The Sermon Should Be Plain.
An obscure Sermon is neither Christian nor French.
Abuse of philosophical Terms.
Philosophical Speculations not popular amongst us.
The French mind is clear and logical.
Plainness of Speech.
Plainness of Thought.
Starting from the Known to the Unknown.
Metaphors.
Similes.
Parables.
Facts.
Père Lejeune.
M. l'Abbé Ledreuil.
The sermon should be plain. ...
This truth has been partially demonstrated in the course of the
foregoing remarks. It follows, moreover, as a consequence from
the nature and design of the Gospel. The religious discourse
which is not plain is neither Christian nor French.
The Divine word should be understood by all, even by the poor
woman who crouches into a corner of the church; for she too has a
soul to save, and her soul is as precious in the sight of God as
the soul of a rich or learned man: perhaps more.
This is one of the glories of Christianity. Human lore is only
within the reach of those who are able to comprehend it, or who
have money enough to pay for it.
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The word of God is for all; and none can be deprived of it, as
far as the preacher is concerned, without a grave dereliction of
duty on his part. Severe censure is passed upon those professors
who, to further their own ambitious views, take great pains with
some of their pupils and neglect others. This is called a crying
injustice, plundering the parents, and so forth. But the matter
under consideration involves something far more serious than a
pecuniary robbery.
We are all bound to preach the Gospel. Now, the Gospel is
remarkably plain. When it was first announced, or while the facts
which it narrates were extant or palpable, it must have been
surpassingly so. Hence it is not surprising that the multitude
upon whom our blessed Lord had been pouring forth the torrents of
His Divine eloquence, exclaimed:--"Never man spake like this
man!"
Further: he who does not use plain speech does not speak French;
for the French language is naturally plain, limpid, and simple,
insomuch that obscure speech is not really French: it is
Teutonic, a jargon, or a patois; but it is by no means the
language of the great Frank people.
All our most celebrated and popular writers and orators had a
clear and impressive style. Their weakest passages are those
which are most obscure.
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Voltaire possessed this perspicuity in a high degree; and it was
partly on that account that he acquired so much influence and
popularized so many errors. His speech was true French, both in
expression and conception; but there was no heart in it. He had
perfectly mastered his own tongue, and had equally learned to
know the people with whom he had to deal. He who does not use
plain speech proves that he possesses neither a knowledge of men
nor a knowledge of the Gospel; nor even of his primary duties.
But it will be said:--Is it not occasionally allowable that one
should clothe his thoughts in language above the common, in order
thereby to raise religion and the preacher in the eyes of the
people, who admire what they do not understand?
I do not object, if you believe that any good is to be done in
that way, and if you feel incapable of exciting interest by a
simple exposition of the beauties of Christianity. But I tell you
that the idea savors strongly of charlatanism, and that
Christianity has no need of such an auxiliary. Whenever such a
course is adopted, it should be regarded as a tolerated
exception; but on this point, also, the exception has too
frequently been taken for the rule.
Nowadays, the Gospel is almost entirely overlooked, there are so
many other matters to be attended to. We must needs discuss and
argue, and treat all kinds of philosophical and humanitarian
questions.
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Hence a great part of our time is taken up with talking
philosophy to pious men and women,--and after what fashion? The
pulpit resounds with such words as these: rationalism,
philosophism, Protestantism, materialism, pantheism, socialism;
and it will be lucky if all this does not ultimately get mixed up
with fetishism, anthropormorphism, Vishnooism, Buddhism, Kantism,
Hegelism, etc. No wonder that a woman of fashion once exclaimed,
in a fit of petulance:--"The Lord deliver us from these preachers
of _isms!_"
I repeat, it is all well enough that a few eminent men should
treat such questions before select audiences; but now every one
seems bent on talking philosophy, or on philosophizing about
every thing. We have the philosophy of theology, the philosophy
of the sacraments, the philosophy of the liturgy; and to what
does it all tend? To prove that God might have occupied a
prominent place among the thinkers of these times: which would be
proving very little in God's favor.
There has, indeed, been quite a mania to make philosophy about
every thing. We have heard a treatise on the philosophy of the
hand-grenade. As a malicious wag once remarked:--"We shall soon
have the philosophy of boots and shoes."
