A further duty of the preacher, that the message may become approved in

the building up of the Church, is that of impressing the demands of

Jesus Christ upon those who bear His name. Preaching needs to be more

exacting than it is. There are vast multitudes in the Church whose

religious life--if indeed they have such a life--is absolutely

parasitical. They render no service; they offer no sacrifice; their

only confession of faith is a more or less intermittent attendance at

the public sessions of worship. By such people, one has humourously

said, the Church seems to be regarded as a Pullman car bound for glory.

Their chief desires are that the train may run so slowly as to enable

them to enjoy the scenery by the way; that the time-bill shall allow of

frequent and lengthy stoppages on the journey, and _especially_ that

the conclusion of the trip shall be postponed to as late an hour as

possible, as they labour under no extravagant anxiety to come to its

end. Are we uncharitable in suspecting that the chief reason many of

these people have for making some degree of preparation for Paradise is

that they cannot remain on earth and that Heaven is, on the whole, to

be preferred to the only other country available? Ah! the preacher has

much of this kind of material on his hands and, notwithstanding its

quality, the commission to build it up into strength and beauty still

applies.

Clearly, in such cases, the duty of the edifying preacher is not to

hide, but _to emphasise_ the demands of Jesus Christ for active

participation in some form of Christian service. "The harvest truly is

plenteous but the labourers are few," and altogether apart from the

advantages to be gained by the Church from the bringing in of the

sheaves, there is a benefit to be won by the reaper as he garners the

grain, which is entirely beyond calculation. Our fathers made it their

business in the case of every new convert to find him "something to

do." Sometimes the results were unfortunate, in that men were put to

work they were not qualified to attempt; but the new employment kept

many a man from falling, and often helped to make useful and polished

instruments out of very unpromising material. Nearly a thousand years

ago Peter the Hermit passed like a flame of fire across the provinces

of Europe calling upon men to wrest the Holy places from the hands of

the Saracen. In countless thousands they responded to his call, even

little children arising and pressing eastward on the great emprise.

Surely there is need enough for crusading to-day. Surely, too, there

are multitudes who, for their own souls' sake, and for the sake of the

Church, would be all the better for the health and vigour which a

little crusading would bring. Upon us rests the obligation in Christ's

name to call these hitherto unemployed and ineffective ones to the

standard of the Cross.

And to this demand for service it is the preacher's duty to add, in

view of the advantages to follow in the life and character, the faith

and influence of the Church, an equally strong demand for sacrifice.

It is no kindness of the pulpit to cut down the requirements of the

Lord upon the time, the strength, the comfort and the substance of

those who profess themselves His followers. He that would have life

eternal "let him go and sell all that he hath and give to the poor."

"He that will be My disciple, let him deny himself, and take up his

cross and follow Me." "He that would save his life the same shall lose

it." In these figurative words lies one secret of spiritual growth and

health.

So then it comes to this:--That the edification of the Church and of

the individual believer, so far as it forms part of the task of this,

our messenger, is to be accomplished by the faithful preaching of such

things as the Master has left on record for the learning of His

followers, and by calling them to make proof of truth in the exercise

of Christian activity, self-denial, sacrifice and self-culture. We

believe, notwithstanding all that may be said to the contrary, that the

Church and her children long to hear this message and that they will

respond to it. Once more we admit that to the preacher, it may not be

the easiest kind of preaching to attempt, for here he will soon be

among the deep things of God, and he will have to ask for great

endeavours and great surrenders. But the divine commission is in his

hands, and has he not undertaken to speak what God shall teach him

"Till we have built Jerusalem

In England's green and pleasant land"?

CHAPTER V.

The Note of Cheer

The chapter now to be added is written under the influence of a Sabbath

afternoon service in which, a few hours ago, we occupied a pew. The

scene was a village chapel among the mountains of the North of England.

The preacher was a layman well advanced in age, who told us that, for

five-and-forty years, he had been coming from the head of the circuit

to take appointments in the village. The sermon was not eloquent. It

was neither learned nor profound. It gave no evidence of any great

acquaintance with modern thought. There was absolutely no attempt at

exegesis. Indeed, the discourse would have failed to satisfy most of

those elementary canons upon which the homiletical professors lay such

stress. Yet, one great excellence it had, which, to its simple-minded

auditors, more than atoned for all its many imperfections:--It was

effective; it was successful. We came away thanking God for the

testimony we had heard.

And herein lay the success of this local brother's unpretentious

discourse:--_It cheered us_, one and all. Faces brightened and

drooping heads were lifted up as the old man pursued his way. The last

hymn was the heartiest of all, not because, as is sometimes the case,

the people were encouraged by the thought of approaching liberation,

but because of the spiritual "uplift" they had realised. We heard a

happy buzz of pleasant talk from young and old as they poured through

the door to assemble in friendly groups for mutual "good-days" on the

pavement in front of the little temple. With most of them we were well

acquainted. Some were aged and infirm. Others found the struggle of

life a hard one. One pew was filled with mourners who, during the

latest week, had stood around an open grave. There were Christian

workers to whom recent days had brought disappointments and

weariness--labourers in the vineyard who had much to try their faith,

for religious work in the villages has many difficulties in these days

when the great towns attract so many of our most hopeful young people

from the lanes to the streets. The widow was there, the orphan, the

poor, the man who had failed in life. Ah! those people had come

together bringing with them to the sanctuary much doubt and care and

perplexity and fear. It was good to watch them as the preacher went

on; good to feel that these hearts were losing their loads, these minds

their anxieties. "Not a great discourse," the critic would have said.

Perhaps not--from some standpoints. Having reached the end of fifty

years of preaching, this white-haired patriarch had long given up the

idea of great discourses. To him the Master had said, "Comfort ye,

comfort ye My people," and he had walked long, long miles up the

mountain side to do it. _Pace_ the critic! This preaching was _the

very thing_ for those needy folk this wintry afternoon.

And now, in recollection of that blessed sermon, and under its gracious

influence, we are strengthened to assert that it is an essential of the

message that it contain good cheer for those who need it. The preacher

is more than the accuser of men in Christ's stead; more, even, than the

mouthpiece of a divine invitation. His task is not completed in the

edifying of churches, in the building up of individual souls in faith

and doctrine and righteousness. Jesus saw the sorrow of the world,

anticipated the afflictions through which men would have to pass and

the burdens they would have to bear. "He was touched with the feeling

of our infirmities," He drank of our bitter cup. Our griefs were in

His mind when He sent His preachers forth. To be the agents of a great

purpose of consolation, ministers of cheer and encouragement to

hard-pressed and burdened men and women to the end of time were they

sent!

And for this work of consolation He not only gave a commission but He

furnished, as well, an example to all who should ever preach His word.

Surely one great secret of the wondrous effectiveness of that brief

ministry lay in the fact that while, as we have seen, it spoke to the

consciences of men, bringing home the truths of righteousness and

judgment; while it set before them the way of spiritual salvation and

formulated the demands and conditions thereof, indicating the higher

path, the strait gate and the narrow way, it was also directed to the

bruised hearts and broken spirits of those who attended His steps. We

are told, after all, but very little of the words and deeds of Jesus

during those eventful years in which He trod the highways and byeways

of the land breaking the bread of life from city to city. Of the

period passed in Nazareth in preparation for the strenuous days to come

we are told nothing at all. The world, it is said, would hardly

contain the books if all had been written down. But enough is told to

give us visions of those unrecorded days, and to show that He was a

cheering Christ, a messenger of comfort--this Saviour of ours. Healing

was in His words. "Did not our hearts burn within us while He talked

with us by the way, and while He opened to us the Scriptures?" said,

one to another, those two disciples who, with saddened countenances,

had set out together to Emmaus on that troubled day. Watch Him yonder

in the house at Bethany, what time bereavement casts its shadow upon

the dwelling. "And He took little children in His arms and blessed

them." Here, again, is a whole history of tenderness. From this one

act a flood of light streams backward and forward upon His whole

earthly life, and we can see the kindly glance that brought the little

ones around Him. We can hear the gentle voice that dispelled their

shyness and gave confidence to their hearts. Even in that old time,

and in the quiet and dreamy East, life had many cares. There were push

and drive and hard and grinding rivalry even then. Those days had

their economic questions as well as ours. It was only by hardest

struggle that many a cupboard was furnished and many a table spread;

for poverty is no new thing, and sorrow, affliction, oppression, dread

and death are as old as the hills. We read of the beggar by the

wayside, of Lazarus writhing in hunger and smitten with sores on the

threshold of Dives, who wore purple and fine linen and fared

sumptuously every day. The widow's house was robbed; the orphan was

cheated of his small inheritance; life, even for the fortunate, went

much as it does now--the music of gladness to-day, the solemn tones of

the dirge to-morrow. How gracious to many a hearer would be that

Sermon on the Mount with its passages for the special blessing of

perplexed and worried souls, spoken, also, for the teaching of all who

may be called to stand before the children of grief and want.

"Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall

we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?" .... "For your heavenly

Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things." .... "Take

therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought

for the things of itself." .... "And why take ye thought for raiment?

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they toil not, neither

do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his

glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe

the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the

oven, shall He not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?" ....

"Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings? And not one of them is

forgotten before God: But even the very hairs of your head are all

numbered. Fear not, therefore: ye are of more value than many

sparrows." .... "Consider the ravens: for they neither sow nor reap;

which neither have storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them: how much

more are ye better than the fowls?" Think of it all! Imagine that

great multitude gathered out of the cities and villages round about.

It was a hard world from which they had come to hear this man of

Nazareth, and, even as they came, care had tugged at their skirts; fear

had rattled upon the doors of their hearts. Think what music would be

in that sweet new Gospel of divine providence and affection, spoken in

that calm and gentle voice whose every tone was vibrant with

understanding, sympathy and love! Can we not see the people as

darkness throws its veil across the blue Syrian sky turning once more

to their distant homes, new hope and courage enthroned upon the

forehead so recently seamed by care? Can we not follow them to the

dawning of another day, and behold their going forth, once again, to

the tasks of life brightly, bravely, cheerily? To them, indeed, had

come glad tidings of great joy!

