disgrace
attached to the practice of religion; and 2nd. That even if there
were, in the estimation of some men, it is our bounden duty to
brave it.
When a dogma of the faith is to be treated either before the
people or others, never propound the truth in a hypothetical
form, which is fraught with danger. Thus, do not say:--"Does the
soul die with the body or does it pass to another life?" ... "Is
Jesus Christ a mere man; or is he the Son of God?" Always use the
affirmative form:--"The soul does not die with the body; the soul
will live for ever." ... "Jesus Christ is the Son of God; he is
God Himself." Otherwise, you will seem to question those
verities, and may give rise to doubts. Such was the result in the
cause of an artisan, who remarked, after listening to a
sermon:--"For my part, I was quite sure that there was another
life; but I learn from what the preacher has stated to-day, that
there is something to be said against as well as in favor of the
doctrine."
The people like a strong, self-reliant, and fearless affirmative,
declared boldly and sincerely in the name of God, which admits of
no buts, or ifs, but which descends from on high, claiming the
ready assent of all without distinction.
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Discussion is not the way to teach Christianity. It must be fully
understood that the truth of the Gospel is not the conclusion of
an argument; that it depends neither on the talents of the
preacher, not yet on the acceptance of the hearer; that all such
accidents do not affect it in any way. Christianity must be
expounded just as it is; but in a noble and energetic manner,
such as shall cause it to be readily understood and loved in
spite of all opposition.
Nevertheless, in condescension to human infirmity, you may
occasionally justify God, as the Divine word says, by pointing
out the fitness of a Catholic truth; but this must be by the way
only. Resume quickly the high standing of a man who speaks in the
name of God--_tanquam potestatem habens_--who is himself
controlled by a truth which he cannot modify in the least degree.
Call in frequently the aid of faith; prove, without stating that
you are going to prove; and, in order the better to combat men's
errors, confront human authority with the authority of God.
Men will raise such objections as these:--"But the Gospel itself
declares. ... Those great men who are called the Fathers on
account of their piety and genius have said ... The Catholic
Church, armed with its infallible authority, says ... God Himself
has declared ... And as against these witnesses what is the word
of a mere man to me? Moreover, I will not submit; I will not bow
down to human authority. Am not I a man as well as he? Am I not
endowed with reason? He affirms, I deny; he denies, I affirm; my
word is as good as his, even were he what is called a man of
genius.
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Granted that genius commands respect--and I respect it when it
yields to what is superior to it--but, as compared with the law
of God, what is a man of genius? A poor pigmy, who labors and
drudges for forty years to acquire some traces of a superior
mind; who more frequently possesses the _amour propre_ of a silly
woman; and who, while pretending to govern the world from his
study, allows himself to be led by his own female domestic. For
my part, I require something better than that; a greater, a
higher authority, and one much more self-reliant."
You will best restrain and meet these objections by having God
always at your side. Entrench yourself behind the Divine
authority; efface the man and hold up God; impose silence on the
earth and let Him speak, but with power and loving-kindness.
Unhappily, we have not maintained this high standing. The Divine
word has been brought down too much to a human level; it has been
made too much to reflect man's image. The incessant attacks of
the enemies of religion, and, it may be, our own scholastic
studies also, have inspired us with a combative, and querulous
humor. Christianity is now discussed, proved, philosophically
demonstrated. You constantly meet men who are going to _prove_
this to you, then to _prove_ that, and then again to _prove_
something else. In God's name, don't repeat this so often, but do
it a little better.
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These attempts to prove certain propositions generally result in
obscuring and confounding them. A preacher states a truth; you
understand and enjoy it. He demonstrates it; and you understand
it less, and perchance begin to doubt it.
Some years ago especially, we were seized with the malady of
dogmatic conferences. Every one wished to hold conferences to
prove the _reasonableness_ of Christianity. The epidemic has
abated, but we are not wholly free from it. ... That there should
still be one or two of these conference-men in certain large
towns is all well enough; yet even that is to be regretted, for
the genus is an offshoot of the misfortune of the age, and is by
no means apostolic. In order to treat Christianity in that way,
extraordinary talent is required, together with a thorough
knowledge of the dogmas of our religion, a knowledge equally
profound of the human heart, of philosophical systems and errors,
and a mathematical precision of language.