Hence it is that the ignorance respecting religion everywhere
prevailing, among high and low, even among those who constantly
hear sermons, is truly deplorable.
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Society in general is much less instructed in matters of
religion, and even in philosophical questions, than is usually
supposed; for religion is no longer taught. We demonstrate,
argue, philosophize, but we do not evangelize. ... There is so
much ignorance among men, otherwise well-informed, on the subject
of religion, that they would certainly be deemed unfit for
confirmation even in a country district.
Neither is the community more proficient in philosophical than in
religious questions; and much less attention is bestowed upon
them than is imagined. We meet with certain systems in special
books, or among a particular class of persons, and we may think
that those systems are about to make a great stir in the world.
But do the masses trouble themselves about them? For the most
part, even intelligent men hardly know what to say when referred
to on such subjects.
Some years ago, a preacher delivered several discourses in one of
the principal towns of France on the subject of rationalism. He
decried it in good set terms, and was judged to have spoken very
ably. But the wife of a councillor in the Court of Appeal, tired
of hearing so much about rationalism without being able to make
out what it was, asked her husband, who was a great admirer of
the discourses, to explain to her what rationalism meant.
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The husband stammered out a few words in reply, but was obliged
at last to say:--"Sincerely, I know nothing about it; but inquire
of M. le Curé, for he ought to be able to give you the
information."
Instead of dragging all these systems into the pulpit, it would
have been far better to leave them immured in books and in the
schools. They are not dangerous in France while restricted to the
formulae in which they were originally conceived, because
philosophical speculations are by no means popular amongst us.
The French mind is too precise and active to be taken up with
such like dreams and crude systems.
A proof of this is afforded by the old Chamber of Deputies. ...
When a speaker was practical, and entered into the gist of the
question in debate, there was profound silence; but if he
attempted lofty flights, and soared into the region of
philosophical speculations, the attention of the hearers flagged,
and a great uproar ensued, insomuch that the luckless orator was
frequently driven to call upon the President to enforce silence
and order; who, on his part, reiterated that he could not
interfere. ... Altogether such scenes presented a curious study.
Generally speaking, the Frenchman is essentially a practical man.
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It is true that ever and anon we pretend to great depth; but the
malady is momentary and does not last long. We are, in fact, like
certain eminent men who affect a speciality to which they have no
just claim, and who consider themselves more honored by a
compliment for an acquirement which they do not possess, than by
any which may be paid them for a talent for which they are really
conspicuous.
In combating this tendency and these systems, we must be on our
guard against assailing them with hazy tirades or dull
metaphysics. We should drag them into the full light of the
Gospel, and dissect them by translating them into plain French,
and then they will soon disappear altogether. We must further
bear in mind that the truth, and especially evangelical truth, is
only rightly apprehended by the heart; whereas there is a general
disposition amongst us to be always reasoning. Are we not aware
that bare reason is foolishly vain, dishonest, stern, and
sometimes pitiless, and that to be constantly appealing to its
authority is to lose our time, and to engender the most
deplorable ignorance in matters of religion?
The people are very fond of understanding what is addressed to
them, for it raises them in their own eyes, and is, moreover, a
real gratification to them. Therein they are active, whereas when
merely astounded they are simply passive; to say nothing of the
additional fact that they go away as ignorant as they came.
{167}
A preacher who had been specially appointed to deliver a course
of sermons in one of our towns, was accosted while walking out by
a poor woman, upon whom his presence seemed to produce a lively
impression of joy, which was forthwith manifested in these
words:--"How delighted I am to have met you! I must tell you that
I attend your sermons and understand them. Yes, believe me, even
I understand your sermons. Every body says that you are a
_savant_, but for my part I don't believe it; because, whenever
our rector or his curates preach, I don't understand anything
they say; whereas when you preach I understand all. If you were a
_savant_, an ignoramus like me would not be able to understand
you." ...
We must retrace our steps, then, and return to a clear, plain,
simple, and vivifying exposition of the Gospel; for when religion
is set forth in that way it is always attractive. We may have to
study much to attain it, but when once Christianity is rightly
understood, and we get thoroughly to know those with whom we have
to do, we shall find it possible to acquire an influence over
their minds and hearts, and easy to adapt our style to the
intelligence of all. You should see the working classes when
addressed by one of our great preachers: their countenances
brighten, their eyes glisten, their bosoms glow. They understand,
they are moved, they applaud.