And if the Master so gave Himself to this ministry of brightening the

lives of men, His first preachers caught the lesson and went forth, the

same good purpose lively in their hearts. To "lift up the hands which

hang down, and the feeble knees;" to heal "that which was lame," that

"it be not turned out of the way;" "to visit the widow and the

fatherless;" to "speak peace" to the people--in these happy duties lay

a large part of their work. Dark, indeed, were those early days for

the infant Church; heavy the clouds above her; terrible the storms of

hate and persecution which spent their fury upon her and scattered

abroad her fellowship, but amidst it all more songs were heard than

sighs, more triumphs than complaints. In the midnight hour a strange

new music ran through the prison, for Paul and Silas "prayed and sang

praises and the prisoners heard them," and so, to crushed and bleeding

souls, even there, a breath of heavenly comfort came. We have

sometimes heard people talk of St. Paul in such a way as to picture one

who was above the tenderness wherefrom sad hearts are blessed--the

great theologian, the mighty logician, the lone, strong, sublime man

whose self-mastery lifted him above sympathy with common men. Great he

was, but great in compassion as well as in mind. Among the watchwords

of encouragement you will find none more inspiring than those written

by his fettered hand. Was it not he who wrote that assurance which has

so often come between us and despair:--"And we know that all things

work together for good to them that love God"? From him, also, came

that glowing word which has shed radiance upon many a couch of pain:

"For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a

far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." There is a more noble

picture of the great Apostle to the Gentiles than that above referred

to. The ship is "driven up and down in Adria." Euroclydon roars

through the rigging. Mighty billows come crashing over the bulwarks.

"Neither sun, nor moon nor stars" have "for many days appeared."

Nearer and nearer the helpless craft is being swept to the cruel rocks

of yonder savage coast. The ship's company is in an agony of dismay.

Suddenly from the cabin comes he of Tarsus. "Wherefore, sirs, be of

good cheer," he cries, above the blast, "for I believe God." Thus does

he summarise in one great assuring word the message learned at the foot

of the cross. Behind it is all the authority of God's revelation to

his soul upon the Damascus road!

So ministered the Master, and so, His first preachers, and hence it

came to pass that the early disciples of the infant faith were known

for their calmness, their courage and their joy. Men "took knowledge

of them that they had been with Jesus." This was the very age of which

the poet has told us:--

On that hard Pagan World disgust

And secret loathing fell;

Deep weariness and sated lust

Made human life a hell.

But the servants of the Galilean, more persecuted than any other men,

walked abroad with a gladness which was at once the perplexity and the

condemnation of the time. "Rejoice evermore" was a sacred command and

a glorious possibility of the new religion, for they were taught to

believe that "All things are yours and ye are Christ's and Christ is

God's"; they were assured that "Nothing shall be able to separate us

from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord"!

That was the _first_ century, and with us now is the twentieth; and it

is said that the burdens of men become more numerous and more heavy as

the years pass on. Older grows the world, but there is no lessening of

its care, no relief from its perplexity, its pain, its sorrow. As

civilisation becomes more complex the "drive" of life waxes ever more

and more fierce. Along with this complaint, it is said by some, that

in the Church there is less joy than in those old days--less, indeed,

than in times within the memory of the grey-haired among us. We who

are Methodists are often reminded of a former Methodism which was vocal

with praises and electric with joy. They whisper that it is different

with us now; that even the pulpit has lost its note of gladness. Care

sits upon the preacher's brow. The songs of Zion are timed to the

throb of hearts that lag for very weariness. "Some are sick and some

are sad." "Cares of to-day and burdens of to-morrow" haunt us in the

very means of grace, and little is said to make us forget. "Fightings

without and fears within," from these we seek deliverance in vain. The

prophet has forgotten how to comfort or, if he have not forgotten, he

thinks the task unworthy of hours which might be more learnedly and

impressively employed.

If we admit, as perhaps we may, the existence of a measure of truth in

this complaint, it will only be to claim that there is some excuse for

those whom it asperses. The intellectual problems bred of a

materialistic age have so compelled the preacher to the defence of the

walls of Zion that it may well have come to pass that the inhabitants

of the city--the men and women down in the streets and dwellings, for

the security of whom he has been contending--may have had to go short

of many things; a time of siege is a time of deprivations and hardships

for citizens as well as soldiers. The great social questions of the

present day have also claimed much of his thought and effort. He has

felt, and justly, that these questions ought to receive more pulpit

recognition. It is possible, and should not be thought surprising,

that in the ardour of the social crusade the preacher may have

sometimes given to these things time and strength which might have been

better spent in ministering to the personal griefs and perplexities of

such as sat before him for their need's sake. It may be well for us

each to make inquiry concerning ourselves in these matters. As a

result we will realise again, no doubt, how numerous and insistent are

the demands made upon us to turn aside in our ministry to treat of a

hundred things which once upon a time we did not think of as pulpit

questions. Be this as it may, here lies work for the preacher which he

must not neglect. It is as certainly his duty to cheer and encourage

the heart of the individual as to indicate the path to better

conditions of life for the multitude.

And this he can only effectively do as he perfects himself in his

understanding of their needs. Of this understanding, and of the ways

in which it must be sought, we have already written and will say no

more, except to point out how every new discovery concerning the

preacher's duties furnishes additional illustration of the absolute

necessity that he study not books only, but also men and the conditions

of their lives. It is of little use knowing the contents of

well-filled shelves if we have never read the living volumes before us

in the pews. Again we say, "if we only knew."

Still knowledge is not the whole of the preacher's need in order that

his message may contain this cheering quality. It is even more needful

that he shall, himself, be one of those who abide in the comfort of

God. He must have learned the efficacy of the great consoling and

gladdening verities by experience of their application to his own soul.

He only can surely cheer others who himself is cheerful, and no man who

has ever felt the pressure and care of life _can_ be cheerful excepting

in so far as these great guarantees have become real to his own spirit.

Only with "the comfort wherewith he is comforted of God" will he

comfort others!

And what are the verities whose application he must have experienced?

There is not one of all the glorious circle of revealed truths that is

not of use for the strengthening and encouraging of men; but there are

some of these truths which might almost have been designed for this

special use. Do we receive--do we preach them as we ought?

There is the doctrine of Divine Providence. Surely this truth should

be preached more frequently than it is. Surely, too, it should be

preached in such a way as to link its meanings to the common hours, the

common needs and anxieties of life. For the vast majority of men life

is actually a struggle for bread for themselves and their dependants.

We had almost said that it is a constant escape from ever threatening

evils. The question of food and raiment is full for them of the direst

probabilities. Many a man listens to the preacher whose life is,

indeed, from hand to mouth. Fierce competition seeks at every turn to

rob him of his little opportunity of bread winning. Such a man had

rather be told of a _providing_ God than of the newest discoveries in

Biblical criticism. If we forget his need and suffer him to go from

the Sanctuary no more hopeful and brave than when he came--then, so far

as he is concerned, we have surely failed.

There is again the doctrine of the Divine Presence. "I will be with

thee in the six troubles, and in the seventh I will not leave thee."

The wonderful truth of Jesus Christ in living, constant, saving

nearness to every man, ready to help, to deliver and guide--here is a

doctrine, mighty to comfort all the world. Before us are men who,

morning by morning, go forth with trembling to spend the day in

associations full of such temptations and dangers as are undreamed of

by us. Here are men and women haunted by bitter memories, whose

midnight solitude is disturbed by the ghosts of buried years. There

are many lonely people in the world, many from whom lover and friend

have been put far away. For such is this treasure of promise committed

unto us. Send yonder man back to his conflict; yonder stranger to his

loneliness; yonder memoried soul to his solitude to face again the

spirits of his bygone days, with this thought: that every step of the

way--whether in the city or in the desert--Jesus Christ will be by his

side. Such a preaching will be sweeter to him a thousand times than

perplexing metaphysical discussions.

Then let us not forget to apply the _promises_ by which the Master has

strengthened the exhortations given to His servants in all times to

labour in the fields of Christian service. Of such promises there is

surely a varied and glorious store, and for all of them there is need

enough. Never do we preach but before us is some toiler almost ready

to give up because of long delay in the appearance of the first signs

of harvest. _Encourage him_! Tell him that the God of the sowing is

also the God of the reaping. Tell him not to be "weary in well doing,

for in due season" he "shall reap if" he "faint not." Tell him that

"he that goeth forth weeping, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless

come again rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him." Tell him _this_.

He has heard it all before, of course, or else he had not so long

struggled on in the work. Tell it him again and again, for again and

again the need to hear it all will come. Tell it him gloriously,

confidently. He will go back to his Sunday School class, back to his

labour among the poor, out to his next appointment on the plan, with a

new hope which will be also a new power!

And let us remember that there has been given unto us for the

comforting of His people the revelation of the glory laid up for them

that fear Him. To the writer a little while ago an able and

spiritually minded Unitarian minister made this statement:--"In every

service I conduct I announce, at least, one hymn on immortality. The

people need to hear of it." There is food for thought in such a

confession from such a source. Once upon a time it was common in

Methodism to hear sermons on Heaven. To-day how infrequent such

sermons are! Yet surely the King has not withdrawn this portion of the

message from our hands. And surely there is occasion for such

reminders to be given. How many there are to whom "Earth's but a sorry

tent;" how many, again, who go in bondage to the fear of death all

their days; how many more who look mournfully after departed dear ones

and wonder how it goes with them across the stream. To all such people

is the preacher commissioned, and they look wistfully toward him for

the word that may let the glory in!

And that word we do not speak nowadays as often as we might, perhaps

not as often as we ought. Here, again, is something to be recovered by

the present-day preacher. Possibly when he comes to talk of the

glories "laid up," this same preacher may find need for some new forms

of expression. Perhaps he will not find it possible to speak with the

old literalism of his predecessors. But the living core of the message

is still his as it was theirs. The divine example, too, is before him

every time he harks back to his Master's presence. In that great day

of sorrow when He spake to the disciples of His early departure, He,

seeing their grief, said, "In My Father's house are many mansions ....

I go to prepare a place for you." _Preach Heaven_! This very day

there are hearts breaking for the story!