We may rest assured that the control over antagonisms and
passions, so as to preclude doubt or suspicion from creeping into
the mind, must always proceed from an elevated standing, and that
men possessing the necessary qualifications, or even some of them
in a high degree, are extremely rare.
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This consideration has been sadly overlooked. Very soon we shall
have every one attempting to philosophize Christianity. There are
scarcely any, down to the youngest priest, who does not take up
the most difficult dogmas, and who does not seek to do battle
with those who are styled "unbelievers"--that is the current
word nowadays, because, as it would seem, the old term (infidel)
has been worn out by long usage, and, therefore, it has been
thought necessary to create a new one.
All this is very deplorable. Until quite lately there was hardly
a discourse, addressed even to the people exclusively, which did
not contain passages intended for unbelievers, or tirades against
unbelievers, or apostrophes to unbelievers. The believers who
were present were neglected for the sake of the unbelievers who
were absent.
It is not rare, indeed, to meet with men who call themselves
unbelievers, who assert it, and who write themselves such; but
will you find men who are seriously unbelievers, and who do not
falter in their negations? A pious priest, who was frequently
called upon to attend the sick in the higher classes of society
in Paris, was once asked whether he often met with men who had
ceased to believe. He replied, good-naturedly:--"Pray, don't
allude to the subject. Though I have been long accustomed to
minister to great sinners, I have never yet had the good fortune
to lay my hand on one who was even a little unbelieving. As
regards the faith, men in general are better than their words or
their writing either."
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As has been well remarked:--"The man who, even in all sincerity,
says: 'I don't believe,' often deceives himself. There is in the
depths of his heart a root of faith which never dies."
Real unbelief cannot prevail in France. There is too much good
sense, too much rectitude in the French mind, and too much moral
beauty in the Gospel, to render absolute unbelief possible.
These pretensions to unbelief are generally based on a little
ignorance combined with a large amount of feeble-mindedness; so
that when one tells you that he does not, that he cannot believe,
you should understand him to mean that he is weak and timid. Let
us be on our guard against taking such men at their word, for we
should thereby show how little knowledge we possess of the human
heart. A priest who was called in to attend a person who had
spoken and written much against religion, put this question to
him:--"When you wrote were you quite sure of your own unbelief?"
The other replied, "Alas! Monsieur l'Abbé," ... in a deprecating
tone, which seemed clearly to imply:--"How young you are, and how
little you know of the human heart!"
No; the question between the world and ourselves is not whether
the miracles and mysteries of Christianity are believed, but
whether the morality of the Gospel is practised.
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That is the real question at issue. So true is this, that
scholars and honest men will not hesitate to say frankly:--"The
matter is not one of argument; only retrench from your religion
several small commandments of God and the Church, which we need
not specify, and then we will be on your side."
That is the secret of unbelief. It is not faith that is wanting,
but the courage to do what is right.
How, then, are we to get rid of those preachers who are always
taken up with unbelievers? How delivered from those endless
sermons addressed to unbelievers? They do us much harm and very
little good. The whole thing, besides being ill-judged, is a
mistake. By incessantly speaking to men about unbelief, we may
end in making them unbelievers; just as we may make a dolt of a
man by dint of telling him that he has no sense. Besides, what a
blow it is to Christianity to give the people to understand that
a notable portion of a great nation has seriously contested its
Divine origin! Is not this to suggest the temptation that they
too should become unbelievers, since, by so doing, they would be
in so numerous and goodly a company? Instead of such a course,
begin by telling your audience--but in the accents of profound
conviction--that there is not one unbeliever among them; that
they all have faith; that they believe as you do; that they are
better than they judge themselves to be; that not every one who
wishes it can become an unbeliever; that Jesus Christ is too
eminent in history and in the world to be regarded, in earnest,
as a mere man: ... tell them this, and you will do them good,
and, besides, you will be telling the truth.
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They all believe, but their faith is imperfect, wounded. So true
is this, that Voltaire himself, as all the world knows, could not
rid himself entirely of his faith, all Voltaire that he was. ...
What! Voltaire, with all his wit, and, if you will, his genius,
Voltaire, with his demon pride, his satanic hatred of Christ, his
half century of blasphemies,--Voltaire, the head of the most
redoubtable cohort of enemies that Christianity ever had,--even
he could not wholly divest himself of his belief; and yet it is
pretended that our pigmies of the nineteenth century, with their
limited knowledge and petty malice, are able to stifle their
faith when that giant of impiety was unable to strangle his in
his eagle's clutch! ...