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To attain this plainness--speech being the vehicle of
thought--words should never be used which are not generally
understood. There are terms in language which are common to the
literary and non-literary; only such should be adopted, and all
scientific, philosophical, technical, theological, and even
devotional terminology should be discarded. Our age is not strong
in spiritual matters: they speak a language which it does not
even care to learn, for it does not feel the need of it.
Use none of those set phrases, those trite expressions, which
follow one after another in all sermonizers for the last half
century. They form a threadbare language which no longer conveys
any meaning, and which is quite unfit for the transmission of
thought. Drive them from your pen and lips; try to acquire a
disgust, a hatred for them: they are more unintelligible than
either Latin or Greek. You would do well to abstain entirely from
perusing such sermonizers, because one unwittingly picks up their
hackneyed phraseology; which will recur to you when you are at a
loss what else to say. Moreover, they prevent you from being
natural. ...
It is desirable, doubtless, that you should read Bourdaloue for
doctrine, Bossuet for touch and for the sublime, Massillon for
style and form; but let that suffice.
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Then read the Scriptures, the Fathers, books of devotion, and
such other works as will make you acquainted with the wants and
tendencies of the age, and teach you how to combat its passions
and its errors.
You must beware, however, of attempting to preach like Bossuet,
Bourdaloue, or Massillon. They addressed courtiers, and the elite
of society of their times, when men had more knowledge of
religion than they have now. Besides, if those eminent preachers
lived in these days, there is every reason to believe that they
would not always speak now as they did then.
Plain speech should be coupled with plain thought.
The thoughts which serve as starting points, should always be
simple, natural, and popular. The people do not understand
abstractions or the speculations of reason, which are to them a
strange language. You should start from the known to lead them to
the unknown. That is the mathematical and logical method. You
must begin with sensible, visible, and above all with actual
things, in order to draw them gently toward spiritual and
invisible things, and to the life that is to come. By adopting
this course, you may conduct them far onward, and elevate them to
great heights, even to the sublimest aspirations of heart and
soul. ... As we have already said by way of example: first
exhibit religion to them as grand, good, and lovely, then as true
and divine; winding up by fervently and energetically insisting
on the necessity of submission to its moral law.
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It is an excellent plan to adopt the ordinary expressions in
every-day use among the people, and to apply them in a religious
sense. Thus, you might tell them to lay up in the _Savings Bank_
of Heaven, to become members of the _Refuge Fund_ of Eternity,
and you will be understood.
Monsigneur the Archbishop of Paris, during some of his
visitations, furnishes us with a delightful model of this style
of addressing the people:--
"My children," said he to the operatives who had assembled in a
courtyard to see and hear him, "my children, while attending to
your worldly interests and material welfare--for the increase
of which you have my sincere wishes--think also sometimes of
that God who created us, and in whom we live, and move, and
have our being. Do you know what that man resembles who lives
without God and without hope? He is like a piece of wheel-work
out of gear, or a faulty machine, which only mars what it ought
to make, wounds the hand which it should help, and obliges the
owner to break it up and throw it aside.
"Maintain, then, my beloved children, the sentiments, and
practise the duties which belong to your dignity as men. As
workmen, be industrious, honest, and temperate, and your
condition will be as happy as it can be here below, remembering
that rest will come after toil; for we are all the day-laborers
of a gracious God, and life is but a day, at the end of which
we shall receive ample wages, and be abundantly recompensed for
all our pains.
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"My children, I am glad to see that my words affect you. I
regret being obliged to separate from you; but before going I
give you my benediction as an earnest of my paternal
tenderness, and of all the Divine graces which I invoke upon
you, upon all who are dear to you, upon your families and your
labors."
We should begin, then, by exhibiting the material aspects of
religion, proceeding from thence to doctrines and duties, without
ceasing to be simple, true, and natural throughout. This,
however, is not the usual course pursued: we start with
metaphysics, move onward through a redundant phraseology, and end
by making religion more unintelligible than ever.