To cheer the souls of men by the use of this, or any other material,

and in any legitimate way we can--to this must our preaching be

absolutely and resolutely bent. To make brighter the lives of men; to

take out of the future its dark dreads and fears and to fill it with

beckoning blessings; to make the sanctuary a place of healing, a house

of bread, a rock of cooling streams; to make of every service a season

of refreshing--for all this are we responsible to the King who sent us

out to His suffering children. The message He entrusted to us contains

the sufficiency for it all!

But more, we repeat, than the mere letter of the message is needed.

The best of words may be so spoken as to bring but small assistance to

such as hear. Again we say that the preacher must, himself, live in

the comfort and courage he preaches to others, or else there will be

somewhat in his voice that will spoil it all. The word and also the

_tone_! "The tone" must be the tone of absolute realisation and

assurance. Pronounced in any other accent the words of the Gospel of

joy sound impossible; the blessings they promise seem dim and far away;

the fact of providence becomes a mere theory; the future harvest of

holy sowing a pious but foolish hope; the sweet fields of Eden a fair

but airy dream. Nothing is colder than perfunctory, official,

professional consolation and encouragement. When fear whispers

"Courage!" the chattering of his teeth makes our terror worse!

So, once again, the preacher's success and effectiveness are found

largely to depend upon his own heart's condition. The message will

carry little more cheer than the messenger can pour into it out of the

stored up happiness and confidence of his own breast. In the cheer of

God must he abide who would scatter a little comfort among his fellow

men!

BOOK III

THE MESSAGE:--

ITS FORM AND DELIVERANCE

THEORY OF BOOK III.

We have spoken of the Effective Preacher and of the Effective Message,

but this Message must have Effective Form and Expression in order to

command the Largest Measure of Success.

_What are the Essentials of Effectiveness in the Form and Delivery of

the Message?_

CHAPTER I.

On Attractiveness.

Having now given some little thought to a consideration of the

essential qualifications of the Christian messenger, and also to the

content of his message, it remains to name certain qualities of form

and expression equally needed for success in the publication of the

truth. The first business of the preacher is, of course, to secure the

friendly attention of his hearers and his next business is to retain it

until he makes an end of speaking. To accomplish these things it is

obviously needful that he possess some skill in the putting of things

in such a way as first to attract, then to enlighten, and finally, to

persuade.

In beginning then, a very brief inquiry concerning these qualities, it

may be assumed that in the sermon as we know it we have by far the best

vehicle for the conveyance of the preacher's message. From time to

time experiments with other media have been tried, but the sermon has

not been superseded. A few years ago trial was made of what was called

the Sermon-story--a religious novel read by the preacher in weekly

parts. "Song services" and "lantern addresses" have been

well-intentioned attempts to enlist the ear and the eye in the

interests of the soul. In the miracle plays of the Middle Ages,

Scriptural truth and incident were thrown into dramatic form for the

benefit of the ignorant classes. The sermon still holds the field. No

form of preaching has use and acceptance so general, nor so lends

itself to meet changing times and differing circumstances as does this.

The thought is no less true than wonderful, and no less wonderful than

true, that of all who appeal to the public ear, none, even in these

days of comparative indifference to religion, draw so large an audience

as do the preachers of the Christian faith. The sermon is still the

most popular form of public address!

It will be wise therefore for the preacher not only to ask as to

whether he possesses within himself a preaching mind and heart and

knowledge and designation; whether he can say that he seeks to present

the truth in all its completeness, but also whether his _sermons_ are

of such a sort as most readily to secure the entrance of the truth they

contain. God's truth may be--and often is--hindered in its saving

errand by reason of the form and manner in which it is presented,

though, behind such ineffective presentation, there may be sincerity of

motive and sublime enthusiasm. The preacher may fail as a messenger by

failing as a sermoniser. He may fail as a sermoniser from neglect of

principles which so wait upon his discovery that it is nothing less

than a mystery when they are not seen.

And yet, obvious as these principles are, the art of the sermon maker

needs learning, and even the study of methods of delivery is of immense

importance to success. We have spoken of "the born preacher"; even

_he_ must cultivate his gifts in order to realise his highest

possibilities. We speak sometimes of "diamonds in the rough"; the

value of these precious stones increases as the art of the lapidary is

carefully exercised upon them. If it be only to prevent the formation

of false methods and bad habits of thought and utterance, a preacher

should give attention to the study of Homiletics. He may, as the end

of all his studies, feel led deliberately to reject much of what he has

been taught in favour of original methods of his own. As the years go

on he may forget many of the rules laboriously learned. Neither of

these circumstances should be held to prove that time spent in the

sermonising class has been wasted. It is a fact that most of us have

forgotten the greater part of what we learned at school. The dates

which made up so large a part of our historical lessons, the rules we

slavishly committed as we struggled to master the difficulties of

syntax and prosody, our latinity, our grounding in the tongue of

ancient Greece so hardly won--who amongst us, having grey hairs in

abundance, could face to-day the examination room where once we

triumphed in these things? Yet in a sense they are all still with us.

We reproduce them in effectiveness in the daily battle; in the thousand

and one duties forming the work of life. It may be much the same in

the case of homiletics. We may reject; we may forget; but we cannot

altogether fail to profit richly in many ways from studies the object

of which is to make the student more skilful in the use of the powers

bestowed upon him. Had these pages been written for young men only,

they would have contained more than one chapter devoted to an effort to

enforce the absolute necessity of bending the mind, and with the mind

the heart, to the earnest pursuit of all that can be learned about the

actual building-up of discourses from the foundation of exegesis to the

topstone of application. We do not refrain from emphasising this

necessity because of any thought that even the elder brethren will find

such studies without profit. To read once more some of the homiletic

manuals of our far-off days, would not be for many of us a foolish

method of spending a quiet hour "between the mount and multitude!"

To these books, with others more recently published, we refer the

reader who is on the lookout for "rules." In our youth there were many

of them:--"Kidder," "Phelps," "Broadus," "Beecher," "Parker's Ad

Clerum." Add to these "Phillips Brooks," "Dale," "The Cure of Souls,"

and as many more as can be remembered; their name is legion--all

helpful to wise men and good. Our present duty seems to be that of

naming certain principles which must be remembered by all who would

attain to effectiveness in pulpit expression.

And the first of these principles seems to be this:--That the sermon

should have the quality of _attractiveness_, that it ought to be so

interesting that the man in the pew will _wish_ to listen to it, find

it harder _not_ to listen than to attend to its every word. You will

never save or help a man if you never interest him!

Now, whether there be need to emphasise this very obvious consideration

we may judge from the talk we hear about sermons in general. We have

already spoken of the wonderful popularity of this form of public

address; but this popularity is not unqualified by complaints, the most

frequent of which is, perhaps, about the preacher's dulness. "As dull

as a sermon" is a familiar expression--so familiar that no one troubles

to protest against its use and application. One of our most hoary and

patriarchal anecdotes tells of the minister who, finding a burglar in

his study, held the man in deep slumber by the reading of last Sunday's

discourse while his wife slipped out for the policeman. An American

humorist, who has laid us under life-long obligation for hours of

honest laughter, tells us, in the history of his courtship of Betsy

Jane, that her folks and his "_slept_ in the same meeting house."

Again and again have we heard of the risks run by insurance companies

in granting fire policies upon the houses of the clergy, because of the

immense quantities of very dry material they contain. All these

humorous stories and sallies find appreciation because there is, alas!

a certain amount of truth at the heart of them. Then there is also

that demand for shorter sermons in which some see so ominous a portent.

We demur to the assumption that this demand invariably grows out of

dislike for the subjects upon which the preacher dilates. It is

objected that no one grumbles greatly concerning the length of a

Shakespearian representation, nor when a prominent and eloquent

politician occupies the platform for an hour and a half. A little

while ago, in a crowded hall in London, we heard a well-known statesman

speak for two hours and a quarter on a busy Saturday afternoon, and, at

the conclusion, hundreds were heard to express surprise on learning

that the address had been half so lengthy. "If we preached as long as

this what would happen?" asked a friend as we left the hall. "_What,"

indeed_? But suppose that we preached as _interestingly_ as the

politician spoke? Suppose we had learned something from the great

dramatist of the art of assailing and winning the attention of the men

and women to whom we speak? It must not be forgotten, when we find

fault with the demand for short sermons, that there are some preachers

from whom their hearers demand not short sermons but long! Perhaps

this demand for brevity may not result so much from the depravity of

the pew as from the dulness of the pulpit, by which we mean the sermon

and not its subject. At this very moment, there is no subject--we dare

to say--on which the average man can be so deeply moved as on the

subject of his spiritual needs and questions. It can still be said

that more people attend the churches and chapels of London than are to

be found in all other places of popular resort. The things of the

spirit are still the things most thought of, and should those whose

business it is to speak of them fail to win, at least the ear, if not

the heart, of those they seek to influence, they ought to ask

themselves very faithfully whether it may not be possible that some of

the fault may lie in the form, or wording, or delivery of the message.

They should inquire whether sermon and delivery are such as to make it

easier to listen than to sleep. They should ask, "_Can it be that even

I am guilty of being dull_?"

For the truth must be confessed that some preachers--brethren with

golden truth to publish, and possessed of good natural gifts and a real

and deep desire to bless the people--_are_ dull--drearily, dreadfully,

deadly dull! They are dull with the most interesting, the most

wonderful--may we not say the most sensational?--subject in the world

to talk about.

And what is the cause of this dulness? Again we say it does not lie in

the nature of the subjects committed to the preacher. To this denial

we will add another to the effect that, in almost every instance, the

dulness of the sermon does not proceed from a quality of dulness in the

preacher. There are few men who, in conversation, are unable to

interest us in subjects of intrinsic attractiveness. Many a man, dull

to boredom in the pulpit, becomes a delightful personality in the

social circle. Why the startling difference?

To answer this question fully might involve the use of many words, but

it may, at least, be suggested that preaching is often dull because the

preacher has inherited a notion that reverence for the truth and for

the sanctuary demands it. There still remain traces of a feeling, said

to have been common in old time, that dulness is a virtue. This same

feeling was wont, in other days, to fill the homes of the godly with a

gravity and a solemnity which almost effected the banishment of

laughter and drove forth music as an outcast from the domestic hearth.