Only a little reflection is needed to convince ourselves on this
point. For what is unbelief? It is the conviction that
Christianity is false. Now, how can such a conviction be arrived
at against eighteen centuries of genius and virtue, against the
authority of the Gospel, against Christ Himself? How can any man
reasonably attain the position of being able to confront those
eminent men and facts, and say:--"I am quite sure that you have
deceived the world ... you have lied?"
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It is impossible. It may be said and written in a moment of
passion; but such assurance is not, cannot be attained.
We shall, therefore, be acting truly as well as wisely in not
descanting so much about unbelievers. For, after all, of what use
is it? For the most part, these alleged unbelievers are not
present to listen to you. Neither is that the worst feature in
the case. These kinds of sermons are by no means calculated to
convert them. Generally speaking, they show too little regard for
the _amour propre_ of such characters; who, as is well known, do
not pique themselves on their humility. If we would benefit them
we must pass quickly from the mind to the heart: that is their
weak point. We must not keep ourselves so much on the defensive,
but carry the war into the enemy's country. Our tactics should be
to do good abundantly to all men that we may save all, and then
there will be no doubt about their believing in the divinity of
Christianity.
All the parts of a sermon need not be equally good and powerful.
Two or three more elaborate and striking passages will suffice to
ensure success; but those passages should be such as effectually
to overthrow prejudices and errors, and should be conclusive
against all gainsayers.
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There should also be intervals to break monotony--that
stumbling-block of many sermons; to give the mind rest; to allow
time for the hearts of the audience to be penetrated by what has
been said; to introduce familiar topics which do the soul so much
good; to soften the asperities of any great emotion; to bind up
the wounded; in a word, intervals for the preacher to become the
father after having represented the King, to attract the hearts
after having gained the minds of his hearers.
It is a mistake to aim at making every part of a sermon equally
powerful and equally prominent. It is an attempt against Nature.
Moreover, we should not aspire to adduce every available proof in
support of a particular truth. One or two will suffice, and the
strongest is not always the most convincing to your audience.
Select those likely to produce the greatest impression, and
forbear when that end is attained. The victory is yours, retain
it, and do not expose yourself to a reverse.
There are men who do not think they have proved a thing until
they have brought together, pell-mell, all the known proofs in
the world. The consequence is that, after listening to one of
their sermons, the question discussed appears more confused to
you than ever.
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As regards objections to be refuted, you should never adduce any
but such as are current in the locality where you are speaking;
and it is dangerous to give them a too salient form, for you may
thereby wound the faith of your audience. But the objection once
stated, refute it at once in a few sharp and decisive words. Let
your reply be in language as prompt, striking, and decisive as
that of the objection. Avoid all circumlocution and hesitation in
meeting it. Show it no pity, but let it expire forth with in the
presence of your audience. Let every word tell like the cut or
thrust of a sword, or, at least, like the stroke of a mace which
shall effectually silence the objection. You may then justify,
easily, the blows which you have dealt: but strike first and
explain afterward; otherwise, never attempt to place an objection
before the people. If, as is too often done, you begin by
saying:--"Before refuting this objection, two principles must
first be laid down," or, "three reflections must be made," the
minds of your hearers will go a wool-gathering; they will not
listen to your reflections; they will retain nothing of your
discourse beyond the objection; you will have lost your time, and
may have done harm into the bargain.
In sermons to the people, the peroration should be energetic,
captivating, fervent; not a fervor of the head or throat, but of
the soul, accompanying something to enlighten the minds of the
hearers, to gain the assent of their hearts, to subdue their
passions, and to electrify their spirits.
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Let us be on our guard against those vapid perorations which are
nothing more than the ending of a discourse which we are at a
loss how otherwise to wind up. The audience must not be dismissed
with a wrong impression; therefore be more affectionate at the
conclusion, the more severe the truths have been which you have
enunciated. In a word, the peroration should be sympathetic and
vibrating. It should comprise all the power, all the marrow, and
all the energy of the sermon. It should contain some of those
keen thoughts, some of those proverbial phrases, which recur to
the mind again and again like the strains of a familiar song
which we sing involuntarily,--or a single thought, which when
once entertained leads one to say:--"Were I to live a hundred
years, I shall never forget it."
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