But we must be fair: preachers are not wholly to blame in this
matter; for if one tries to be simple, true, natural, and
evangelical, they will tell him in certain districts that his
style is not sufficiently high-flown, that it does not do honor
to the pulpit. This actually occurred to one of our best
preachers. A member of the congregation came to him and said:--
"You speak admirably; but there is one drawback to your sermons,
they are too well understood." So that the poor preacher, in
order to carry out the views of his adviser, felt that he would
be obliged to invoke the Holy Spirit to give him grace to say
unintelligible things! ...
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What they wanted was something bombastic, academical, and highly
seasoned; and such is what is generally regarded as constituting
a profound, dignified, and useful sermon.
Look at our blessed Lord: surely He knew what real dignity was.
Or, let us study the Gospel: do we find there any of these fine
airs, this inflated and consequential tone? It is simple, clear,
and profound throughout. We hear it occasionally said of certain
individuals:--"He cannot adapt himself to the capacity of every
one; his knowledge is far too high and deep for that;" which
means, that the poor man indicated has heaped up in his brains,
pell-mell, a mass of ill-digested ideas which he is unable to
call forth with anything like order: and that is all. The truly
profound man, on the contrary, is always clear. He moves calmly
through the highest regions of science, and is as much at his
ease there as if he were at home. He sees things, and he narrates
them. He turns his thoughts over and over again, putting them
into a thousand forms, so as to be able to place them within
reach of the feeblest intellects. Take M. Arago as an example of
this wisdom and simplicity combined. He succeeds in rendering the
highest problems of astronomy intelligible, and that in a few
words, even to very young children. ...
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Herein, also, a wrong estimate has been formed of the French
mind; since even those who move in the highest circles of society
much prefer what is simple, clear, and natural.
There is a well-known preacher in Paris who gives familiar
lectures--they are real sermons--even when appointed select
season-preacher. He has been preaching for the last twenty years
without ever sparing himself, readily responding to every call.
Crowds of the elegant world, notwithstanding, press round his
pulpit, and there is always the same affluence of hearers. The
most eminent of preachers, who adopted a different style of
address, would have been used-up long since.
A priest, full of the Spirit of God, died some years ago in the
flower of his age. He was remarkable in the art of giving plain
and simple lectures. After his death, these lectures, in a
mutilated form, were collected and published by a female, and
obtained as wide a circulation as the most celebrated discourses.
Plain speech pleases and benefits all; whereas what is called
sublime speech only amuses a few, and benefits fewer still.
But one of the most effectual ways of making the truth understood
by the people is by metaphor and simile. They speak an analogous
language themselves and readily understand it; more especially
when the comparisons are drawn from visible, present, or actual
things, and when they are striking or popular. The Sacred
Scriptures are full of expositions of this nature, and the
sermons of Père Lejeune also contain a rich mine of the same
class.
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O'Connell did not overlook this means of influencing the people,
and he sometimes employed it in the most picturesque and
characteristic fashion.
He was one day assailing the hereditary peerage. "What are the
lords?" said he. "Because the father was considered a good
legislator, therefore the son must be the same! Just as if a man
who proposed to make you a coat should answer the question: Are
you a tailor? by saying that his father before him was. Is there
any of you who would employ such an hereditary tailor? This
principle of common sense as regards the lords will become
popular in time. We want no hereditary legislators or tailors. Do
you ask who will make this principle popular? I reply, the lords
themselves, who show themselves to be very bad tailors."
Above all, similes drawn from actual things make a still greater
impression.
Thus, steam-engines and railroads are a common topic of
conversation nowadays, and form a rich source from whence to
derive matter for stirring similes and for profitable
instruction. For example, you wish to point out the necessity of
mastering the passions, and of restraining them by the laws of
God. The heart of man may be likened to a steam-engine of
terrific power, which we should mistrust, and which requires to
be under the most vigorous control.
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Look at the locomotive confined within its iron furrows. It is a
wonderful thing; it approximates distances, develops commerce,
and contributes to the welfare of man. There is much in it to
call forth gratitude to a beneficent Providence. But look at it
when thrown off the line. O God! what do I hear and see? I hear
the most piercing and heart rending screams; I see blood flowing,
limbs broken, heads crushed; and I turn from the spectacle, and
almost curse the inventor. ... In like manner, the heart of man,
when restrained by the law of God, is worthy of all admiration;
it begets the noblest and sublimest virtues, and scatters the
blessings of a good example all around. It brings joy and
gladness to the domestic hearth, rendering all those happy who
love it; and on seeing such results I am proud of being a man.