Dominated by this sense of things, men shut their eyes to the

joyfulness of life and the beauties of nature and literature and poetry

and art. The Sabbaths of such men were days to be feared; their

sanctuaries places without a gleam of sunshine. What wonder if the

pulpit came under the yoke of bondage, or that, having been once

enslaved, it should even now have hardly attained to perfect freedom?

Then there are preachers whose great concern is to maintain "the

dignity of the pulpit," and this concern is allowed to crush out their

naturalness and brightness and humour--every quality that is human and

pleasant and alluring. It is on record that even so great and wise a

preacher as Dr. Dale of Birmingham had to confess that his own mighty

ministry had suffered because of a certain stateliness of composition

and delivery which had militated against the attractiveness of his

sermons, especially so far as the younger and less educated of his

hearers were concerned. From this solicitude for the dignity of the

pulpit have come "the pulpit manner," "the pulpit tone," "the pulpit

vocabulary," all of which, as being departures from honest Nature's

homely plans, have helped to spoil the charm and prevent the triumph of

holy, lovely truth. Still another may be dull from intellectual pride.

Not unknown is the man who may often be heard explaining the success

attained by other brethren but denied to himself, by references to what

he calls "playing to the gallery" or "catering for popular applause."

_He_, forsooth, will not so demean himself as to be guilty of practices

so degrading. Thought is _his_ provision for those who come to hear.

_He_ appeals to _thinkers_. Alas! for him, his "thinkers," if only he

knew it, are human and have a mind to be pleased. "Very intellectual,"

may be the verdict with which they leave the church, but people cannot

always be on the intellectual rack, and both the Sabbath and the

Sanctuary were designed for rest for weary brains. We have known a

very learned man to admit, as he came away from hearing an exceedingly

thoughtful discourse, that, to him, the preacher's address to the

children had been the most enjoyable part of the service. The sermon

was very clever; but--well, he had had a hard and trying week of it,

and came to church with a tired mind and a troubled heart.

So it has come to pass that many a preacher has fallen into a homiletic

dulness quite foreign to his own disposition. In the home, the social

circle, in every place saving the pulpit he was human and natural. He

had a jest to cheer the depressed, a tear for sorrow. He could rejoice

with those who rejoiced, weep with those who wept. He was responsive

to the piping of gladness. In pain or pleasure he was ever a welcome

guest, but in the temple he condemned by tone and manner every bit of

humanity into which he had been unwittingly betrayed, and atoned for

his every lapse into naturalness by dreariness growing drearier. Not

so did Jesus Christ preach, else the common people had not "heard Him

gladly;" not so, else the little children had not gathered around His

feet, nor shouted their Hosannas as he rode up to the city gate. Not

dull were those sermons that drew the multitudes from the towns to the

wilderness, and held them so entranced that the time for bodily

refreshment passed unheeded by. "Never man spake like this Man," they

said, as they spread their garments in the path by which the preacher

came up to Mount Zion. He revealed God; He rebuked sin; He poured His

denunciations upon the age; He tore off the mask from the face of

hypocrisy; not one jot or tittle of truth did He bate for the sake of

applause, yet all Judea went out to Him, and all the regions beyond

Jordan. In _His_ preaching there was not only everything to save the

soul, there was everything to charm the ear!

From this divine example, if from no other consideration, let us set

ourselves to preach attractively; and let us begin by resolving to

preach _naturally_. The best preaching is talk at its best in subject

and in style, and provides exercise for every talent of preacher and

hearer alike. "Right here," as the Americans say, let us remember that

talk is always spoken and never read. For the production of the effect

of dulness; for the sure spoiling of good thought nobly conceived and

nobly phrased, commend us to a manuscript slavishly read to an audience

assembled to be _spoken to_ by a man who was appointed to _speak_.

There may be churches which, through long suffering, have become so

used to being read to that they have learned to endure it, perhaps even

to fancy they like it. But watch the congregation in such a church.

Note when for a moment the preacher lifts his head and ventures a brief

excursion from the sheets before him, how obviously their interest

quickens and their eyes brighten. Even _they_, in the depths of their

hearts, would rather be spoken to, though such a practice might mean,

now and then, a little looseness in expression, a little breakdown in

the preacher's grammar. More than this may be said:--It has seemed to

us, as the result of attending many churches, that in such sanctuaries

as we have referred to reading is going out of fashion. We have

listened of late months to many well-known preachers of various

denominations and not one of them "read." On the other hand, we have

heard it asserted that while the method of reading becomes less common

in these churches, it tends to become more usual in Methodism. Alas!

for Methodist preaching if this startling assertion be really true.

Methodism does _not want_ the read sermon--is not likely, unless it

ceases to be Methodism, to learn to want it--will only endure it when

it cannot help itself, or when, for other reasons, it has great

reverence and affection for the man who weakly offers it; or again,

when the preacher is old and has outlived his intellectual nimbleness,

in which case sympathy may so plead his cause as to secure him a

reluctant hearing. Methodism grew to greatness under the preaching of

men who _spoke_, and that method is traditional to her pulpit; some day

she will crystallise her tradition into a law that the _speaker_ alone

shall stand in her high place. To attract and hold the people the

preacher must speak!

And let him speak in the voice and manner with which it is most natural

for him to speak to his fellow men. There is as yet no organ sweeter

than the human voice in its own natural tones, none so adapted to reach

the heart. The pity is, that so often, from simple ignorance, this

fine instrument is spoiled. Gladly would we see a course of voice

tuition included as a necessary part of all pulpit training. So would

the spoiling of many a gracious utterance be prevented. It is faulty

methods of speech rather than overwork that are responsible for many a

"clergyman's sore throat." Speaking is as natural an exercise to the

voice of a man as is walking to his feet, or handling to his hands, but

it must be done naturally; and the use of training is found in its

bringing home this lesson. The "pulpit voice" must become a

yesterday's blunder.

To attractiveness in delivery must be added, if people are to be kept

in audience, an attractiveness in treatment; here, again, the method of

success is to let Nature have her way. Let the preacher permit himself

to devote _all_ his gifts to the setting forth of his theme. The great

thing is to get the word right home and to that end all considerations

as to style, language, arrangement, should be subordinate. There be

some highly intellectual persons who affect contempt when a preacher

tells a story. There are very solemn persons who gravely disapprove

when the sermon contains a touch of humour which causes a ripple of

laughter in the holy place. Some people, again, hate an epigram, and

say "the preacher is trying to be smart." It is impossible to please

all the critics. The great business of the preacher is to get his work

done; and if by a story, a touch of humour or of sarcasm, the use of

any gift, he can, keeping within the limits of that good taste which

should guide him at all times, entice men to listen, the critics may be

ignored.

One more paragraph may be added before bringing this chapter to an end.

After all, the great secret of being interesting lies in being

_interested_. The really enthralling preacher is he who is himself

enthralled by his subject and who realises, also, a deep interest in

the people before Him. Should it ever come to pass that the subject

grow stale, worn and hackneyed to the man in the pulpit, it will not be

a hopeful quest to look for much interest in the pew. Again should it

ever come to pass that the preacher lose interest in those before whom

he stands, and this has been known to occur, there will remain small

reason to listen to him for preaching of the sort we most desire. May

it not be possible that "the sermon-box" is responsible for much of the

dulness we deplore. Whitefield, it is said, used to contend that a man

could preach the same discourse forty-nine times with ever-increasing

effect. There may be some who have not this power, but who faithfully

toil to prove the truth of the dictum. It was such a good sermon and

went so well when we preached it the first few times, the while our

hearts were fired by the truth it taught. So we whispered to ourselves

as we turned over the contents of that precious box. Other days had

come, other circumstances, other people, other needs and other views,

but forth came the well-worn and faded manuscript once again. A

baptism of holy madness in which every preacher should make a fire of

all his sermons dry enough to burn might not be a bad thing for the

Church and the world. Such a baptism may, perhaps, be too great a

thing to pray for; such a sacrifice as it would involve, may possibly

be too much to ask--and some sermons _are_ worth preaching over and

over again, even long after Whitefield's maximum has been exceeded.

Still there is a dangerous temptation in the possession of hoarded

sermons from which we will do well to pray to be delivered. To that

petition thousands in all the churches would be glad to say Amen!

CHAPTER II.

On Transparency.

There is one quality of such vital importance to the effectiveness of

our sermons as to merit more than passing mention, and that is the

quality of lucidity. The business of the preacher is to make his

meaning understood, to make his audience see what he sees, understand

what he understands. It is laid upon him as a special instruction to

present the truth with such plainness that "a wayfaring man, though a

fool, need not err therein." Failing here, he fails badly. It is

possible, perhaps, to excite a hearer's admiration without clearness.

There is to be found in some men a curious liking for being puzzled;

and they will credit with high talent and deep learning him who is able

thoroughly to mystify them. We have more than once heard a man

described as "far learned" because of a style in which polysyllables,

not always correctly chosen, did duty for thought, as polysyllables

often do. But the mere winning of ignorant admiration is a poor result

of pulpit work, and no manly man will set such an end before him as the

goal of his ambition. Admit that hearers may receive a measure of

blessing out of all proportion to the degree of their understanding--a

friend of ours tells us that he has had wonderful times in listening to

sermons in the Welsh language of which he knows not a word,--it still

remains true that men are saved through the _knowledge_ of the truth.

In joining himself to the Eunuch from Ethiopia who, sitting in his

chariot read the Prophet Esaias, Philip asked, "Understandest thou what

thou readest?" and all his effort went to make the dusky stranger

comprehend. To make men understand, is our bounden duty still.

And to accomplish this necessary achievement is not invariably the

easiest thing imaginable. Indeed, it may well be contended that in

none of his aims does the preacher fail more frequently than in this.

Often would we be greatly surprised and deeply discouraged had we the

means of comparing the idea _received_ with the idea we meant to

convey. The reticence of our hearers is wisdom in them and mercy to us.

For it is absolutely certain that most preachers overestimate--we do

not say the intelligence of their congregations,--but their ability to

grasp the truth presented at the speed, and in the way in which it is

brought before them. Because the trained mind of the preacher can

readily and easily understand religious literature and speech, it does

not follow that the hearer has the same power; nor does it follow that

the lack of it proves him a person of smaller intellectuality than the

man whose utterances bring perplexity to his mind. The preacher should

remember that what are matters of daily thought and research to him are

not so familiar to his hearers. To _him_ they form a well-known

country. He should not assume that the man who turns to him for

direction as to the points and places of this holy land will always be

able to comprehend these directions as easily as he gives them. We

speak from experience when we assert that it is much easier, in a land

one knows very well, to direct the traveller on his way than it is to

understand such directions when, from strangeness in the path, we have

in turn to seek them ourselves.

Not only is this true, but it is also true that we are too apt to take

for granted that what is knowledge to the preacher is knowledge to the

hearer. It is to be feared that in these days the average church-goer

is not so well versed in Biblical knowledge as the assumptions of our

sermons might suggest. Most men nowadays live in a hurry, and are busy

about many things, and it cannot be pretended that the Scriptures

receive that reading and study which give such advantage to the hearer

of preaching. Probably an examination of any ten men chosen without

discrimination out of the congregation of one of our churches would

reveal a state of things both startling and sad. It is so easy to be

misled by appearances. The congregation is well dressed, respectable,

keen. There are the usual signs of education, even of culture. All

these things are consistent with great shallowness of sacred knowledge.

Men are careful to till their own fields, but common land is generally

sorely neglected. There is a scientist in yonder pew; in his own

science he is supreme. Near him sits a politician; few there are who

know the questions of the hour better than he. In the pulpit stands

the preacher; he is--shall we venture the assertion?--a man mighty in

the Bible. It is _his book_. It is, in a _general_ way, the book of

the scientist, of the statesman, of every person in the congregation,

but the preacher specialises in it and in all that relates to it. He

will make a mistake if he assumes too much either to the credit of one

man before him or another. Here a memory of many years ago rises to

the surface. Having to preach one Sunday to an audience which usually

contained two or three men of positions rather above the common run, we

confessed great nervousness to an aged minister of our church now no

more. "Never bother a bit, lad," was the reply; "remember one

thing:--You will know more about that subject than any man in the

chapel, because you will have been _working_ at it. The doctor will

have spent _his_ week mixing physic, the lawyer _his_ in mixing law.

You will have spent _yours_ in getting to know all about this text of

which, like as not, neither of them has ever heard." There was

consolation in the old man's assurances, though they recognised a

sorrowful fact too often forgotten. Probably if we knew everything we

should come to the conclusion that one fault of our sermons is that

they are not half sufficiently elementary.

Along the same line follows the remark, that it is also a mistake to

assume that the terminology familiar to the preacher and conveying to

_his_ mind certain ideas, must of necessity be equally familiar and

convey the very same ideas to every other man. Much of this language

is technical; much of it consists of words and phrases which have long

been obsolete so far as daily use and wont are concerned. Let the

preacher set himself to listen to a professional man who elects to

speak upon the subjects in which he is most interested in the language

of his profession; or let him hearken to an artisan who talks about his

craft in the terms in use at the bench, or in the factory, and then he

will in some degree comprehend the effect of technical language in

mystifying the uninitiated hearer. We recall in this connection a

sermon in which, years ago, we heard a very young preacher declaiming

to an audience of labouring men and women concerning a certain

"anthropomorphic" passage. As we say he was very young, and probably

no longer uses the word outside the study. Another worthy man in our

hearing solemnly advised a congregation largely composed of factory

girls to make their lives "Christo-centric." We acknowledge our

indebtedness to the Rev. W. L. Watkinson, himself a splendid example of

the excellence for which we plead, for two humorous illustrations of

the mistake now being considered. One is that of a local preacher who,

during a revival of religion, most earnestly counselled his auditors to

exercise "fiduciary" faith; the other, of a learned divine whose

appointment in a certain village coincided with the visit of a

travelling menagerie. "I perceive," he said, in sensational tones,

"that a spirit of German transcendental ratiocination is creeping into

the Church." The congregation, remembering the adjacent caravans, left

at once in hurry and alarm.

In that very interesting volume in which the proprietors of _The Daily

News_ tabulated the results of a census of church attendance in the

metropolis, Mr. F. C. Masterman, writing on the religious problem of

South East London, has the following words:--

"The prevailing theology, even more perhaps than the prevailing

liturgy, is wrapped up in an ancient language. The very terms are

technical--grace, justification, conversion, perseverance. They flow

out glibly from the student who has soaked himself in their historical

meanings; they are Greek to the general. They were once living

realities for which men fought and gladly died; they still symbolise

realities, the permanent elements of the life history of the soul--but

they are wrapped around in cobwebs and the complications of a technical

system, frozen into sterility; and they have no more meaning and no

more appeal to the audience at whom they are thrown in such profusion

than the details of the performance of the Mosaic ritual, or the

genealogies of the legendary heroes of the Hebrew Bible. We want

neither edifying lessons drawn from the wanderings of Israel or the

Book of Joshua; nor brilliant 'word-painting' of some of the scenes

described in the Bible with a more appealing eloquence; nor the

exposition of the machinery of schemes of salvation once real from

which the life has departed; but some message concerning the things of

the spirit, delivered in simplicity and humility and sincerity to men

who would fain be simple and humble and sincere." These are weighty

words, and many a preacher might do worse than take them seriously to

heart. Such an event might mean the blessing of many who have so far

been mystified rather than edified. Mr. Masterman represents, we are

sure, multitudes who could add proof to his words from frequent

experience; he speaks, also, for many more who, because of similar

experience, come no more to the house of the Lord.

But the difficulty does not always arise from the preacher's

terminology alone. It is possible to fall into the fault of

_over-condensation_ in our preaching. Highly concentrated foods are

proverbially hard of digestion, and the same may be true of highly

concentrated sermons. "Words packed with profoundest meanings" are apt

to pass over the mind carrying much of their meaning with them

undiscovered. A "highly sententious style" may have some of the

qualities of a thunder shower, in which the rain falls so fast as to be

of little use in watering the thirsty ground, over which it courses

unabsorbed to join the brook down yonder in the vale. The maxim

"_multum in parvo_" may be an admirable one for an author whose book

will lie in the reader's hand the while he has time to grasp the full

significance of every well-filled sentence. By a public speaker,

however, packing may easily be overdone; and here is one of the dangers

of the written sermon as compared with one in which the preacher,

having gathered together his knowledge and his thought upon a matter,

leaves the choice of words to the hour of delivery. A little wise

prolixity may be necessary to the speaker. A little repetition; the

putting of a truth, first in _this_ way, then in _that_, and again

perhaps in quite a different fashion, so that different minds may have

in turn their chance--even this may be needed, and though the

preacher's impatience may find such a method irksome, duty may lie that

way while inclination turns to a more sententious and expeditious mode.

When all has been done that can be done to render every argument and

lesson absolutely transparent there will still be some who will not

have quite understood. The simplest of preachers must some day

encounter the old lady who accosted, so it is said, a former Bishop of

Chester, who, at great pains to be lucid, had unfolded the argument

against the errors of atheism, with the words, "Well, my lord, I must

say as I think there is a God after all you've told us."

Another thing to be remembered is, that much depends upon the order and

arrangement of a sermon whether it is "easy to follow" or not. We are

old-fashioned enough to believe rather strongly in the method according

to which the preacher divided his subject into "heads." We had heard

that this method was falling into disuse, but have been surprised

during recent months to discover how many of the more acceptable and

successful preachers still find it the most effective plan. Of course

there are those who vote the method out of date; and we have listened

to the preaching of some who hold this view and act upon it. Our

experience teaches us that in respect of clearness and, perhaps

especially, of memorability, the method of distinct division has many

advantages. It is easier to the preacher; _much_ easier to the hearer.

Only, let it be remembered that an "introduction" should introduce;

that "divisions" should divide, and sub-divisions sub-divide. Needless

and trifling "majors" or "minors" are irritating and confusing.

"Firstly," "Secondly," "Thirdly," and--under very special

circumstances--even "Fourthly" may contribute to the making of the dark

places plain, but the days have long since passed away in which

"Ninthly" and "Tenthly" could be borne; though there have actually been

such days. We have read, or tried to read, discourses whose major

divisions ran to "eighteenthly" with minor divisions grouped under each

like companies in a regiment. People came to preaching early in those

days and stayed late. Can it be one result of their experiences that

we, their posterity, have inherited that strange weariness which so

frequently attacks us as "One word more" is announced from the sacred

desk?

Simplicity in language, and in putting things; as much repetition as

may be needed; great care not to assume more knowledge in the hearer

than he possesses; much allowance for the fact that the minds addressed

may not be trained in the theme under discussion, and that there is a

wide difference between the catching of an idea which waits upon a

printed page and of an idea in flight of spoken discourse; clear and

memorable arrangement of the whole address--all these concessions must

be made if men are to be sent away from the sanctuary carrying with

them any considerable part of the provision with which the preacher

climbed the pulpit stair. And after all these concessions have been

allowed the _great_ effort to make things plain has yet to be begun!

This _great effort_ for the attainment of transparency will be made, we

need hardly say, along two lines, the line of illustration and the line

of application. Possibly it may be held by some that these two lines

are really one.

And concerning illustration:--The greatest preachers, and the most

effective, have been those who have shown the greatest mastery of this

art. The writing of these words brings to our minds names sufficient

to establish their truth. Who can forget the illustrations of C. H.

Spurgeon; the illustrations of McLaren of Manchester, whose expositions

of Scripture received illumination in this way at every turning of the

path along which the preacher led us, happy and entranced? It has been

pronounced by some a mistake to class D. L. Moody among the _great_

preachers. The answer will depend upon our definition of a great

preacher. _We_ would support the inclusion and our reason lies

here:--We heard the man in boyhood and so clear, by simplicity and

aptness of language, of phrase and of illustration did he make his

every contention, that we understood him from beginning to end. An

example happily still with us has already been named in the earlier

part of this chapter. Every preacher should hear the Rev. W. L.

Watkinson, if he walk a score of miles to do it!