But once beyond the bounds of that law--thrown off the rails, as
it were--O God! what do I hear and see? I hear bitter
lamentations, the harrowing cries of mothers, wives, and
children. I see vice, and crime, and shame mantling on the brow
of those who indulge therein; and at the sight of so much misery
and degradation I am tempted to utter imprecations, and almost
blush that I am a man.
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Finally, another way of simplifying truth is by narrative, of
which the people are very fond. They cast every thing, even
spiritual things, into tales, legends, and facts, which they take
pleasure in learning to recite. We should imitate them, by
putting a moral or dogmatic truth into action, connecting it with
a fact, and then narrate it; in short, give it the form of a
little drama. When skilfully employed, this method has a powerful
effect upon the people, and even upon educated men. The _Paroles
d'un Croyant_ owed a part of the notoriety which it acquired to
this feature. The people must have facts, and often nothing but
facts. In like manner the Gospel narrates, but seldom argues. The
Holy Scriptures are full of truths rendered palpable, as it were,
by scenic representation.
Thus the prophet Isaiah exposes the folly of idolatry in these
words:--
"Who hath formed a god or a graven image that is profitable for
nothing? ... He heweth him down cedars, and taketh the cypress
and the oak from among the trees of the forest; he planteth an
ash, and the rain doth nourish it. ... He burneth part thereof
in the fire; with part thereof he eateth flesh; he eateth roast
and is satisfied; yea, he warmeth himself, and saith, Aha! I am
warm, I have seen the fire. And the residue thereof he maketh a
god, even his graven image; he falleth down to it, and
worshippeth it, and prayeth unto it, and saith, Deliver me, for
thou art my god. They have not known nor understood, for he
hath shut their eyes that they can not see, and their hearts
that they cannot understand.
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And none considereth in his heart, neither is there knowledge
nor understanding to say, I have burned part of it in the fire;
yea, also I have baked bread upon the coals thereof; I have
roasted flesh and eaten it; and shall I make the residue
thereof an abomination? Shall I fall down to the stock of a
tree? He feedeth on ashes; a deceived heart hath turned him
aside, that he cannot deliver his soul, nor say, Is there not a
lie in my right hand?"
Père Lejeune, apart from certain quaint and obsolete modes of
expression, has some charming things of this sort, which must
have produced a marvellous effect. He is attempting to point out
the heinousness of sin, and to describe the punishment of Adam
and Eve:--
"Picture to yourselves, then, the unfortunate pair, staff in
hand, going forth from the earthly paradise, carrying nothing
with them but two skins, given them out of compassion by the
Judge, to cover their nakedness. They found themselves in the
fields as if they had fallen from the clouds, exposed to the
inclemency of the weather, to wild beasts, and to their own
natural infirmities, without shelter, bed, linen, bread,
covering for their hands or feet; without thread or needle,
knife or hammer, destitute of any implements beyond their own
feeble arms.
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They collect stones as best they may, and cement them together
with mud to form a low room, and cover it with branches of
trees, which they are obliged to break off with their hands;
for they had neither saw nor hatchet. They gather leaves for
their couch, and fruits and wheat for their subsistence; but if
they wanted any in years to come, they must till the ground, or
rather they must dig it up with sticks, having no other kind of
spade. Think, then, of the woman, and of the straits to which
she must have been put on being seized with the pangs of labor,
which she had never before experienced, and on being confined
with her first child. When she saw her firstborn ushered into
the world in its natural state, moaning and trembling with the
cold, and found herself utterly destitute of linen, cradle,
cap, bandages, and all the other requisites for a new-born
babe,--when she was called to bear all this, how poignantly she
must have recognized the enormity of her offence!
"But when both parents saw their son Abel, a youth as beautiful
as a star, gentle as a lamb, and devout as an angel, stretched
stark dead upon the ground, wounded and weltering in his blood,
a ghastly spectacle to behold; the bloom on his face gone, his
lips livid, the light of his eyes utterly extinguished,--on
first beholding all this, they could have no idea that he was
dead, for they had never witnessed death; but drawing near they
say:--'Abel, what dost thou here? Who hath done this?' The dead
are silent.