But the art of illustration, excepting in those rare cases where a man

brings to its learning a natural gift waiting only to be brought into

use, is not easily acquired. Every preacher of experience will be

prepared to testify that in attempting to illustrate it is not only

easy to make mistakes but difficult to avoid making them at times.

Sometimes an illustration, intended to light up a subject, rather takes

away the thought of a congregation from that subject than otherwise.

Sometimes, again, the illustration may be found to carry other

suggestions than were intended. The lad, to whom the wisdom of early

rising was sought to be illustrated by the good fortune of the early

bird in securing the first worm, drew precisely the opposite moral,

holding that the fate of the worm taught the wisdom of remaining in bed

until a later hour. Then an illustration may be even less clear than

the argument to be illustrated. We have heard scientific illustrations

of this character, from which the hearer derived a supplementary dose

of mystification rather than an elucidation of the problem with which

he was already manfully grappling. An illustration may be too

pathetic, and people may weep from the wrong cause, an event which

often occurs in church. It is one thing to shed tears over a touching

story and another to shed them from penitence. An illustration should

not be more sublime than the lesson to be taught lest there follow a

swift descent with loss of reverence by the way. There is a place for

humour in the pulpit, if it be natural to the preacher and flow

spontaneously, but a humorous illustration requires to be very

carefully chosen, lest, instead of the healthy and holy laughter often

so fatal to anger and meanness and pride, you have the guffaw in which

blessing is lost in excess. Other reflections as to illustrations are

the following:--First, the illustration, if a story, ought at least to

contain the element of probability. No preacher can _always_ satisfy

himself as to the literal truth of a story he may hear and wish to use,

but he can, at least, consider whether the event recounted was

possible. We have heard stories from the pulpit which were so hard to

swallow as to leave no room for the moral. We have heard illustrations

in sermons which have led to criticisms wherein the strength of the

preacher's imagination has not been passed over unrecognised. Further,

an illustration derives power from being drawn from sources familiar to

those to whom it is addressed. In some confessions regarding his early

ministry, Henry Ward Beecher enforces this very lesson in telling of

his failure to impress the people until he turned for his illustrations

to fields well known to them. Who has not seen a farm-labouring

audience lift their heads when a preacher, saying, "It is like," has

led his hearers into the fields where they had toiled during the

previous week? Often have we seen a mining congregation captured _en

bloc_ when some brother miner, speaking in native doric from the wagon

at a camp meeting, has taken them "doon the pit," or "in bye." We have

watched the faces of sea-going men gleam with a new interest as the

preacher drew a simile, or caught a metaphor from the mighty deep.

Only, in using such illustrations as these, let the user be quite

certain that he is _accurate_. One mistake about the farm, the mine,

the sea, and all is over! With accuracy as a quality constantly

present, those illustrations are most effective whose material is most

homely and familiar. Things startling, novel and foreign, may arouse

interest and excite wonder, but it will probably be at the expense of

that realisation of truth which was sought to be created. Jesus said

"Like unto leaven," "Like to a grain of mustard seed," "Behold a sower

went forth to sow," "Consider the lilies of the field." His hearers

saw these things every day. Perhaps they were in view as He spoke.

Finally, the less hackneyed our illustrations are, the better. If this

were more generally remembered we would miss, and that with a sense of

relief, a few grey-headed similes which, having haunted our youth,

threaten to haunt also our age; and which have assailed us so often as

to create the kind of familiarity that breeds contempt. In how many

Sunday school addresses--and a Sunday school address is preaching in a

way--in how many such addresses have we seen the twig bent; in how many

the giant oak which none can train? How often have we heard of that

boy in Holland who saved his country by the simple expedient of pushing

his finger into a hole in the dyke through which the dammed-up waters

had begun to escape? There is that other lad, too, who has come down

in history by reason of his insane resolve to climb "one niche the

higher"--how often have we been told his thrilling story? These two

boys are no longer young and have surely earned an honourable

superannuation. That little incident of Michael Angelo and the block

of marble from which he "let the angel out"--even that improving

narrative might with advantage be pigeon-holed for a generation or two.

The reason why these hardy perennials are seen in the gardens of so

many preachers must surely be, that every "Treasury of Illustrations"

contains them. We have nothing to say in praise of such treasuries.

We have none to recommend for purchase. The best treasury of

illustrations is the memory of that man who keeps his eyes and ears

open and has a preaching mind.

Following the naming of illustration as a means of lighting up the

sermon comes the mention of application. Truth must be related to be

understood. How wonderfully the application of a truth to familiar

circumstances makes it clear. It may be laboriously defined and leave

but a dim and indistinct impression upon the mind; but apply it to the

age, to the life of men; show its relation to the passing days, to

daily duties, daily trials, daily sins, and how deeply is it impressed.

In the greater shops are models whose business it is to "show off" the

gown the shopkeeper wishes to sell by wearing it before the possible

purchaser. The advantage of the plan is obvious. We must show truth

in the wear to make it understood!

After all these reflections, the fundamental word still remains to be

said:--_Clear preaching can only come from clear thinking_. What we

see _ourselves_ we may, by great effort and rare good fortune, make

others see; but when the preacher only beholds men as trees walking,

how can he make clear their features to his fellows? The foggy sermon

often proves the preacher's possession of a foggy mind. "If the light

that is in _thee_ be darkness, how great is that darkness," so said One

of old.

CHAPTER III.

On Appeal.

It is set before us in this last chapter of our lecture to say

something in reference to appeal as an essential quality of the sermon.

The discourse, it must always be borne in mind, is not an end in

itself, but a means to an end, and that end the bending of the human

will to "repentance toward God, and faith toward our Lord Jesus

Christ." To the full and perfect surrender which this implies men are

found to be opposed in every possible way. Pride is against it;

selfishness is against it; self-indulgence and the lusts of the flesh

are against it. Often, in addition to these natural elements of

opposition, a man's reluctance to yield himself to God will be

fortified by tradition and strengthened by association. A hundred

circumstances affecting his life, his comfort, his general well-being

may seem to encourage, almost necessitate his refusal. Then, again,

the teaching of all scripture goes to create and establish the belief

that there are supernatural prompters of the sinner in his rebellion

against God; that the warfare of the preacher for his deliverance is

not against flesh and blood only, but also "against principalities and

powers and spiritual wickedness in high places." We do not always

quite realise all that it may mean to a man to take the step to which

we invite him--sometimes so lightly. To begin the following of Christ,

or, having already begun that following, to arise from slackness to

whole-hearted service, may involve the snapping of long cherished ties

and an absolute revolution in every habit and mode of life and thought.

By many men the Kingdom of Heaven can only be entered at the cost of

what seems to them a stupendous sacrifice and the facing of what

appears an appalling risk. Against all these forces and considerations

has the preacher to prevail, and that, through no compulsive power, but

by exercise of such gifts of persuasion as are given unto him to be

cultivated to that end, God's Spirit helping his efforts. He is here

to make men _do_--do that which on every earthly account they had

rather not do. Unless he accomplishes this result his work has been in

vain.

Now, it is well that the nature of the work, its greatness and the

hardness of it, should be fully realised and constantly remembered.

There is always a danger of being misled by the shows of incomplete, or

false, success. In no branch of service is this more true than in

preaching. It is such a glorious thing to be able to gather great

congregations; but even this may be done and the messenger fail. It is

such a delightful thing to a preacher to watch a multitude waiting

spellbound beneath his eloquence in rapt attention, or swept by waves

of emotion; but that multitude may disperse, the great end of preaching

still unwrought and the whole attempt a splendid failure. It is

possible to attract people to your preaching, possible to win the crown

of their approval, and yet come short of accomplishing the very results

for which you were commissioned from on high. To please is one thing;

to prevail against the heart of sin another.

And with the recollection of this much-to-be-remembered truth it will

be well that a sense of the difficulty of the real task should abide

continually with us. Some of these difficulties, we have already

mentioned. The hardest to overcome are the obstacles within the mind

and heart of the hearer himself. It is always finally _the man_ who

has to be conquered. This, we surely know through our own spiritual

experiences. He is bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh. Here is

surely one reason why the Master sets men to preach to men:--Because

every preacher has been himself a rebel and knows the way rebellion

takes in heart and brain. Ours also was once the stubborn will; ours

the stiff neck; ours the evil heart of unbelief. We, as well as he

whom we now assail for Jesus' sake, have said, "I will not have this

man to reign over me." Once upon a time we, also, bore ourselves

proudly and contemptuously. Never are we weary of thinking of the

wonder that ever we were brought to ground our arms at the Master's

feet. Will the winning of others be easier than was the victory won

over ourselves? Now that we battle against what once we were and did,

we should understand from memory the immensity of the task. Once

realised, it should never be forgotten. There is no miracle in all the

Gospel history greater than the miracle of a broken human will.

Yes, the preacher's work is at the best a supremely hard one. The

sense of this hardness must get into his soul, or else all hope of

success will be vain. Should there ever come to him a moment in which

it shall appear an easy thing to preach, or when his knowledge of the

congregation awaiting him shall seem to indicate that "anything will

do," then let him, in that moment, consider himself in peril of missing

the true end of his calling. _Anything will not do_. The very best

will hardly do! Think of the hardness of the heart! Think of the

arguments of the tempter! Think how fair and sweet sin often seems!

Think of all the sacrifice and self-denial and self-surrender we are

asking from men! Here is need for the utmost diligence; for the

development of every latent power of persuasion; for the employment of

every ounce of energy, of every resource of skill; for the expenditure

of every volt of passion the soul can contain. We can only hope to

capture the citadel when the utmost possibilities of attack are brought

to bear upon it. Even then the garrison may hold out against us!

And the ultimate possibilities of attack are the ultimate possibilities

of appeal. We speak of appeal as a quality that must pervade the whole

of the sermon. We have heard counsels on preaching in which advice was

given about "_the_ appeal" or "the _final_ appeal," whereby were meant

certain perorative paragraphs; the remainder of the discourse being

divided into "introduction," "exegesis," "argument," "illustration,"

"application." We remember some of these perorative paragraphs, and

sometimes we have been tempted to ask whether the same note is struck

in the preaching of to-day as was sounded forth in their stirring

words. In spite of the homilists the sermon was generally better than

their advice concerning its making and its form. The paragraph in

question, though, perhaps, neither the preacher nor his adviser

suspected the truth, was only powerful because it formed the climax of

all that had gone before. It was the final assault following upon

processes of sapping and mining, bombardment and fusillade. The appeal

must commence _with the first word of the sermon_. The very

introduction must be persuasive. The _motif_ of the whole composition

must be the wooing note. Obviously this note will need to be struck in

many keys. The appeal will have many expressions; and in their variety

and form the skill of the preacher will have such room for exercise and

such need for it as no other duty of his life displays.

To mention some of the elements of this appeal, of which, again, the

whole sermon is the expression:--There is first, that gift, or

endowment, or talent--call it what you will--which we speak of as Tact.

In some men this power amounts almost to genius. Of such an one we

say, "he has a way with him." He is the man to bring about

"settlements." His very voice, his very manner, bring disputations to

an end. In political conflicts, in social misunderstandings, in labour

troubles he is invaluable. In the church he is a treasure. In the

Sunday school his price is above rubies. In the pulpit he enjoys an

immeasurable advantage. Happy the congregation whose preacher "has a

way with him." We have known such men and envied them. Their gift

defies analysis. It is an element!

Of men such as these there are, alas, comparatively few! They are born

into the world with a genius for always doing the right thing in the

right way. Most of us enter into life with a genius for doing

everything in the wrong way, and we can only look enviously upon our

more richly endowed brethren and learn from them to practise as an art

what they do as the result of an inheritance. We _can_ do this and,

indeed, we _must_ do it if it be any part of our life's work to

influence men to courses against their minds. The sermon must be

tactful or else, though it possess every other excellence, it will most

surely fail. How often have we heard, as a criticism, the one word

"tactless," which meant that the truth had been expressed in such

language, or in such a manner as to accentuate, rather than allay, the

opposition of the hearer; that, instead of getting _round_ the

prejudices of the congregation by a flanking movement, the preacher had

assailed them by a frontal attack, and so called to the ramparts every

sleeping power of opposition. Many a well conceived and convincing

sermon fails from just this cause.

So then we feel inclined to urge that the cultivation of tactfulness

should be reckoned an indispensable part of every preacher's training,

for there is no prevailing with men without it. For this, among other

things, he will require that thorough understanding of men of which we

spoke in an earlier chapter--an understanding which must include a

familiarity with their tastes, their prejudices, their weaknesses and

infirmities. To this understanding must be added the fruits of much

self-study and criticism. To be able so to speak as to secure

acceptance for the Word of Life is worth it all. The basis of appeal

is conciliation. The instrument of conciliation is tact!

And having, through the exercise of this gift of tact, secured for

himself and his message the toleration of the hearer, the preacher will

proceed to make the best of the advantage thus obtained. He has made

his man a listener but the great work still remains to be done, and

again we say that it is of all work the hardest to accomplish. At

once, let us acknowledge the impossibility of outlining a method that

will be effective in every case. At once, too, let us say that in no

branch of Christian service is so much left to the inventive and

initiative faculties of the worker as in preaching. Still some

principles there are which may well be named as worthy of remembrance

in the day of action.

And the first of these may well be this:--That the first assault should

be made through the intellect. The sermon must contain, at least, a

solid foundation of good reasoning. "Come now and let us reason

together, saith the Lord," was the prophet's invitation to Israel in

the day of her rebellion. The preacher should see to it that he

"render a reason." It is no compliment to an audience to fail to

recognise its mental powers. It is something less than a compliment

merely to _pretend_ to argue, as is so often done. That is not only to

fail to produce the result we desire but to estrange the hearer still

further and so make his case more hopeless than before.

It is one of the many accusations made against the modern pulpit, that

it has fallen into the habit of begging the question and basing its

appeals upon assumptions. Men of mind come to hear the preacher and go

away disappointed. The good man declaims, but makes no real attempt to

_prove_ the truth of his declamation, or to anticipate the mental

difficulties into which his statements may lead the hearer. He makes

statements, but does not substantiate them. How often we hear of the

intellectual barrenness of the modern sermon! How often we are told

that men are asked to take the most important steps, and make the most

astounding sacrifices upon arguments which would not convince a seventh

standard schoolboy. In speaking of a certain orator, some one said,

"There was physical power, for the preacher shouted; ho(a)rse power,

for in his roaring he fortunately lost his voice; water power, because

he wept most copiously; everything but brain power." We cannot proceed

on the exploded fiction that ignorance is the mother of devotion. The

schoolmaster is abroad. More than this, the denier is busy, and,

though his reasoning may be packed with fallacies, he can only be

answered by arguments as sound as his are false. Perhaps there was

never a time in which the literature of unbelief had so great and

general a currency as it has to-day. It circulates in our workshops in

unnumbered pages, for its special attack seems to be directed against

our working men, especially the younger members of the class. Here,

undoubtedly, is one of the causes of the apparent drift of the toiling

masses from the churches. A preaching that is merely declamatory,

visionary, emotional; that takes its stand upon tradition, the

authority of great names the dim antiquity of its far-off past,

failing, meanwhile, to recognise the eager questioning of the modern

man, must be prepared for non-success, though there may come from

certain quarters, even in the hour of its failure, the meed of

popularity and applause.

Let this, therefore, be laid down:--That the appeal of the sermon must

at the beginning be the appeal of intellect to intellect. Let no one

be made afraid by this statement. It is not contended that every

sermon must be an elaborate argument of the case for the Christian

demand. This would necessitate that every preacher be a specialist in

theology and apologetics, which is obviously impossible. Happily, the

situation, strained as it is, is not such as to render it needful that

only experts should venture to preach the gospel. But it is needful

that the sermon stand the test of common sense and, in that way, carry

in it its own defence. It is needful that, as the preacher proceeds to

develop his subject, the hearer shall find cause to assent to the

positions taken up. Otherwise it will be useless to invite him to

forsake his own ground in order to share that from which he has been

addressed. Of course it must be conceded that even this modest demand

will mean much study for the preacher and a careful preparation of the

sermon. Surely, however, the end is worth the labour. In no work is

proficiency gained without some taking of pains. That preacher who is

afraid of a little toil in order that he may thereby improve his

usefulness, and increase his success, should find proof in this fear of

effort that his commission--if ever he had one--has expired. One thing

is sure:--That a sermon which fails to satisfy the intellect--we do not

say of the atheist or the agnostic, to whom, by the way, we are hardly

ever called to preach, but of the average hearer--will ask in vain for

the surrender of men to God. It may be full of sentiment and

overflowing with emotion; it holds no true appeal!

But the intellect is not the whole of a man. The sermon that contains

no appeal to a hearer's emotions will fail, just as certainly as one

that contains no address to his reason. If sermons are full of

emotion, and empty of arguments, they are invertebrate and produce but

transient effects. If the sermon be simply and solely an intellectual

effort it will be cold and nerveless and ineffective. You may

_convince_ a man beyond all possibility of contradiction or protest,

and at the same time utterly fail to bring him to the decision you

desire him to register. Probably an analysis of most of our

congregations would prove that so far as merely intellectual agreement

is concerned the great majority of hearers are already on the

preacher's side as a result of years of hearing while, as yet,

undecided to attempt the path so plainly stretching away before them.

The preacher must address himself to _all_ the emotions of the heart

for any one of them may be the means of carrying his message to that

innermost chamber whither he desires that it shall come. Fear and

courage, doubt and confidence, all should be assailed, for the

awakening of any one of them may bring to pass the accomplishment of

the preacher's glorious purpose. Of course we have become familiar

with all that is said by superior persons about what they are pleased

to decry as "mere sentiment." We know, but too well, the man who at

once, and invariably, characterises any preaching that touches the

hearts of men as "playing to the gallery,"--the man whose one and only

demand is for intellectualism. Him we know in his superiority to

feeling, his scorn of smiles and tears. We know him and, thank God! we

generally ignore him; as we must learn to do more and more. The city

of Mansoul has many gates--more, indeed, than honest Bunyan saw--and

happy may the preacher be if he can gain admission by any one of them!

Then, although the hearer is "a sinner," and must be approached as

such, the sermon that will lead him furthest along the upward way will

be one in which it is recognised that he is not so utterly depraved as

to be without some lingering, or latent, good to which appeal may, and

ought to be made. Find the good in a child and by the use of it lead

him to the best, is a sound principle in the training of the young. It

is equally sound as a rule for dealing with their elders. Find the

good in a man if you would save him wholly and for ever.

For "good" there is, and that in the very worst of men. No doctrine of

human depravity that theologians may teach can alter the fact, that,

deep in the heart of man, may be found a starting point whence the

highest heights may be gained if we have but the skill to lead him

forward. We may speak of him as being sick in head and heart, as "full

of wounds and bruises and putrifying sores." It is all true and yet,

paradoxical as it may appear, there are still in him the power to love;

some gift of gratitude; some sense of fair play; an elemental idea of

justice. There is still some secret reverence for purity and modesty

and truth. The preacher, notwithstanding all the schoolmen may tell

him, must believe this, or else he will not effectively preach.

There is much to be gained by every one in believing the best of human

nature. For the preacher such a belief will provide ways into the

city, the inner fortress of which he means to capture for his Lord. He

will call upon the best qualities in his hearer to help him as he

pushes home the siege. There is a power of loving. Surely he will

enlist the aid of this by reminding the wanderer of the love wherewith

_He_ has loved him. "We love Him because He first loved us," so wrote

one whose will had been brought low what time his affection was

entreated. There is a sense of gratitude. Surely this will be called

to look upon that sacrifice on which the ages gaze! That sense of

justice; that elementary instinct of fair play--they, too, may be rare

colleagues of the messenger, if he will but enlist them on his side.

For this method of prosecuting his saving warfare he has precedent

enough in the prophets:--"And now, O inhabitants of Jerusalem, and men

of Judah, judge, I pray you, betwixt Me and My vineyard! What could

have been done more in My vineyard, that I have not done in it?