{179}
'My beloved Abel, why speakest thou not? My son! my soul! I
pray thee speak? But Abel has no more words, no more voice, no
sight, no motion. Decay soon sets in, and Abel becomes foul and
corrupt, and father and mother are obliged to cover him with
earth. When at length they learn that it was their sin which
had given entrance to death, what grief, what tears, what anger
against the fatal tree, against the tempter, against
themselves, and against everything which had contributed to
their disobedience, must have agitated the wretched pair! Why
did we pluck of that tree? Why did we not burn it rather than
be tempted to gather its fruit? Why did we not quit the earthly
paradise, and flee to the end of the world to avoid the risk of
so tremendous an evil? Why did I not pluck out my eyes rather
than look upon that which I was forbidden to know? Ill-advised
that I was, why did I suffer myself to be amused with talking
to the serpent? Liar, thou didst assure me that we should be as
gods, and behold we are more humiliated and miserable than the
beasts of the field!
"In like manner, when you are in hell, you will regret, and
lament, and resolve; but it will then be too late. You will be
maddened with spite and rage against everything that has
conspired to your condemnation. Alas! why did I not cut out my
tongue when preachers told me that my oaths would damn me? Why
did I not smite to death this scandalous bosom of mine?
{180}
Why did I not destroy the papers of that lawsuit which I
prosecuted so unjustly, and the schedule and bond of that poor
man who could not pay the usurious interest which I charged him
for money lent? Why did I not leave the town and province, and
bury myself in the wilds of Canada, rather than remain where
there was an occasion of my falling into sin?"
In concluding, I must be permitted to quote a more recent
example, premising that I only adduce it as a model of familiar
conversation with the working classes.
M. l'Abbé Ledreuil, in an address to operatives, is endeavoring
to convince them that they have no reason to envy the rich, since
the working man has his share of joy and happiness as well as
they. He expresses himself somewhat as follows, though I must
apologize for abridging, and therefore for disfiguring his
lecture:--
"My friends, do not envy the rich, and don't believe them happy
because they have nothing to do. The rich must work, after
their fashion, under pain of being unhappy and of leading a
miserable existence. Hence it is that, for the most part, they
condemn themselves to work as you do. ... And do you know how
one of this class passes his life who does not work? I will
tell you: he thinks everything a bore, and he yawns.
{181}
"In the morning, he no sooner begins to dress than he stops
short. He is so tired! He stretches his limbs, and--he yawns.
"He next sets about his toilet, which is a very formidable
affair to him; enters into his dressing-room quite a perfumery
shop in its way--looks around him, and then--he yawns.
"Breakfast-time comes. He goes to the breakfast-room, surveys
the different dishes, knows not which to choose, for the poor
man is not hungry, and--he yawns.
"After breakfast, he takes up a paper and skims over it. Pugh!
politics are so uninteresting. Then more than ever--he yawns.
"Toward noon, or one o'clock, he must go out, and asks himself:
Where shall I go to-day? Shall I go to Madame So-and-so? No,
she is at the waters. I will go to Mr. So-and-so. By the way,
he is in the country; and then--he yawns.
"For something better to do, he seeks the promenade, where he
meets a friend of his own stamp. They shake the tips of each
other's fingers, not to hurt their hands, touch the brims of
their hats, and then together, one more than the other,--they
yawn.
"He next takes a chair, adjusts his feet on the bars, places
himself at his ease, thinks of nothing, looks vacantly into the
air, or bites the head of his cane, and then--he yawns.
{182}
"In the evening he goes to the theatre, extends himself at full
length in his box, gazes around him, listens, and then--he
yawns.
"He returns home very late. He is quite worn out and needs
sleep, and ends the day as he began it--he yawns.
"Not so the laborer: he rises early, goes to his work betimes,
and he sings or whistles.
"The breakfast-hour arrives. He loses no time in examining
which dish he will partake of, for there is only one. He does
not yawn over it, but eats with a good appetite, and in the
same cheery mood he passes the remainder of the day.
"My friends, don't be discontented with your lot. Don't
say:--'If I were rich I would take my ease; for work is a
blessing. Don't envy the rich, but be thankful for what God has
given you. The honest and industrious workman, who has a good
heart, and loves virtue, is the spoilt child of Providence."
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