Wherefore, when I looked that it should bring forth grapes, brought it

forth wild grapes?" Here is an appeal to the inborn sense of equity

which still lingered in the heart of the chosen people. The claims of

honesty and chastity, of truthfulness and benevolence and gentleness

will not always be in vain, if the preacher will remember that some

reverence for these things still lingers in the heart of even the most

abandoned of men and address himself thereto. He is the wisest of all

campaigners who enlists the enemy against himself.

To all these elements of human nature, then, the preacher will address

himself. He will do more:--He will study times and seasons and events,

for times and seasons and events often produce moods which infect a

whole people. We have examples of this in the moral influence of the

festivals of the Christian year. They were wise men who, for all

futurity, connected with certain dates the outstanding events of the

sacred history, the memory of great saints, confessors and martyrs.

Probably we of the Nonconformist pulpits might here learn a lesson in

homiletic tactics from our friends of the Roman and Anglican churches.

There should only be one subject for Good Friday; one for Easter morn;

one for Christmastide; one for the hour wherein the old year dies. It

is not merely a tribute to convention to observe these seasons. It is

strategically wise to do so. The preacher should use Whitsun as an

opportunity of leading the Church to prayer for new pentecosts; harvest

time to stir the slumbering thankfulness of men. He who neglects these

ready-made chances throws away precious advantage for his appeal and

misses the psychological moment.

So much for the seasons and their memories. We have experience, also,

of the way in which the watchful and tactful preacher will profit from

the occurrences of his time. In the events of the day much material

for the pointing of appeal may often be found. The calamities which

befall; the happenings which arrest the attention of the multitude and

often hush a whole nation with the hush of awe--he will find in these

things an opening to be entered on behalf of the enterprise he has in

hand. Very watchful must he be, for everything that touches the heart

may mean "a way in" which it were a misfortune to miss. He must look

for the very slightest change of mood in his people, for so his

long-hoped-for chance may come. With all he may do; after every plea

he may still find that the victory is unwon. He has gained the

intellect it may be or moved the heart; but the stubborn will still

holds out against him.

Yes, notwithstanding all he may do the will may resist him still, but

this fact, instead of causing the preacher to give up in despair,

should move him to still greater efforts. The more difficult the task,

the greater the honour laid upon him who is sent to attempt it. This

is the understanding of military life, and this should be the

understanding of the preacher. He will not fail with _all_. Some

there will be who will ground their arms at Jesus' feet; some who will

give themselves to the living of the new life, who will accept the

invitation to climb the hills of God. In every one of these the

preacher will have ample reward for all his "work of faith and labour

of love"; for he who "converteth a sinner from the error of his ways

saveth a soul from death and hideth a multitude of sins." To know that

he has done these things for one brother man will be better than the

breath of popularity. Sweeter than all the compliments of men will be

the far-echoing "Well done" of Christ in that day when the messenger

lays his commission at His feet.

CONCLUSION

"And ye are witnesses of these things.

"And, behold, I send the promise of my Father upon you: but tarry ye in

the city of Jerusalem until ye be endued with power from on high.

"And he led them out as far as to Bethany, and he lifted up his hands

and blessed them.

"And it came to pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them,

and carried up into heaven."--_Luke_.

CONCLUSION.

We approach, at last, the end of our poor attempt. Its purpose has

been to furnish a reminder of some things that are absolutely essential

to the effective preaching of the Gospel. Let us recall the steps by

which we have come thus far upon our way.

And first, it appeared to us that for true preaching you must have the

true preacher; and the true preacher is he who, designated by Nature

and by Divine calling, endowment and baptism, has come to personal

certainty in respect of the great and vital truths committed to his

keeping. Surrendered to God and his work, he nevertheless realises

that among the trusts of which he holds stewardship is that of his own

individuality to be used for the ends he is sent to consummate. He is

a man of understanding gathered in the study of truth; of men; of the

Church; of his own heart; of many other fields of knowledge. He lives

in constant realisation of the greatness of his calling; the sublimity

of his message and the certainty of victory for Israel's side. His

soul is aflame with the passion of his labour; with devotion to his

Master; with a love for his fellows learned at the foot of the cross.

The supreme fact of his life is the fact of his own spiritual

experience and in holy, happy memories he finds continual evidence of

things Divine, and constant inspiration to prosecute his mission to the

end. He is a man whose heart God has touched for the sake of the

world. He is the chosen, qualified, and sworn ambassador of the King

of Kings. He is the very representative and mouthpiece of God and of

the Church to all with whom opportunity shall give him speech. In all

this he is the successor of the first-called and qualified of the

preaching band, making proof of his succession by faithfulness,

holiness and success. Such is the true preacher, whether separated

altogether to the work of the ministry or working with his hands, as

did the greatest preacher of the Apostolic band, that he may "not be

chargeable to any."

From speaking of the messenger we turned to mention what seem to us to

be the notes essential to a complete rendering of the message confided

to him for transmission. The notes of accusation and of pity, of

idealism and edification and cheer all need to be sounded by the

preacher who would go back, at last, to the Lord who sent him with the

joyful boast that he has "not shunned to declare the whole counsel of

God." Not only this, but we heard, as we came along our way, from the

lips of those to whom the preacher would speak, enough to prove that it

is for a message in which these notes are heard that they wait and

listen. The world longs for a Gospel which shall satisfy the mind,

guide the conscience and comfort the heart, the while it shows the way

to the best in the life that is and the life that is to come. Such a

Gospel we have. It remains only that we preach it in all its plenitude

and promise.

"That we preach it":--Of this actual preaching we have also had

something to say, both as to its form and as to certain great

principles to be remembered by the messenger always and everywhere. It

_does_ matter much as to the manner in which the truth is expressed.

It is possible to prevent the glorious results the message should

produce by avoidable faults in the presentation of it. It is the

preacher's duty, for the truth's sake, to make his sermons so

attractive and so interesting that hearers shall not be repelled from

partaking of the Divine provision for hungry and thirsty souls. It is

his duty to make his sermons so simple in phrasing, so intelligible in

arrangement, so luminous by illustration that the average hearer shall

readily understand them. To the arts of persuasion and appeal he must

devote special attention, for the purpose of the sermon is to induce

men to believe and to act upon that belief. He must be a master of

argument and of tact. He must learn to use every occasion; to find and

enter every door; to turn everything to the advantage of his one great

end. The sermon must be at once a work of wisdom, of grace and of art.

It is the preacher's weapon in the warfare of his Lord. How carefully

it should be fashioned; how bright it ought to be, how sharp, to reach

the heart of the King's enemies!

And all these things we have brought to remembrance that, having them

before us, we may be the better able to answer the question with which

we started out:--Whether this preaching of ours is in any way to blame

for that spiritual and moral slide of which we hear so much? Are _we_

such men as we have seen that preachers ought to be; so surely

designated for our ministry; so wise; so sure; so full of the passion

of our calling? Has the message we have sought to deliver expressed

the whole that God has taught us and provided an answer to the deep

questions and strange perplexing needs of those to whom we have

ministered? Have the sermons in which our message has been set forth

always been the best attempt we could make to reach the ear, subdue the

mind and win the hearts of those who waited upon our utterance? Is

there any need for self-reproach on our part, or can we answer all

these questions with a gladness increasing with each successive reply?

The reader will have a rejoinder ready. We do not ask to hear it. It

will be enough that he whisper it to his own soul and into the ear of

God. It might be of infinite service to the Church and to our fellows

if, one and all, we pushed such an inquisition to an end in our secret

hearts.

There remains now only one word to be added, and that word, the reader

will perhaps have looked for earlier, for in every such discussion as

the present it must come to utterance. For two reasons we have

withheld it until the last and they are these. It is a word with which

every reader will agree, and it is the most important word which can be

spoken or written upon the subject. Is it necessary to say that it has

reference to the deepest and most constant of all the preacher's

needs--the need of the Holy Spirit as an abiding presence in his heart,

his mind, his work? Little did the Master say, as He charged those

early preachers, concerning the methods of their preaching; little also

as to its substance, but many were His words concerning the Holy Ghost

who was to be their teacher, their remembrancer, their comforter and

support. For Him they were to tarry "until the promise be fulfilled."

And they _did_ so tarry, and lo, He came and the young men saw visions

and the old men dreamed dreams! Then, through the lips of plain,

unlettered, toiling men there broke forth a new evangel upon the age

which turned all the currents of the world. New things were spoken;

new ideals lifted up; new hopes proclaimed, but the secret energy of it

all was the new power that thrilled in every word.

New things the world had often heard, hopes, ideals, philosophies; some

one was always bringing such wares to market, as they bring them to

market still; but scarce a ripple on the sea of life did they one and

all produce. These words _lived and burned_. _Life_ was in them, and

_fire_! That life and fire were His whose coming had filled the upper

room with wind and flame!

The Holy Ghost in the heart of the preacher, and therefore in his

message, filling every sermon with unction, spirituality, throb,

_life_--can there be effective and successful preaching without THIS?

No, never; study you never so hard; train you never so carefully; bring

to the work never such talents, such grace of diction, of construction,

of delivery. "It is not by might nor by power, but by My spirit saith

the Lord"!

And yet there _is_ a duty of study and an obligation of training, and

it _is_ incumbent that the most precious of our gifts be polished and

dedicated, that the best possibilities of argument, illustration and

delivery be attained. In preaching, as in all the works and ways of

life, God helps those who help themselves and nothing is worthy but the

noblest and the highest.

The Holy Ghost in the heart of the preacher honoured by the grandest

effort the preacher can make, the utmost faithfulness he can

display:--Can it be possible that in these words the twofold need of

this very hour finds definition? Can we be sure, that if such a

sentence were turned into a prayer, and came back upon us as a gracious

answer to cries that would not be denied, the multitudes would not turn

to us once again? What preaching would there be _then_; how warm would

be the sanctuary; what a house of healing would it become; what a place

of consolation and encouragement for hard-pressed men; how many

problems would find solution; what visions would form themselves upon

the darkened clouds overhanging many a human life! Preaching would be

a living thing. Can it be possible that _here_ and _now_ LIFE is its

greatest need and that the only way to obtain this life is by a return

to that upper room of long ago? So we end with a question, as with a

question we commenced. Since the world began it has been by the asking

of questions that men have come to truth.

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Message and the Man:, by J. Dodd Jackson